#the first nice weather day in weeks despite being late spring i hate living in Australia

[neurotypical-sonic]

happy birthday!!! I hope this year treats you well! ❤️

Thank you so much!! Me too, I hope it will, and today is sunny so that is a good omen!

[gladerwolfstarkimagines]

Not just a soft princess  - Azula x female reader imagine: Part Five

After your holiday things with Azula couldn’t be better then the firelord makes a discovery that puts both your lives at risk.

Part one here

Part two here

Part three here

Part four here

Part six here

Your POV

Your holiday had initially filled you with dread but when you were forced to leave the Ember Islands you were very sad. It had turned into one of the best experiences of your life. You felt like you were walking on air, just looking at Azula made you smile and feel fuzzy. Her blush every time you made eye contact told you she felt similarly.

Even when you returned to the fire nation that didn't go away precisely because Azula was there. She was beside you and that made you happy. 

Azula had evidently listened to your concerns too. She’s paid attention to your comment about treating other people poorly and you noticed her behaviour changing. She didn’t start braiding daisy chains for her workers but she did treat them properly. She thanked the guards who escorted you to training, she nodded to maids as they opened the doors for her, said please before asking for certain weapons and didn’t yell if they made mistakes. You smiled noticing how the servants stared when she said something resembling a compliment and felt your feelings for her grow more. She was really trying to address the concerns you had and you liked her even more for that.

Azula also meant to keep her promise about finding more moments alone. You of course had you sparring sessions but they were too exposed and public for either of you to openly express your feelings. So Azula put her sneaky calculating talents to good use and came up with many excuses to get you alone in private locations. The first week it had been an airship inspection, followed by a crucial mission to find earth nation clothes the next week. This week it was the excuse of extra tutor sessions. Azula claimed with the upcoming eclipse she needed to speed up your education and so evening sessions were now a part of your life. Not much learning went on in them of course and that was why they were your favourite part of your day.

On time for one of said sessions your guards stopped outside Azula’s door and knocked. Azula’s maid opened the door and bowed “princess”. “Let her in” Azula called and the woman moved out of the way. “Thank you, you may leave” Azula told your guards “we do not know how long we will be studying, we have a lot to get through tonight”. You managed not to smirk as Azula said that and the guards filled out. “Princess shall I fetch the food?” the maid asked and Azula nodded her head. “Food?” you asked and Azula blushed “we need sustenance for studying so I arranged with the kitchen to have a meal prepared”. The maid returned soon afterwards and she opened up a tray to reveal your favourite earth kingdom food. “These are cabbage noodles and those are wagashi pastries for dessert!” you cried spotting the foods of your nation “but how did you...?”. “Honuh has spent some time in the fire nation colonies in the earth kingdom and so she knew some recipes” Azula explained. You paused before realising the name of Azula’s maid’s was Honuh, fire nation nobility and especially royals never called servants or maids by their first names. That was reserved for people they respected or maybe a high ranking guard but never a server. You smiled at Azula’s gesture and Honuh herself seemed stunned. She stared at Azula before lowering her head. “That was very kind thank you both” you smiled and Honuh blushed “it was my pleasure princess, would you like me to leave now princess?” she asked turning back to Azula who nodded. “Yes and thank you for all your work it has been greatly appreciated”. The maid stuttered in shock and seemed unsure if she should bow and leave or thank Azula again. Azula simply smiled “you are dismissed Honuh” she said gently and the maid flushed “thank you princess, good night” and she bowed deeply before leaving. 

Azula closed the door behind her and you looked from the table Azula had set up, candles and all, to her behaviour recently and followed her. The second she turned around you ambushed her kissing her and Azula kissed you back just as fiercely. When you separated Azula gasped for breath "What was that for?" she asked and you smirked. "I’ve just noticed everything you’ve been doing lately and I wanted to show my appreciation". Azula looked down "well I told you I didn’t want to upset you didn’t I?". "You did" you nodded and Azula nodded “and so if being polite and respectful to the staff is important to you then it’s important to me too”. You smiled and stared at Azula intensely “it is and you are as well”. Azula blushed even more and looked away “we should eat...the food will get cold otherwise”. “Sure if that’s what you want to do right now when we’re all alone....then sure”. Azula’s eyes flicked up to yours and you laughed as she grabbed hold of you “the food can wait”. 

It turned out the food tasted good even cold. You brought the food to Azula’s bed and ate it from the comfy silk sheets still wrapped together. “You know I usually hate any other nation’s cuisine but this tastes nice”. You rolled your eyes “why am I not surprised that you’re a fussy eater?”. “I’m not fussy! I just know what I want”. ”Um hmm” you nodded “that’s it you’re not fussy at all” you smirked sarcastically and Azula laughed. “I’m not! Take it back”. “Never” you smiled and Azula fixed you with a determined look. “Take it back” Azula cried launching herself at you and you shrieked “Azula you’re spilling food!”. “I don’t care take back your slander” she cried as she struggled to keep a hold of your arms. You eventually gave up fighting and let Azula pin you down both of you panting and laughing. “Fine, you win okay? I take it back of course you’re not a fussy eater”. Azula smiled smugly “thank you for admitting you were wrong”. “For you anything” you smiled and Azula blushed. “Shut up” she said smiling and leant down to kiss you. You smiled “stop talking about how great you are? You know you love it”. “I do” she admitted and kissed you harder making you smile against her. 

You were both so wrapped up in the moment you didn’t hear the soft knock or the door opening. You heard something smash and you stopped. You both slowly looked towards the door and saw Honuh stood there gaping. Azula must not have locked the door properly and the maid Honuh had gotten in and caught you together in a very compromising position. Neither of you moved not wanting to startle her but it didn’t matter, Honuh shrieked and ran from the room. “No” Azula yelled springing up before realising she was very very undressed. Azula grabbed a robe and you grabbed your clothes. “Azula what if she...”. “I’ll catch her and stop her” Azula told you “just stay here i’’ll be right back!” she cried rushing to the door but it opened as she got there. Ozai appeared and he had the crying maid in a tight painful grip. He scanned the room from the bed to the state of you and Azula and his eyes narrowed “I heard a cry and found this woman blabbering about the princesses doing unspeakable things....” he said coldly “I never thought she would be telling the truth”. “Father I....we can explain!”. “Silence” Ozai yelled his calm composure gone. “Guards” he yelled and fire nation guards appeared. “Take the earth princess and lock her in her room until I say not to, make sure the dai li are allowed nowhere near her and don’t let anyone in, understand?”. The guards nodded and looked to you but you didn’t move. “What...what will you do to her?” you asked not wanting to leave Azula alone with him. “That is of no concern to you” Ozai spat “that is between my daughter and me, leave now”. When you didn’t move Ozai yelled “go” but you still wouldn’t move. “Y/n it’s okay go” Azula said softly and Ozai glared “did I say you could speak?”. Azula lowered her head and you glared. “If she will not go then there is only one thing to do, grab her”. 

You were dragged kicking and screaming from the room by the guards. Azula tried to tell you to stop but Ozai started yelling at her and that made you even angrier which made the whole situation even worse. It only stopped when the guards managed to get you out of the room and down into your own. They threw you inside and locked the door behind you. You kicked and attacked the door but it was too strong to break down. You cursed the palace for being made of anything but earth and sat down utterly helpless in the centre of your room.

You didn’t hear anything all night. You’d tried listening for noise outside your door but nothing. The day was the same, one meal was thrown in but other than that nothing. So by the time the night came you were restless and terrified. The weather was cold and stormy and appeared to be just as miserable as you felt. You stared out of your window looking for a sign, a hint, anything that would tell you what Ozai was doing. You were exhausted but there was no way you could sleep or eat, you had to be ready for whenever Ozai came for you but it was Azula who appeared first. 

You’d fallen into an uneasy fitful sleep in an awkward position by the window and were awoken by a tapping noise. You jumped in surprise to see Azula’s face on the other side but quickly overcame your shock. You rushed to open the window and she fell inside. She was freezing from the rain and cold but you weren’t sure if that was why she was shaking. You wrapped a blanket around her and pulled her to the fire “i’m so happy to see you I haven’t heard anything this whole time! I worried that he’d....how bad is it?”. Azula shivered despite the blanket and you knew it was bad when she wouldn’t answer you “Azula?”. “It’s not good y/n” she sniffed “I can’t stay long in case my father finds us if he does....I managed to talk him down from the punishment he had planned and he’ll hold up his promise not to harm us as long as we both comply with his demands”. You froze “which are?”. “Straight after the eclipse I will be married off to some nobleman and removed from the palace, you will marry Zuko and stay here. We won’t ever see each other again but we’ll live”. “What no” you said confused “that’s ridiculous, how can he expect us to...”. “He can demand anything of us y/n! He can have us killed for what we did, homosexuality was made illegal when my grandfather firelord Sozin decided it went against fire nation ideals” she sighed “this is the best case scenario y/n! Do you think I’d agree to this if it wasn’t”? she cried her voice breaking. Azula looked away from you and wrapped the blanket around herself tighter. A tear slipped down her cheek and you realised with a startling realisation that she was utterly terrified. Azula, the girl who was so headstrong and confident she’d conquered the greatest city in the earth empire, had been broken. Her father had finally made her snap and it made you want to scream in anger and sadness seeing her like this. You couldn’t believe she had no fight in her but the longer you watched her the more certain it seemed. You saw the way she held her arm close to her body protectively and wondered what Ozai had done to her. Her face was swelled slightly and you felt anger rage inside you as the realisation of what Ozai had done to his daughter flooded into you. “Azula your cheek and arm...you’re in pain” you said reaching to touch her and she pulled away “it’s fine I...shouldn’t have argued”. “Azula you didn’t do anything wrong I....” Azula started to cry and you lost your train of thought. You grabbed Azula and bundled her into you and she obligingly clung to you. “I’m sorry y/n” she sniffed “I tried I really did but this is the best I could achieve”. You shook your head “you have nothing to be sorry for and this is not over, I won’t let him take you”. Azula looked up at you “what do you mean...y/n we can’t do anything he’s the firelord”. “And what are we nobodies? You are the strongest firebending prodigy in decades and I was trained by assassins since I was 7, your father doesn’t stand a chance”.

You’d hoped that would awaken some fight in Azula but it only seemed to make her angry. Azula wrenched herself out of your arms and grabbed yours tightly forcing you to look at her. “What is wrong with you?” Azula asked “you’re talking like a fool”. “No I’m not, we can do this Azula, we don’t have to do as he says”. “Why won’t you listen?” Azula cried “He is the firelord y/n! He can kill us legally and everyone will support him. This foolish notion of fighting, of refusing his decision will get us both killed. Do you understand that?”. “Yes but it doesn’t change my mind” you said and Azula groaned in frustration “then why can’t you just let it go? Why can’t you just let us go?”. “Because i love you!” you cried and Azula paused “you...you what?”. “I’m in love with you” you said laughing at how good it felt to say “I’ve never felt this way about anyone and I know I won’t about anyone else and so I don’t care what Ozai tries, I won’t let him take you away from me, I refuse to let him hurt you ever again”. Azula relaxed her grip on your tunic and looked down in thought. You figured it’d be really awkward if she just rejected you and as she turned away you wondered if that was happening. “Azula?”. She didn’t reply her back fully facing you. “Okay now you’re worrying me please just say anything”. The silence stretched on and when Azula did speak it made you jump. “If we’re to stay together then we have to escape” Azula said suddenly spinning around “with the eclipse coming up the timing will be perfect there will be so much chaos we can slip away unnoticed, of course we’ll need help but i’m sure your dai li won’t mind that...Mai and Ty lee will aid us too of course, we’ll need an airship but I can get one of those easily now all we have to do is plan it”. “Plan what?” you asked and Azula focused on you “our running away together”. Azula smiled and you felt yourself sag with relief “so I...I didn’t totally humiliate myself by telling you I love you?”. Azula shook her head blushing “no you actually just made me remember who I was and why I deserve better, you made me want to fight because I love you too”. You grinned and kissed Azula swiftly. Azula smiled and let you take the lead simply following your energy and excitement. When you finally separated you were only confused by one detail “but where are we running away to?”. Azula smiled “that’s the great thing about us both being princesses...if my city isn’t safe anymore we can just reclaim yours, we’re taking back Ba Sing Sei”.

_____

Next parts the last one!!! 

[thebestworstidea]

The Green Knight’s Lady (4)

Sequel fic to “The Witch and the Green Knight” (on Ao3)

Warnings: undeserved redemption arc, graphic imagery and as of this chapter violence against minors.

Chapter 1: In which Rowan has Unexpected House Guests

Chapter 2: In Which They Try to Figure Out What the Hell is Going On

Chapter 3: In Which Remus and Rowan’s Stupidity Escalates to Treason (sort of)

>-<>-< ——————-<>——————- >-<>-<

Chapter 4: In Which Life is Difficult

>-<>-< ——————-<>——————- >-<>-<

     The winter waned in a sloppy miserable way, kicking out with a few snowstorms like the flailing of a dying animal. Despite not really being bothered by the cold, D.N. practically hibernated, most often found in a window seat in the library, going through Rowan’s Mother’s books and being snarky about bad information about fairies. Rowan was fairly sure it was just a way to safely lash out. She dug out an old laptop and gave him access to the Netflix account. If nothing else it kept him distracted. Something Rowan had learned was that the fair folk did, as legend said, love stories. 

And apparently, soap operas and romcoms.

Like herself, Remus seemed out of sorts in the late winter, though more in the way of someone who had woken up long before they wanted to. He’d gone into the woods and returned dressed in his more normal attire, also having brought back a few changes of clothing that was closer to D.N.’s size, and of a finer make than anything in the Baker house, despite Rowan’s sister’s cautious attempt to find a fabric the fae child would like. For the most part, the rest of Rowan’s family treated D.N. with cautious courtesy, and a certain level of ‘not be alone in a room with him’. Remus, by contrast, was treated more as a benign nuisance, though not without kindness.  Frankly, that was more understandable than Rowan’s blase attitude. That didn’t stop a certain level of speculation as to why ‘Leif’ and his friend were staying with them.

     “I’ve figured it out!” 

Rowan balled a pair of socks and tossed it in her sister’s basket across the table. They were sorting the laundry by owner, and Rowan had made it her mission to find as many pairs of socks as she could. 

“Figured what out?” 

“What’s going on with Leif and the kid!” 

“Have you now?” Rowan said dryly and a little nervously. Her sister nodded. 

“It’s pretty obvious if you think about it. The kid is the spawn of the last fairy king.”

“What.” 

“Look, it’s obvious that Leif served him, right? And we know he’s dead. So then Leif disappears for months and reappears with a kid? With scales? We know that Leif’s traveled outside Wickhills before- so clearly he knew where the kid was, maybe he was even the one who took him away, probably more of a Cronos eating his kids thing than a Arthur sent into hiding thing, and now he brought him back.” She pursed her lips. “You know, I bet Leif can change genders like a frog.”

Rowan started laughing. 

“Leif might even be the mother-” she went on. 

“Definitely not.” Rowan choked. 

“But he is related. I’ve connected the dots.” she said smugly.

“You haven’t connected shit.” Rowan retorted throwing a pair of pants at her.

“I’ve connected them.”

     As spring burgeoned forth, Remus agitated with the need to leave the house. It was clear he wasn’t used to staying in one place, even for a few weeks like this. Rowan could always tell when Remus had gone wandering in the night, because D.N. didn’t come down from the attic until he’d come back. It wasn’t as if D.N. was avoiding his so-called hosts, so much as he was totally avoiding the humans in the house as much as possible as if by pretending they weren’t there he could pretend none of this was happening. 

When spring officially arrived Rowan made them clothing, a shirt of heavy green broadcloth for Remus, and a more delicate shirt of the finest white linen she had for D.N. The shirt he generally wore was made of undyed silk, and Rowan feared that the substance had come from the shroud- or rather bag- she’d sewn for the bones of the Serpent King. It was tricky to give them, as D.N. certainly wanted no gifts from her, and Remus wanted to gift her in return. But it was simply tradition, that for the first day of spring everyone had a new garment. So her green brother and erstwhile guest needed something new too, for luck. Honestly, Rowan thought he could probably use all the luck he could get.

     It was a fine warm day in mid April, when leaves were finally starting to show, and only the most stubborn bits of snow were sticking around in the darkest shadows, when Rowan was working in her garden.

“Little tree! You’re wearing pants!” 

The whippy rose vine Rowan had been arguing with slipped out of her hand as the twist tie sprang from her other, and she took the momentary break to glare at Remus, who had appeared in her personal bubble with no warning whatsoever.

“I wear pants all the time.” she retorted, giving him a half hearted shove. 

“Yeah, but usually you have dresses over ‘em.” theatrically, he collapsed to the scrubby grass outside the garden and sprawled in the sun. 

“Well, I learned that arguing with rose bushes in a dress doesn’t end well for the dress.” She grabbed hold again with her gloved hand, and pulled a fresh tie out of her apron pocket, lashing the thorny vine to the wrought iron trellis that kept most fae out of her garden. They could, in theory, pass under the iron arbor that faced the wood, wreathed as it was in plants, but until Remus it hadn’t been much of a problem. “How are you doing?” she asked quietly. He was looking better. He’d been kind of wan, a sickly sort of green rather than his normal healthy hue like a ripening acorn. 

“Starting to feel my oats.” He responded, tipping his face into the sun. “It’s a good spring. I’d say that spring was happy about something.” in the distance, a door opened and closed.

“Seasons do seem to have emotions.” She agreed, and had to step delicately over him to get to the next bush, pulling clippers from her pocket and studying the bush thoughtfully, before pruning a few branches, and returning to tucking them in safely so they wouldn’t grab passers by too badly.  That done she carried the trimmed branches away. D.N. emerged from the widdershins side of the house, having exited the front door and walked so he didn’t have to pass the rowan tree, even if he could do so under the protection of the porch. He glared down at Remus with frustration. 

“What are you doing?” he demanded.

“Having a kip?” Remus suggested, as Rowan stepped over him again to get back to the rose bushes. 

“You should tell me as soon as you come back from the forest.” he said grouchily, not making eye contact. 

“Well, not much is going on, so there’s nothing to tell you.” Remus shrugged. 

“That’s good right?” Rowan asked. 

“A secret unsaid is a secret kept.” D.N. muttered, not addressing Rowan at all. “What are you doing out there anyway?” 

“Favors.” Remus sighed. “So many favors. I’m not exactly a favorite right now. People don’t want me to do favors for them, but I need the currency. Also fixing up my house.” he rubbed his hands over his face. “It’s kind of out of the way, so it might be safe enough. It’s nice enough to visit with my little tree, but…”

“We can’t stay here forever.” D.N. agreed. “It buzzes.” 

“Yeah.” Remus nodded. “So I’ve got some improvements to make, and gotta reassert my territory. No one got near the tree, but I don’t have much around it.” he clicked his tongue “Fun and all, but I’m in a hurry.”  he made a kissy face at them both. “But I’ll always hurry back to you.” 

Rowan snorted, and D.N. rolled his eyes. He crossed his arms and cocked his hip, glaring down at the green-clad fae. 

“I’m sure whatever you stay in is better than this.”

“Hey, owch. It’s a good house. We finally got the roof fixed last year.” Rowan glared, waving her clippers at him. D.N. leaned away. 

“Well it’s hardly the hovel I’ve seen other witches live in,” he sneered at the Victorian style house. “But it isn’t anywhere I would choose to stay.” 

“Sorry for not being a magical house.”

“Oh it’s full of magic alright. Human magic, thick and inelegant, like mud on the bottom of a pond.”

“I like mud.” Remus commented, popping up and bracing himself upright on his hands. Rowan noticed that his knuckles were reddened and split. Putting her clippers away again, she dug into her other pocket, coming up with a small, shallow clay pot, closed with a wide cork. She crouched down and grabbed one hand, dabbing the ointment onto the wounds. Remus obligingly offered his other hand when she was done. 

“Why was this in your pocket?”

“It’s better to get the ointment on big jabs right away, and I’m doing lawn work.” she shrugged, and went back to her work. 

After a while, Rowan finished her discussion with the rosebushes, and headed back inside without saying anything. Shortly after that, a car drove up hidden by the bulk of the house. Another short while later, it drove away again. Rowan returned to her garden, hooking her apron over her head again.

“Bloody busy-body is what she is.” Rowan grumbled to herself. “No need to come by every time, her tea hasn’t changed in over a year, if I wanted everyone coming by and bothering me all the time I’d start up a tea room in town and read palms and cards. It’s what I get for being helpful and offering to do a unique blend.” 

“Can you tell the future?” Remus asked, popping up on the other side of the hedge wall of rose bushes, making Rowan yelp and clutch her rake. 

“Like the weather.” She retorted. “Which is to say, not really worth anything.” 

“You’re a useless kind of witch, aren’t you?” sniffed D.N. who had taken up a seat in an Adirondack style chair they had acquired somewhere, and everyone in the Baker family hated, which is why it wasn’t on the porch.

“Yeah, kind of.” she didn’t rise to the bait, and watched him stare at the woods. “You could go, you know.”

“What?”

“Nothing’s keeping you here if you wanted to leave.”

“Little tree-” Remus said, sounding hurt. 

“Not you, you’re welcome any time. And for that matter, if he wants to go for a bit and come back, that’s fine.”

“I can’t actually. I have to ‘stay here’ until further notice.” 

“Oh right. Fairy parole officer.” Rowan sighed. “Well you could probably get as far as the property line, or where our ‘official’ lot meets up with the woods.”

“It isn’t as if I’m desperate to wander in the woodlands, Witch, I just don’t want to be here. At all.”

“Boy, do I hear that.”  she sighed deeply, pausing to look into the woods herself. The small leaves were misting the tips of the trees with color, and there was a smell of wet and rot in the air. It looked like a storm was building in the west.  It would probably hit the before nightfall, gathering the dark in the clouds and making the night come that much faster in the growing spring day. Better to get her gardening done before it hit, so she’d only have to repair the damage it did, not do that and the maintenance. The plants were being especially springy this year, and she was tempted to put this down to Remus’s presence. 

D.N. continued to watch her, as though she was some sort of reality TV show, while Remus sprawled in the scrubby grass next to his chair. 

When the first cold wet gust hit, all three of them headed inside.

     The storm was really having fun, so they were in Rowan’s room instead of the loft. Remus liked to hang out with both of them, so Rowan coming to work on whatever she was doing -some sort of project involving embroidery floss at the moment- and sit with Remus while Remus would root through her work basket, or bring out a pouch and do something himself- embroidery, or sharpening knives, occasionally woodcarving. Sometimes he’d sit behind Rowan and brush or play with her hair, braiding it into elaborate arrangements that she’d have to ask for help to undo.

Sometimes Danger Noodle would use Remus as a cushion or a backrest as if he was staking his claim. That night however, he’d pulled the beat up floral armchair Rowan kept next to one of her windows to a different window (further away from the dancing limbs of the rowan tree) and settled down with a book.

Rowan noticed that he would raise his hand and rub the back of his neck occasionally as if it were hurting. She nudged Remus’s leg and inclined her head at D.N. He shrugged.

“Are you in pain somehow?” Rowan asked, startling him into dropping his book.

“Kindly mind your own business.” Danger Noodle sneered. 

“Are you cold?” Remus asked. “You do-” he rubbed the back of his neck “lots.” 

D.N. growled under his breath, picking the book up. 

“It isn’t important.” He told them. 

“But it is a thing.”

“You never used to.”

He sighed, explosively. “Are you two going to leave me alone about this?”

“Well now I’m curious.” Rowan admitted tipping her head with a smile on her face that reminded D.N. far too much of Remus’s mischievous expression. If it weren’t for her obvious humanity, he would think they were siblings. “If you’re cold, I could get you a blanket, is all.” 

“I’m not cold.” he rolled his eyes. “I’m a winter.”

She looked unimpressed. “So what’s with the lounging in sunbeams?” 

Danger Noodle sneered at her, scales glinting in the lamplight. 

“It's just a feeling.  It’s like a cold hand on the back of my neck, it’s not squeezing but it’s there.” D.N. spread his fingers over the back of his neck.  “Like something’s watching me, constantly.” 

“Huh.” Remus and Rowan said in unison, heads tipping to the side. Danger Noodle glared, there was no way they weren’t doing that on purpose. 

“Might be something?” Remus asked thoughtfully, looking at the corners of the room. 

“I’d want to keep an eye on him, if it were me.” Rowan admitted. 

D.N. sighed again, exasperated, then Remus perked up digging in one of the many pockets inside his vest.  After a search he came up with a bag, tied firmly shut with cord. He climbed off the bed and went to kneel next to the armchair instead. 

“I made this for you.” Remus opened the intricately tied knot, and from inside the bag, produced a scarf. It looked like heavy silk of some sort, dyed a beautiful saffron yellow, covered in single-thread embroidery. Vines twisted and twined along it, with a snake hidden among them.  D.N. stared at it for a long moment, then recoiled. 

“Are you out of your mind? Wait, never mind I retract the question.” 

“I made it for you a while ago but…” Remus admitted. “You wouldn’t have taken it.”

“I’m not taking it now.” He stood up, tossing the book on the chair. “What makes you think I would even want it?” 

“You’re not as strong now-” 

Danger Noodle hissed, flashing sharp teeth, pupils narrow. 

“-so I’m going to protect you until you’re stronger.” Remus finished as if  he hadn’t just been threatened. 

“I am still stronger than you.” the young fae said disdainfully, drawing himself up to his full, unimpressive height.

“Are you though?” Rowan asked, setting her project down and watching them. 

“I am certainly more powerful than you.” 

“Oh, that’s not even a question.” 

“So what this looks like is Remus is offering you his favor to wear, showing that you’re his...  I’m going to say ‘ward’, because you’re a kid.”

“I am not a kid!” D.N. retorted, stamping his foot like a child. 

“And therefore under his protection. Displaying a connection.” 

“It’s a little more complicated than that, but yeah.” Remus agreed. 

“Which is why I’m not interested.” 

“I don’t have to give you an oath to give you my favor.” Remus pointed out, he just stared up at Danger Noodle entreatingly.  The room was silent except for the storm outside, and the faint sound of someone watching a movie elsewhere in the house. D.N. rubbed the back of his neck again, and Rowan shivered, like a gust of cold air had made it through the window. Her eyes shut and she saw dead branches against a milky sky. Blinking the vision away, she got to see D.N. throw his hands in the air. 

“Uugh enough with the eyes. Fine. I’ll take it, but it doesn’t mean anything.” He accepted the scarf and looped it around his neck, spreading the folds upward to the base of his hair. 

“It means you’re wearing something I made you.” Remus pointed out and rose up, gathering Danger Noodle into a hug, to which he submitted, to Rowan’s surprise. “Which makes me happy.” 

“Mmgnh. Fuck off.” D.N. mumbled, face pressed to Remus’s bicep. 

Rowan decided not to comment on how cute it was.

[nalgenewhore]

With My Life - Chapter Three 

masterlist - ao3 - last chapter - next chapter 

warnings:  (all graphic) violence, gun violence, blood, smut, implied PTSD

an: it’s just....sad 😔

Elide woke up on the large couch in Lorcan’s living room. She’d been sleeping there for the past three days - Rowan told her to stay here. To take her time. 

She didn’t deserve it. 

Who was she to mourn a man she thought of as stress relief? Who was she to mourn a man she’d known for… not even a year? Just because she loved him- that didn’t mean anything. Didn’t give her the right to grieve for him. 

She couldn’t bear to sleep in his bed, the one they had shared for such a precious amount of time, so she opted for the plush couch, which, despite its luxury, was still uncomfortable. Elide wished she could, just to be wrapped up in his sheets, but her heart had cracked the moment she’d stepped foot in and Rowan had found her hours later, shaking on the threshold of his bedroom.

It took more energy than usual for Elide to get to her feet and shuffle into the kitchen, body and mind on autopilot as she made her daily tea. 

The burial today. Rowan and Vaughan had managed to find an Ozuye healer to conduct the rituals, per Lorcan’s people and heritage. 

There was no body. In the mugging gone wrong, he’d been brutalized so badly that… there wasn’t a body to bury. 

Her chest heaved at the thought of the man she loved being hurt that badly. That he had died alone and in pain without knowing she loved him. 

Everything tasted like ash in her mouth. Her tea, her porridge, the fresh fruit Darrow had sent her from his peach tree. She could only eat three bites before her stomach was full and she had to dump it all in the green bin, hugging her stomach and trying not to cry. 

The oven clock told her she had just under two hours till the service, which meant she had just enough time to have a shower and make herself look presentable. 

She opted to use the downstairs bathroom and after, she didn’t have enough strength to ignore Lorcan’s thick bathrobe and donned it, wrapping the belt twice around her waist before tying a neat knot. It smelled like his cedar shampoo and like the sweetgrass and white sage he smudged with. It almost felt like his arms around her and Elide found it in herself to smile softly, pulling the soft collar up to her face and burying her nose in the fluffy material, inhaling his scent. “I miss you,” she whispered, kissing the collar once. 

Elide padded back out into the living room, undoing her hair clip and letting her hair fall free just as someone knocked on the door. Panic seized her and she had to remind herself that Rowan and Connall had already told her, that Lorcan was already dead. 

Still, her heart remained in her throat as she walked over to the door and opened it, protecting herself by remaining half hidden by the door. 

It was Aelin, who stood there with a bag of clothes. “Ellie, hi.” 

“Hi, Ae.” She stood to the side and opened the door more fully, letting Aelin in. “What have you got?” She looked down the hallway and saw Nehemia bustling with a tray of coffees and a parchment pastry bag. 

“Oh,” the golden haired woman said, flipping her hand dismissively, “Ro told me you hadn’t been home and I figured you didn’t have any clothes here so I popped by your place.” Aelin hadn’t stopped moving after she put down the near bursting bag. She was flitting over everything, touching every surface and running her finger over the edge of the bookcase, frowning at the non existent dust. “There’s a nice dress - go put it on, sweetheart, ok? Nehemia will get your hair fixed for you.” 

The door shut and Elide turned to see Nehemia, whose eyes were filled with barely concealed grief. “Elide, honey. Did you eat today?” 

“Wasn’t hungry,” she said. She still wasn’t, but Elide knew better to say no to Nehemia as the dark skinned woman pressed a pain au chocolat and an iced latte in her hand. 

“I made sure it was iced,” Nehemia said, putting the coffee and other pastries down on the kitchen counter and then smoothing the skirt of her knee length sheath dress, its black sleeves going down to her wrists. The ends of her signature cornrows were twisted into a bun at the nape of her neck, no golden cuffs adorning them today. 

“Thank you,” Elide said, sipping from her coffee and taking a bite of her croissant. She took another and another when the two women gave her pointed looks. She looked down at her hands, “Really, I don’t deserve it. Me and him… we were never really anything serious, but I- I loved him. I love him.” 

They both smiled sadly and approached her, hugging her carefully to avoid upending her breakfast. Nehemia cupped the back of her head while Aelin’s arms wrapped around her waist. 

“We know,” whispered Aelin, resting her cheek on Elide’s shoulder. “Ohitekah, he… you know.” Per what Vaughan had told them, the deceased’s given name was never to be used again, for they feared his soul and being would never be able to cross over to the next plane. Vaughan had shared Lorcan’s second name with her first and Elide hadn’t been able to help her tears when he told her it meant brave and war-like. 

She cried, feeling the two of them take the coffee and the pastry from her hands and putting them elsewhere. “It’s ok, we’ve got you,” Nehemia said, kissing the top of Elide’s head. “We got you.” 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

It took a little convincing to let Aelin let her drive herself, but Elide managed it. She needed the calming effect of driving, just her, the car, and the road. 

She took his Aston Martin over her Jeep Wrangler, feeling him in the sleek leather interior, feeling the warmth of his hands when she gripped the steering wheel and pulled out of the parking garage just behind Aelin’s car. 

The rain pattered onto the windshield and Elide thought the weather was fitting today. 

The cemetery was fifteen minutes outside of the city and it only took five for a sinister voice in Elide’s mind to whisper vicious, hateful things. 

You never cared about him. You only loved him when he died. You’re selfish - going to his memorial service and disrupting his hurting family is selfish.  

Elide drove on, trying desperately to keep her tears at bay as she pulled into the parking lot, parking away from everyone else. Maybe she shouldn’t have taken his car, maybe one of the boys would like it… Fenrys. Maybe Fenrys would want it. She should ask him. 

After a few minutes of waiting, Elide opened the door and opened her umbrella, putting it over her head and walking over the gravel to the small, quaint and intimate graveyard. 

She unlatched the gate and looked up, realizing the service had already begun and she was late. Fuck, what was wrong with her? Why was she even here? Nobody asked her to, nobody invited her. 

Anneith above, this was so rude, but she couldn’t exactly go back, certainly not when Rowan spotted her and nodded his head once, then turned back to the priestess. Elide looked past the line of black clad mourners and saw a bundle - the ashes of some of his most prized possessions so he could have him wherever he went - dressed in beautiful fabric, the beadwork to die for. 

She thought about taking a step forward but stopped herself and stood beneath a tree. Elide watched, with misty eyes until the last requirements had been done and what remained of the man she knew had been buried. 

Slowly, slowly people started to walk away, huddled together underneath umbrellas. It looked like Aelin was tucked into Rowan’s side, but, really, the blonde woman was shoring her husband up. 

Nehemia had her hand tucked into Fenrys’ elbow and held onto Vaughan’s hand, squeezing it and smiling softly at the two of them. Connall brought up the rear, hands in pockets and head hanging low. 

Rowan spotted her first and offered a slight smile. “Elide,” he said, his voice low and rolling, his strong burr running over his words, “I’m glad you came.” 

“I- I’m sorry I did. I know I probably shouldn’t have, but–” 

Rowan hugged her tightly, waiting until Elide tentatively wrapped hers around his waist. “He wanted you to be here. You’re family, Elide.” He pulled away and gave her a slightly grief-strained, but supportive, smile. 

She was passed off to Aelin, who wiped her tears away and kissed her brow, “I won’t be there this afternoon ‘cause I have dress rehearsal, ok? But me and Nehemia will come over tonight, if you want.” Aelin was a concert pianist for the Wendlyn Opera Company and the spring show would be starting in a week. 

Elide looked at her in confusion, “What’s happening this afternoon?” Aelin gave her a quizzical glance and looked up at her husband, her question dying on her lips as Rowan subtly shook his head twice. Repeating herself, Elide stared directly into Rowan’s eyes, making it impossible for him to look away. “Rowan, what’s happening this afternoon?” 

Everyone else suddenly found other places to be as Rowan sighed and toyed with the cuff of his suit jacket. “They’re reading the will. Ohitekah… his lawyer called this morning to say that you needed to be there.” 

The ground was falling out from beneath her feet and Elide blinked slowly, not quite sure she’d heard him correctly. “Wh, why would I need to be there, Rowan?” 

“I don’t know, Ellie. All I know is that you’re named in his will so… you need to be at the reading.” 

Elide nodded dumbly, her mind reeling. “O… kay. Ok. Um, yeah, yeah, I’ll- uh, I’ll drive there - where, where is the office?” 

Rowan gently took the keys from her and passed them off to someone else, Elide wasn’t sure who. “I’ll drive. C’mon, we’re gonna be late.” 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

When they got to the office, Rowan offered Elide one of the chairs before the sleek, glass desk as they waited for Lorcan’s lawyer. The others sat on the couches placed around the large room. 

They sat in silence, all fiddling with something. Elide chewed on the inside of her cheek, knowing it would sting later when she ate anything and not caring enough to stop. The door opened and she didn’t turn as she heard the click of heels approach the desk. 

A beautiful woman with moon-white hair sat down on the opposite side and placed a slim envelope on the deak. “Hello, my name is Manon and I had the utter delight of being Mr. Salvaterre’s lawyer,” she said, her voice low and sultry. 

Manon looked to Elide and her burnished, golden eyes pinned Elide to her seat. “You must be Elide.” Her plush lips - painted a deep black - curled into a slight grin. 

“Yes, that’s me,” Elide said, tilting her chin up in semi-defiance and tracking her gaze over Manon’s face, catching the mild respect that flashed across her eyes. “I’m not sure why I’m supposed to be here.” 

“Ah, well,” Manon said, using a long, stiletto acrylic to slice open the top of the envelope, “I will tell you. Ohitekah’s affairs are all rather simple, I have to say. For a cold bastard like himself, I’d expect a bit of sadism, but alas.” Emotions flew across her breathtaking face and Elide was not shocked, though she wasn’t sure why, to see an echo of grief, a mirror of old familiarity. She could see why he chose Manon to be his lawyer and could see some sort of relationship beyond lawyer and client. “Are we all ready?” 

There were murmurs of assent and silently, Rowan reached over to squeeze Elide’s hand tightly. Elide didn’t look at him, but nodded slightly, assuring him she could handle it. “Yes.” 

“Alright then, let’s start.” 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

“Excuse me?” 

Manon looked up at Elide over the will, a manicured brow arched, “Yes?” 

Elide’s heart slammed against her chest and she floundered for words, opening and closing her mouth a comical amount of times. “I just- did you say I am…” 

“Mr. Salvaterre made it clear that he left his apartment, car and a portion of his estate to you.” 

“But I- we weren’t married.” 

“I am aware of that, as was my client. As it states, in no uncertain terms, this he left to you,” Manon said, passing over the paper and letting Elide read over it. 

Her eyes widened slightly as she read over the rather lengthy list of assets. It had all, save for a healthy portion that was hers, been split up between the boys. Nehemia and Aelin were also named individually and what was left had been dedicated to his tribe. “So I… I own his apartment. And his car. And this- this money is mine?” 

“Yes.” 

“Ok, um, I think,” Elide stood up, dropping the will back on the table, “I need a minute.” She walked backwards, startling as she bumped into the chair. “I’ll just be a minute.”

Rowan stood up as well and Elide threw her hand out, her chest rising and falling raggedly with her panicked breaths, “No, I need to be alone. I-I just need one moment.” 

She was not proud when she fled the office, her heels clacking loudly on the floors as she ran to the nearest stairwell. 

Elide slammed the doors open and dashed up the stairs, running up and up and up until she reached the roof. She slammed that door open too and slowed her running, the door clicking shut beside her as she leaned against the wall and slid down to the ground, her dress probably ruined by the rain and the dirty roof. 

Then, Elide sunk her head in her hands and cried.

+*+*+*+*+*+*

@mythicaitt @tinywolfofeyllwe @schmlip-scribble @the-regal-warrior @empire-of-wildfire @rhysands-highlady @ttakeitbacknoww @shyvioletcat @alifletcher2012 @tswaney17 @ourbooksuniverse @flora-and-fae @thesirenwashere @queenofxhearts @maastrash @mynewdreamwasyou @cursebreaker29 @empress-ofbloodshed @b00kworm @amren-courtofdreams @minaidss @superspiritfestival @lovemollywho @queen-of-glass @jlinez @sleeping-and-books @ireallyshouldsleeprn @verypaleninja @januarystears​

[oncexinxmyxdreams]

A Christmas Memory

This was a different Christmas Eve from all the past ones. Most of them had been without his father and it got worse after his mother passed away. Last year had been a new direction; learning to appreciate what he did have even if those bitter feelings tried to sneak upon him. Indeed, Peter wouldn’t forget Christmas of 1984 with it being the first one as a Ghostbuster. This one had gone unexpected. If someone had told Peter that’d his guilty conscience would convince him to fly over to Kokomo, Indiana and spend it with the illegitimate child he’d never known of until three months ago, he’d thought that person was insane. He’d even give a snarky comment to boot.

That was running through Peter’s mind as he leaned back on the couch in the cozy living room. After Ruth had encouraged him to not be formal and kick his shoes off, he’d finally hunkered down. He partially dug his socked feet between the cushions and stared out the window. Snowflakes dusted the pane, but he could see the warm glow of lights outside. He was trying to think over things, maybe face the emotions he’d shoved far back when meeting Ruth and Laurie. One of them about Claire and knowing she was sadly gone. Every time he remembered it, he felt a horrible and sickening chill in his heart.

“You alright dear?” asked Ruth. She was putting another log into the fireplace.

“I’m okay,” Peter answered with a small head turn and polite smile.  

“Ruth!” came the barking demand of Arnold from upstairs. “Ruth! Where’s my damn bottle opener?”

“You left it on the TV tray!” Ruth called up.

“Then bring it up woman! Do I have to do everything around this old shack?!”

With a sigh, Ruth picked up the bottle opener which had been left on an old TV tray in front of a rugged chair. It seemed like she wanted to converse with Peter, but her husband’s demands had to distract her. Arnold apparently had a tradition to have a couple of beers while watching the TV and would stumble off to his room with the newspaper. Not long after he settled down, he’d be demanding for another beer or like this time for the bottle opener. Peter wasn’t against having a beer himself, but he was disgusted by how Arnold behaved. There was no way he’d ever speak to a woman like that and he knew his limit before he got tipsy. Arnold didn’t seem to have any nice words to his wife. He didn’t even have a nice word to say about his grandchild! It wasn’t long before Peter could hear Arnold and Ruth debating over something. Thankfully, the radio was a bit louder and played classic carols.

“Sorry that man has to be your dad Claire,” Peter thought. “No wonder you had a hard time finding kind words about him.” Peter couldn’t forget when he and Claire were just friends and they opened about their lives. Revealing how she quit dance because of how hard he pushed her with little regard of her wellbeing had been shocking to hear. It was quite another to witness how Arnold was in person. Peter was right three years before telling Claire that they both got the short end of the stick when it came to families.

Now that he thought about, what happened for that Christmas? Peter remembered that he didn’t really spend Christmas with Claire that one year. She’d gone back to Kokomo for a week. She’d asked Peter to come with her, but he kept turning it down. It wasn’t only because of this negativity to the holiday, but it was his last year at Columbia University. It’d been exhausting from strenuous finals and tedious term papers. Peter spent half of Christmas catching up on sleep.

Not that he and Claire didn’t do something for the holidays. The day before she left, they went on a sweet date and exchanged gifts. She’d gotten him a new bomber jacket. Peter found her a pretty nightgown. He would’ve gotten her something more extravagant if it hadn’t been for Claire reminding him, she didn’t want anything. It’d taken Peter weeks to get an answer, but Claire finally admitted a new pair of pajamas was fine. She told him that with a little eyeroll and playful grin. Then again, that was Claire. She didn’t ask for things and was easily happy with what she already owned.  

They didn’t see each other again until Peter came to meet her at the airport as planned on December 27th…at 1:00 a.m. because of Claire’s overly delayed flight. Despite the icy weather and painfully early morning, neither of them felt fatigued. They overwhelmed each other with a strong hug-where Peter practically lifted her off the ground- and deep kissing. It went on with Claire “insisting” it was too late for him to go back to his dorm and Peter “insisting” she wasn’t going back to her apartment alone. What happened then? If Peter told anyone he would’ve left out the details, but he would’ve hinted that whatever happened was more than twice. “Another round” as Claire suggested for the term. It'd been weeks since their last round together so there was pent up energy for each other. Combining that along with the late prescription update on Claire’s birth control pill for her polycystic ovary syndrome, maybe it wasn’t a surprise Laurie existed.

“Figures,” sighed Peter. He was back to his core struggle: he was now a dad and he didn’t want to be.

It wasn’t that he hated Laurie. Of course not! That was the issue: Peter didn’t know how to feel about her. He was told that when a parent first sees their child, they instantly love them. He didn’t feel that at all! She was a stranger to him. Peter hated imagining what Ray, Winston, Janine or Egon would say if he was honest about it. He’d have to keep that secret to himself. He’d have to keep digging through the graveyard of emotions.    

He’d never really desired to get married or have a family of his own. He’d loved Claire and had serious relationships before, but even then, he couldn’t imagine anything further down the road. Besides, even though babies and kids were cute, they were a chore. Kids whined and threw tantrums. Babies cried, needed diapers changed and were always spitting up. He wouldn’t say he was the best with kids in general either. He still felt a pinch of guilt with what happened to Kenny Fenderman back in late spring. Yet whether he liked it or not, he was a dad.

“Ruth said I don’t have to be involved unless I want to,” he reminded himself. “Even Claire wrote in her journals she wouldn’t force me.” It was true. Even Arnold didn’t want Peter around, but that was due to his crass comments about Claire having slept with Peter. “So why am I here?” Peter asked himself again.

There was an answer to all this; there had to be. Somewhere buried deep down was the reason he reluctantly came out to Indiana. Even with being a psychologist, Peter sometimes had to deeply analyze himself.

Right on cue, he felt one of the cushions move and was distracted. It was Laurie. She dropped a thick book on the couch and then crawled up. She was still dressed pretty in her little red velvet dress; black mary jane’s and white tights. Seemed like it was staple to her wardrobe along with her still having a pacifier. She crawled upon the couch and wobbled over to Peter. Reflexively he held a hand up to balance her as she nearly stumbled, but she caught hold of his drawn-up knees. Her deep cornflower blue eyes sparkled, and he could see the creases of her smile behind her pacifier.    

“You trying to get away from the noise?” he said half-heartedly to her. When she looked puzzled, Peter gestured up to the ceiling where he could still hear faint arguing. She only copied him and grinned. Then she pointed at the window where the snow was falling at a quicker pace.

“Sho,” she said with her muffled voice. “Sho.”

“You’ve got a mouthful there Ankle Biter,” Peter snickered. “Take that out of your mouth.” He gently pried the pacifier from her lips. Cleary not bothered; Laurie spoke again.  “Sho. Pwetty.” She looked past him and pointed to the side table behind him. “Mama pwetty,” she added.

Peter glanced over his shoulder to the picture frame sitting on the edge. It was hard for him to see that beautiful face. Laurie tried crawling around him to reach for the frame, but nearly squished herself between Peter and the cushions. Hesitating, he twisted around to get it.

“You want this?” he said kindly as he handed it to her. Laurie still stood up and held the frame. She looked almost sad. It was a picture of Claire from last Christmas. She was sitting in front of the tree with Laurie in her lap. From what anyone could guess, the little girl knew Claire wasn’t coming back, but she didn’t understand why.  

“Mama,” Laurie repeated. Her tiny hand patted the picture. “Mama go.”  

“Yeah, she’s gone,” Peter empathized. “My mama’s gone too.”   

Laurie looked at him in such an odd way that Peter second guessed if she understood him. What she did next left him stunned. She crawled onto Peter’s lap and buried her face into his neck. Her little arms wrapped around him the best she could. Her hair was strong of her shampoo which smelled like cherry soda. After a pause, Peter gingerly wrapped one arm around her little figure. Laurie twisted around so she could look out the window but nuzzled her head under Peter’s chin.

“Sto-ee?” she asked.

“Story? Okay. What’s the book you brought?” Peter sensed if he flat out refused, Laurie may throw a fit. “You’ve got a real sense of humor,” he sighed when he realized what she brought. Of course, Laurie had brought up her copy of Peter Rabbit. (Laurie's book was a treasury of Beatrix Potter's stories.) He probably could’ve just recited the story since his mother used to read it to him when he was Laurie’s age. He read the familiar beginning:  

“Once upon a time there were four little rabbits, and their names were-Flopsy, Mopsy, Cottontail and Peter.”

The story continued exactly from what Peter could recall. Mrs. Rabbit told her children to not enter Mr. McGregor’s garden, but Peter Rabbit disobeyed, and he ate some vegetables in the garden: Mr. McGregor tried to catch him, and Peter Rabbit got lost in the garden: Peter Rabbit finally got out and was put to bed while his siblings had bread, milk and blackberries for supper.

“What a shock its still the same after twenty years,” Peter said cynically.

“Mice,” said Laurie. “Sto-ee of mice. Pwease!”

Peter bit his lip. Those pleading blue eyes gazed up to him and Laurie pouted. Cute kid, but she was clever enough to pull on heartstrings. Even her conflicted father couldn’t say no to her face.

“What story of the mice?” Peter quickly flipped a couple of pages to find the story.  He couldn’t remember any Beatrix Potter works that were only about mice. Much to his surprise, he found a page with a mouse wearing glasses and sitting on a spool of thread while reading a newspaper.  The story? The Tailor of Gloucester.

“That one,” Laurie announced.

Despite feeling a little tired, Peter continued reading. He found that he kind of liked reading to Laurie. Not to mention, he liked the new tale. It was centered around Christmas and a poor tailor was trying to finish a coat for a mayor’s wedding day. What fascinated Peter most was when the tailor’s cat went outside at night:  there was something about the atmosphere that was so magical it almost seemed believable. At least, believable after being a ghostbuster for almost two years. According to Beatrix Potter, between Christmas Eve and Christmas morning, all the beasts could talk though very few could understand them. Birds, rats, dogs, mice and even the cat spoke.    

While Peter was reading, Laurie’s eyelids drooped, and her eyelashes fluttered when she tried to stay awake. She was warm, comfy and best of all, safe while snuggled against Peter. The moment the last sentence was read, Laurie was asleep. Her breathing was gentle, and her tiny fingers unclenched. She looked so peaceful and sweet that Peter didn’t want to move. Instead, he glanced back out the window and tried analyzing his thoughts again.  

“I used to sit with Mom like this,” Peter recalled to himself. “I know Mom couldn’t afford a lot, but I know she tried.”  The very few Christmas memories he had included his mother, Lydia Venkman, sitting on the sofa with him while the TV blared the cheerful specials or when they watched the stars. She’d bake gingersnaps with maple icing and got a small tree for them. Best of all, she’d play in the snow with Peter, even start a snowball fight. At that young age, Peter didn’t know any other mother that played in the snow with her kids like his mom. All memories reminded him how much he missed her.

“Of all the times I could use your advice Mom, it’d be right now,” he sadly thought.

Despite how tough his childhood had been, his mom had been the warmest and brightest light in his dark world. When she passed from pneumonia, the light was extinguished. It wasn’t until the friendship of Egon and Ray that helped brighten things again. Claire, being one of his most steady girlfriends, brought more. Then Winston and Janine helped shape the rest. There wasn’t any need to add a daughter into the mix. No, that wasn’t fair. Laurie was in a similar position having lost her mom and now, she’d have to grow up with her dad far away…

Peter eyed the little girl again. He swallowed.    

“No. I can’t let that happen.”  

He wouldn’t see her every day, but she didn’t need to have a darkened world like he did. She could have those warm lights from Ruth, the neighbors, the ghosbusters and from him. Peter didn’t know and there was still plenty to evaluate, but at least he could commit to that.

The next thing Peter knew was that he’d awake that next morning, Christmas day, still on the couch. Laurie would still be cuddled against him. He didn’t know yet it’d be one of Laurie’s favorite memories when she got older, let alone the first memory she remembered was when she first met her dad.  

[mustangshelby04]

Boston Boy Chapter 1

A/N This is my first attempt at a Chris Evans Fanfic. I posted it over on another blog, but I was encouraged to post it on my blog, too. So, here goes! Be gentle with me.

Finally!

Kathleen looked around the airport as she pulled her luggage behind her.  After years of being a fan of the Patriots, she’d finally bought tickets to a game and was spending a week in Boston.  And even more exciting, she was doing it by herself.  She’d never travelled by herself before, so this was exciting and slightly terrifying.

It was mid morning on a Saturday and the airport wasn’t terribly busy.  The rental car terminal was practically deserted as she entered to pick up her rental car.  The people were friendly and the car was a newer Ford Fusion with the works inside. She plugged in the address of her hotel and made her way through the streets of Boston.  The last time she’d been to this city, it had been a horrible experience.  The Boston Marathon had been going on and they were in the middle of the “Great Dig”, so driving had been a nightmare.  This time, she was determined to enjoy every minute.

After getting checked in at her hotel in downtown with some minor difficulty since she was so early, she finally settled her bags in the room and began unpacking.  All she needed to do was get freshened up before she went out exploring.  It didn’t take her long.  She swept on some mascara and pulled her shoulder length blonde hair up into a ponytail before changing into jeans, knee high boots, and a sweater.  

It was late October, but the weather was unseasonably warm.  The city was just beginning to buzz with people starting their day.  The Patriots were playing tomorrow and most businesses had put out their Patriot pride paraphernalia.  She wouldn’t be attending that game, though.  Her tickets were for the Thursday night game against the Dolphins.  Her friend Lara was supposed to have come with her to the game, but she’d cancelled at the last minute.  It didn’t matter, though, she would be surrounded by fellow Pats fans.  Maybe she’d even make a new friend to give the extra ticket to.

Boston Common was less than a mile away from her hotel, so she set off on foot in that direction. The best part about this trip was that she had no plans beyond the football game.  She could come and go as she pleased.  Check out the sites, eat the food, and enjoy museums whenever she wanted.  There was no rush to be anywhere as she walked down the street towards the park.

The day passed quickly as she wandered the park and then explored the shops and eateries around Newbury Street.  The people she talked with were friendly and helpful.  They seemed to really love the fact that someone from Kentucky was such a huge fan of their football team.  A few people were very helpful on places to go to watch the game with fellow fans. By the time dinner time rolled around, she had a list going of places to eat at and things to see or do that weren’t tourist traps.

For dinner, she decided to get something simple and eat at the park.  She stretched out on a bench with her Kindle set to the third book in the Outlander series and started eating the PB&J she’d gotten from a little sandwich shop on Newbury Street.  People wandered by her and she smiled back at them if they looked her way.  The sunset made beautiful colors on the grass around her and she enjoyed the glow all the way into the dimness of evening.  

Finally the temperature dropped enough that she needed more than a sweater to stay warm. Deciding that was her cue to head back to the hotel, she turned off her Kindle and stood up.  Which was when she ran straight into a tall, bearded man with blue eyes.  She bounced off of him and lost her balance, falling straight back onto her backside and dropping her Kindle and purse.  The contents fell out and she moved quickly to stop a runaway Chapstick tube.

“I’m sorry.” She said as the man bent down to help her pick up her stuff.

“It’s ok.  I tried to catch you, but you bounced pretty hard.” The man said in a voice that sounded very familiar to her.

“Oh, that’s just my boobs’ natural reaction to running into things.  They throw me down.” He started laughing and she finally looked over at him after picking up her purse. “Oh!”

“Are you ok?  I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No.  I’m ok.  Thanks. I’m so sorry I ran into you.”

“It was my fault. I was texting and walking.”

“That’s really dangerous. You could’ve fallen into a fountain or something.”

“Lucky for me I just ran someone down.”

“Yeah.” She laughed and realized her Kindle was missing. “Oh.” Turning around to retrieve it from under the bench, she heard a hiss come from behind her. “What?”

“I think someone didn’t clean up after their dog.”

“I’m sorry?”

“No, I’m sorry. Oh, don’t!” He grabbed her hand before she could wipe at the wet substance on the back of her jeans. “Sorry. I knocked you down straight into dog shit.  Here,” He took his jacket off and slung it around her shoulders, making sure it covered the spot up. “Do you live near here?” “Uh, my hotel is only a couple of blocks away.”

“Which one?”

“The Doubletree.”

He smiled and ushered her down the sidewalk. “Let’s get you back there so you can clean up and I can apologize for this some more.”

“Seriously, there’s no need to apologize.  I ran into you.”

“How about we ran into each other?”

“I’ll accept that.” She chuckled. “I’m Kathleen, by the way.  People call me Kate, though.  Or Kat.”

“Chris.”

“Yeah.  I kinda figured that out.”

“And here I thought I was doing good at blending in.”

“Sorry.  I’m a nerd.  I love all things Doctor Who and Marvel.  It’s kind of hard to miss Captain America when he’s standing right in front of you.  Even with a beard.”

He smiled. “Have we met before?”

“No.  Why?”

“You just seemed…. familiar.  Thought maybe I’d met you at a convention or something.”

“Oh.  Well, I kinda fail at that part of being a nerd.  Don’t tell any of the others, but I’ve never been to a convention.  It’s on my bucket list, though.”

“Your secret is safe with me.” He glanced down at her. “It’s fun.  At least from my experience.”

“I can imagine.  I have friends that go to them all the time and it looks like so much fun.  And since I love Halloween, it would give me a chance to use some of my costumes again.” She looked up and saw her hotel looming. “That’s me.”

“Nice.  A Halloween fan, huh?”

“The biggest.  I go all out.  I usually start planning for the next year the day after Halloween.”

“It’s only a few days away.  What are you planning this year?”

“I was going to do Peggy Carter, and I even started collecting the pieces for it, but I had the opportunity to come to Boston and I chose that instead.” They walked into the lobby and Chris called the elevator for them.  It opened immediately and they stepped in.  She hit the button for the sixth floor.

“Is this your first time in Boston?”

“Second.  I was here in early 2001 for spring break.”

He laughed and shook his head. “You came to Boston for spring break?”

She laughed. “It’s a long story, but yes.  I came to Boston for spring break.” The elevator doors opened and she led the way down the hall to her room.  He held the door for her as she walked in. “I’ll be right back with your jacket.” She disappeared into the bedroom and shut the doors behind her.  Taking a moment to freak out that Chris Evans was sitting in her hotel room, she jumped up and down for a few seconds.  Then she caught a whiff of the dog poo on her backside and gagged.  She quickly stripped those jeans off and shoved them in the dirty laundry bag from the closet.  Grabbing another pair and checking to make sure there was no poop on his coat, she headed back out into the sitting room. “Thank you for giving me your jacket to hide the poop.” She handed him back his coat.

“No problem.” He’d made himself comfortable on the couch, but had stood up when she walked in. “This is a really nice hotel room.”

“Yeah.  My mom runs a Hilton in Virginia and she got me the employee discount despite not wanting me to come on this trip.”

“She didn’t want you to come?”

“She worries.  This is my first time travelling alone.  She’s texted me about twenty times today.  And don’t even get me started on my brother and my step-dad.”

“Bad, huh?”

“They’ve been threatening to show up and keep an eye on me.  I’m surprised they haven’t sensed there’s a man in my hotel room and kicked in the door.” She glanced at the door. “You’d think I’m not almost 30 years old and been living on my own for years.”

“It’s good they worry.  Mine do too.”

“Yeah?  Try being the youngest in a family full of boys. Out of the eight cousins in my family, there’s only three girls.  Myself, my sister, and Cara.  Cara got married a couple of years ago and now everyone’s protective forces have shifted to me.  I’m tempted to never get married just to drive them crazy.”

“What about your sister?”

“She’s a very long story and I doubt she’ll ever get married.”

“Do you think the guys would show up if I bought you dinner as an apology for knocking you down?”

She blinked for a few seconds. “You want to buy me dinner?”

“It’s the least I can do.”

“Are you sure?  I mean…. I’m not exactly…. Well, you’re…..” She sighed. “You shouldn’t feel obligated to do anything beyond what you’ve already done.”

“I don’t feel obligated. I want to buy you dinner.  I feel terrible that I knocked you down into dog shit on your first vacation by yourself.  Also, my mother raised me to be a gentleman and this is the gentlemanly thing to do.”

“I, uh…. Ok.  I mean, if you’re dead set on it, then I guess I’ll let you buy me dinner.  Are you sure?”

“I’m positive. Besides, we’ve managed to carry on a conversation without either of us turning into bumbling idiots and I wouldn’t hate continuing it.” “Yeah, I’m shocked I’m being so cool right now considering I am a fan of yours, but why would you ever be a bumbling idiot talking to me?”

“Oh, uh….” To her amazement, he actually blushed. “I sometimes have trouble keeping up a conversation with someone I’ve just met.  You can’t tell it, but I’m sweating bullets right now.”

She smiled slightly. “No need to get all sweaty nervous around me.  I’m just…. Well, I’m just me.  Not worth the sweat.”

“I highly doubt that’s true.” Before she could respond, he changed the subject. “So, dinner…. What would you like to eat?”

“Uh, I don’t know. I had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich earlier and I had planned to come back here and curl up with room service.”

“That’s no good. You’re a couple blocks from Chinatown and some really delicious food.”

“Ok.  Chinese sounds good.”

“Great!” He bounced on the balls of his feet for a second. “I know exactly where to take you.”

She laughed at his enthusiasm. “You’re very excited about this.”

“Well, yeah.  It’s not every day I run someone down, knock them into dog shit, and get Chinese food for it.”

“Oh, you’re getting rewarded for it?”

“Yeah.  One could say that I already have gotten rewarded.”

“How so?” She walked back into her room to reach in the closet and grab her coat. He followed her to the doorway. “I met someone new today.”

“And she hasn’t gone psycho fangirl on you.”

“You planning to?”

“Gonna try not to.” She laughed again, slipping on her coat. “Honestly, I’ve met a lot of celebrities and you’re all just like us normal folks.  I’m not going to scream in your ear or hump your leg or anything crazy.”

“Thank god.  I don’t know what I’ll do if you scream in my ear.”

She laughed as they walked out of the hotel room.  They headed back to the elevators and he hit the call button. “You know, this is definitely not how I pictured meeting you.”

“Yeah?  How did you picture it?”

“Um…. At a convention with you on one side of a table and me on the other.  Probably handing you something to sign.”

“Ah.”

“This is better, for the record.  Even with the dog shit.”

The elevator opened and he let her step on first.  They made it to the sidewalk before he spoke again. “So why Boston?” He asked as they headed down the street.

“The Patriots.”

“The Pats?  Are you a fan?” “Big fan.  I’ve got my Brady jersey in my room ready to wear.”

“Are you going to the game tomorrow?”

“Not tomorrow’s game. I couldn’t get tickets for it. I’m going to Thursday’s game.”

“Nice!”

“My best friend was supposed to come with me, but she flaked out.”

“That sucks.  Why did she do that?”

“Something about she didn’t want to waste vacation days because she’s got dance things coming up.” She rolled her eyes.

He didn’t miss the eye roll. “You don’t approve?”

“It’s not that I don’t approve.  I’m glad dance makes her so happy, especially with her being separated from her husband and dealing with all of that.  My problem lies with the fact that she’s really starting to shun people for the dancing thing.  I swear, I haven’t seen her in weeks and that’s highly unusual for us.”

“You’re the same age?”

“Yes.”

“When did she start dancing?”

“It’s been off and on since she was a kid.  There’s a lot of issues there and the dancing is just a mask for them.  Honestly, it’s a can of worms you don’t want to open.”

“Ok.  New subject.  How did you become a Pats fan coming from the south?”

“My first trip to Boston.”

“The spring break one?”

“Yup.”

“I think we’ve got time if you want to tell me why you came to Boston of all places for spring break.”

She laughed. “Ok. Well, I was living with my father at the time, but planning to move back with my mom before sophomore year of high school.  I wanted to get away from my father whenever possible because that was a horrible situation and my mom said I could come with her for my spring break.  She had a conference to go to for her job and it was here in Boston.”

“There’s no football during spring break, though.”

“No.  I know.  It was after a really terrible season, too, but everyone I met loved their Patriots. I got my first Patriots shirt while I was here.  I started watching the team to see what all the fuss was about their 2001 season and that’s when Brady showed up.  So while the trip pretty much stunk, I was in love with an amazing football team. Fourteen years later and I’m still a big fan.”

“Why did the trip stink?”

“It was the weekend of the Boston Marathon and they were in the middle of that Great Dig thing, so things were closed or we couldn’t get to anything because streets were closed. It was crazy.  There was also an incident with a shrimp that scared me off them for a while.”

“You were right. It is a long story.  I have questions.”

“Ask away.”

“I’m going to get back to the shrimp thing, because I can’t let that one go.  But, if you don’t mind me asking, what was the horrible situation you were getting away from with your dad?”

“I don’t call him dad, I call him my father.  My step-dad is my dad.  He earned that title.  My father was, uh, well…. He was abusive.”

He became really quiet and his face got very serious. “I’m sorry.”

She shrugged. “It was a long time ago.”

“It’s still horrible.”

“It definitely was. It wasn’t just physical.  It was mental, too.  For a very long time I had body image issues and I didn’t feel like I was worth anything to anyone.  I got so low that I contemplated suicide at one point.  I had the pills in my hand, but my boyfriend at the time developed a sixth sense and called me.  He convinced me to move back to my mom’s in Virginia.  It took a lot of therapy, some great friends, and eventually getting into burlesque to get to some semblance of normal thinking back.  I still have some anxiety about certain things and I’ve been known to unconsciously sabotage relationships because I don’t feel like I’m worth the trouble and I’m almost in constant terror that they’re going to lie to me.  Gotta love trust issues.”  

“I’m so sorry you went through that.”

“Thank you.”

“Do you talk to your father at all?”

“Yeah.  He’s gotten help since then and he’s come out of the closet, so he’s a much happier man now.  He’s been trying to develop a relationship with me lately.”

“Your father is gay?”

“Very.  I’ve known it since I was thirteen and my mom confirmed it.  As a friend of mine put it, my father was so far in the closet he found Narnia and wondered what the fuck happened.” He laughed and she chuckled. “He finally came out when he turned 50.”

“Good for him.”

“Yeah.”

“It still sucks that he put you through all of that.  I’m really sorry.”

“Thank you.  I try to make the best of it.  I’ve worked with a few charities, I’ve done a couple of burlesque shows that benefit women’s shelters, and I’ve gotten to talk with some people in abusive situations that didn’t know how to get out.  I was lucky I had my mom and step-dad to go back to. Not everyone is so lucky.”

They walked into the little restaurant and were seated right away.  Chris requested a booth in the back where it was quiet.  They browsed the menu for a few moments before deciding on a few different options.  Once the order was placed, Chris turned his full attention back to her.

“Please tell me about the shrimp now.  I gotta know.”

She laughed. “So the hotel we were staying at for the conference was super fancy.  It had this gourmet restaurant and a gift shop and a salon. I can’t for the life of me remember what it was called or even where it was located.  Near the harbor, I think.  Anyway, mom and I wanted to go check out this seafood restaurant she’d heard about, but since the streets were all closed and wonky and this was before GPS, we got horribly lost.  Like, ended up in a different town lost.  Mom got frustrated and back tracked us back to the hotel so we could just eat dinner there. I ordered fried shrimp with rice and when it came out, it was…. Well, it was a gourmet restaurant so the plate was very decorative.  It had this column of rice wrapped in seaweed and these brown fried sticks coming out of it. No shrimp in sight yet.  I figured it was in the rice.  So I start to disassemble the plate and pluck one of the brown sticks out.  But it was heavier than I’d planned because along with the stick came the whole shrimp, eyeballs and all.  They had fried the entire shrimp and the brown sticks were the whiskers or tentacles or whatever the hell those things are on shrimp.  It was so unexpected that I screamed, threw the shrimp, and left the table.  I couldn’t eat shrimp for years after that without seeing those hollow, fried eyeballs looking at me.” She smiled at Chris’ laughter.  It was a full belly laugh that almost echoed around them.

“Why would they serve a shrimp like that?”

“I have no idea. It was traumatizing for my fourteen year old self!”

Once their laughter died down, Chris asked, “So if your mom was at a conference, what did you do the whole time?”

“Explored a little bit. Checked out where the Boston Tea Party happened.  Followed the Freedom Trail.”

“History buff?”

“Oh god yes!  I love history.  There’s this house in Richmond called Agecroft Hall.  It was built in England around the time of the War of the Roses.  In the 20s, it had fallen into disrepair and would’ve been torn down, but it was bought by a man in Richmond and he had it dismantled and brought over here to repair and rebuild it on the James River just like it had been in England.  The place is gorgeous and it’s a British history museum right in the middle of Richmond, Virginia.  I’ve spent countless hours there taking pictures and exploring and talking to the tour guides.  I even got to put on my full Tudor costume and hang out and answer questions while people visited and I once took Tudor dancing lessons there.  The Volt is very exciting and was very intimate for those times.” She noticed Chris watching her intently. “I told you.  I’m a big nerd.”

“No, it’s cool.  I like it.  You’re passionate about history.”

“If we don’t learn from the past, we’ll never change the future.”

He smiled brightly at her. “Exactly.  Wait, you have a full Tudor costume?”

“Yes.  I told you I don’t do Halloween lightly.  I went as Anne Boleyn one year.  My mom has to be my handmaiden when I wear it because there’s no way I can get into it by myself.  It’s the most expensive costume that I own.”

“I bet.  Please tell me you have pictures.”

She smiled and pulled out her cell phone.  The food came as they were browsing through her Facebook pictures.  Chris kept browsing as he ate, mind half on his food as he asked about one picture and another.  She was completely surprised at how calm she was being that Chris Evans was genuinely interested in her life.  He held her phone hostage all through dinner as he looked at the different pictures and even took some selfies of himself and them together.

As they walked out of the restaurant, he said, “You have a lot of pictures of your dogs.”

She shrugged. “They’re my babies.  And they’re all chock full of personality.  Or…. Were…. We had to put Tucker to sleep a couple of years ago.  He had cancer.  And Ireland went to sleep about a month ago and didn’t wake up.”

“I’m so sorry.”  

“She was old…. Thirteen. Even though I was expecting it, I was devastated.  I had to leave work I was so upset.  She was a little Nazi, but she was mine.”

He laughed. “How was she a Nazi?”

“She would tell on her brother if he was in the trash or doing something he wasn’t supposed to and as soon as she was satisfied that you caught him, she’d run over to the treat bowl and stare at you impatiently till you rewarded her.  But then she would turn around and get into something she wasn’t supposed to and leave the evidence on Tucker’s bed to frame him.”

“Oh my god!” His bellowing laugh echoed around them.

“She would also smack you when you were eating to remind you that she got at least 25% of your food as payment for allowing you to live in her house.”

“She was definitely a Nazi.”

“She was also dramatic. She got my high school personality. I was a theatre nerd back then. The funniest thing she ever did, though, was walk into a room and if we weren’t paying attention she would let out this huge sigh and pretend to faint.”

“She pretended to faint?”

“Yup.  Then she’d turn her head just a little to see if we were watching her performance.  If we weren’t, she’d move dead into our eye line and do it again.” The bellowing laugh returned and he had to stop for a minute as he doubled over.  She smiled at him and waited for him to compose himself. “Tucker was a ninja.  For a 90 pound dog, he was stealthy as shit.  On a number of occasions I turned my back only to turn back around and discover my sandwich or whatever I had been making was gone and Tucker was sitting in the living room licking his lips.  We never did figure out how he did it so quietly.  He also fancied himself a lapdog, but he was my protector.  If he thought someone was there to harm me, he was one tough dog to restrain.  I pretty much just prayed that I could hold him back long enough to determine if I should let him go or calm him down.”

“He sounds like he was a good dog.”

“He was.”

“How old is your Boston?”

“Gally is seven. She’ll be eight in February.”

“What is she like?”

“She’s crazy. She’s got a vendetta against all fuzzy slippers in the world and her best friend is a hedgehog toy that I got her when she was a puppy.  She loves to run full speed in a tight circle or figure eight around the yard…. Or a person…. And she’s klutzy like her mama.  I’ve never met a dog who runs into walls and trips up stairs.”

“You run into walls and trip up stairs a lot?”

“On a regular basis.”

“You haven’t done it tonight.”

“No.  I’m surprised I haven’t.  I’ve had a number of opportunities.”

“Well, the night is still young.”

“This is true.  But remember how we met?  I did run into you and fall down.”

“Into dog shit.”

“Into dog shit.”

“Don’t worry.  I won’t let you fall again.” He smiled down at her and she was sure that he was flirting with her. “So, what about the newest addition?  Denali?”

“She belongs to my parents, but she’s mouthy.  Loves to talk to you and she’s not afraid to tell you off when she’s mad about something. She’s also crazy.  She can spend, literally, hours chasing her tail or playing fetch.  And she chases animals on TV.  The TV is positioned right next to the doorway into the den and if an animal runs off screen, she’ll run into the den to find it.  Of course it’s not there, so she lets you know how upset about this she is.”

“And you live with your parents?”

“Sort of.  My step-dad converted the garage into a little apartment for me.  I’ve got my own entrance and my own bathroom…. A little living room area and a bedroom that’s sectioned off by these really pretty screens that my step-dad made for me.  It’s nice.”

“It sounds like it.” He smiled. “I still live with my mom when I’m not off somewhere shooting a movie or staying in LA.  My whole family and their families live there too.”

“Must be a big house.”

“Kinda.”

“So, you’re close with your family?”

“Very.  My brother is one of my best friends.  What about you?”

“Same.  As close as we are, I tell him constantly that I would sell him in a heartbeat for my niece.  I love her to pieces.”

“You must if you dressed up as Merida for her in Georgia in June.”

She smiled and felt herself blushing that he remembered her telling him about it when he found the picture. “Yeah.  I’ll probably end up spending most of my souvenir money on stuff for her.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised. She is pretty adorable.”

“That’s the thing I’m most proud of: being an aunt.  I love that kid.  And my best friend’s little boy is my unofficial nephew.  I spoil him when I can, too.”

“You sound like me. I love spending time with my sisters’ kids and I spoil the crap out of them whenever I can.”

She laughed. “As much as I love spoiling Hailey, my favorite moments are when it’s just the two of us playing Barbies or going for a walk or rocking her to sleep at night. She’s four and she still likes for me to do that when I’m there.”

“Awe!”

“It broke my heart when she asked me not to leave in June.  She woke up and came to the guest bedroom and curled up with me the morning I was leaving.  She said, ‘aunt Kat, please stay one more day.  I’ll be a good girl.  I love you.’ God, I cried for the first half of the drive back to Virginia.”

“Awe!” Chris wrapped an arm around her and hugged her tightly. “And wow!  You drove to Georgia?  How long of a drive is it?”

“About eight or nine hours.  It’s eleven hours to Kentucky.  I love to travel, so I don’t mind driving.  I would’ve driven here, but I actually won plane tickets in this contest at work.”

“Tickets?”

“Yeah.  I won two.  I haven’t used the other one since Lara was going to use her frequent flyer miles for her ticket.  So, I’ll probably take another trip by myself somewhere.”

“Oh yeah?  Where?”

“Vegas.  LA.  Alaska. I don’t know.”

“Alaska?  Really?”

“My brother and his wife took a cruise there and they loved it.  My sister in law goes a lot for work.”

“That sounds awesome. What would you do there?” “Hike.  Take pictures.  Go ice skating on a frozen lake.  Take pictures.  Maybe try and camp a couple of nights.  Oh, and take some more pictures.”

“Camp, huh?”

“Maybe.  I haven’t been in a long time and I enjoyed it when I was younger.  All through high school, I had to visit my father during the summer even though I didn’t want to. Some friends would kidnap me and we would go to Lake Glendale in Illinois and spend a week camping and swimming and riding horses and learning to shoot a bow and arrow…. Rock climb. It was amazing.  I would love to do it again someday.” She realized they were standing in the lobby of her hotel. “Oh, we’re back.” “Yeah.  I just realized that too.” He seemed genuinely sad about that.

“Uh, you’ve probably got somewhere to be, right?  You were going somewhere when we ran into each other.”

“Oh, not really.  I was probably going to meet Scott and some of his friends for dinner.”

“You ditched your brother for me?”

“It’s ok.  He had just invited me and I was texting him back when I ran into you.” “But he’s your brother.”

“Yeah.  And I’ve had plenty of time to hang out with him. I’ve only got a week with you.”

She opened her mouth to retort, but closed it when she realized what he’d said.  Instead she settled on, “I’m confused.”

“About what?”

“Are you saying you want to hang out more?”

“Yeah.  Why not?”

“Um…. You’re Chris Evans and I’m Kathleen Allen.”

“Yeah.  We’ve done introductions.  It’s the entire conversation afterwards that makes me want to hang out with you more.”

“Do you normally meet fans and hang out with them?  Or am I special?”

“You’re definitely special.  I’ve met a lot of people, but you’re different.  It’s nice.” He called the elevator and held it open for her.  As it started its ascent, he turned to her. “It gets lonely.”

“What does?”

“Being a celebrity.” He said the word like it was a sour candy in his mouth. “You meet people and they know everything about you because they’ve read it in a magazine somewhere. All they want to talk about is how famous you are.  They don’t actually talk to me.” The elevator opened and he held the doors so she could step out safely. “But you did.  You talked and you listened.  I can honestly say that you’ve been one of the best conversations I’ve had in a while.  I’ve loved every second of it.”

She opened her hotel room door and stepped inside. “Well, I don’t know if this is being presumptuous, but you’re welcome to stay and continue the conversation.  I don’t have a mini bar, but there’s room service.”

He grinned. “Yeah. It’s only eight thirty.” He followed her in and shut the door behind him, shrugging his jacket off. “That sounds fun.”

Before she could respond, her phone went off with the James Bond theme.  She quickly pulled it out of her pocket. “One sec.  It’s my brother Killian.” She hit the answer button. “Hey Killi.  No, I’m fine. I went out for Chinese with a really nice guy from Boston.  Yes, I said guy.  Yes, as in male.  No, you don’t need to worry about me.  I’m fairly certain all those lessons will keep me safe if the nice Boston boy decides to attack.  Shut up and put my niece on.” Her face lit up suddenly. “Hey Hailey Bug!  I’m in Boston.  That’s waaay up north from where you are.  I miss you, too.  You’re coming for Christmas!?  That’s so exciting!  Yes, I’m pretty sure Santa will know where you are.  I’ll write him a letter and make sure, ok?” She glanced at Chris with an embarrassed smile. “Yeah, I’ll sing a song for you.  What do you want to hear?  Again?  What about something from ‘The Little Mermaid’?  No?  ‘Frozen’ again, huh?  Ok.” With another embarrassed look at Chris to find he was holding back laughter, she started singing “Love Is An Open Door” with her four year old niece. “Ok.  I love you too, munchkin.  I’ll see you in a couple of months.  Bye!  Yeah. She made me sing ‘Frozen’ again.” She rolled her eyes. “I promise I’ll be careful.  Talk to you later.  Bye.” She hung up and shook her head. “I’m sorry.”

“You have a nice voice.” Chris said.

“Oh, no…. No.  It’s…. Not that great.”

“You’ve had training.”

“What?  How….”

“My mom is the art director at a youth theatre.  My brother and sisters and I are trained, too.”

“My father…. On good days…. He and aunt Dolly taught me.  He sang in a Christian music group around the area I grew up and his best friend, who I refer to as aunt Dolly, was a music teacher.”

“Nice.  You do have a nice voice.  I wasn’t kidding.”

“Thank you, but no. I don’t.  I only sing in the car and for Hailey these days.” She turned and grabbed the room service menu. “Here, you pick something to drink and I’ll be right back.  I need to take my contacts out and put on something besides jeans.”

“You wear contacts, too?”

“Yeah.  Please don’t laugh at my glasses.  I hate them.” She turned and disappeared in the bedroom. When she came back, she was in a T-shirt with minions on it and black yoga pants.  Her long blonde hair was swept up in a ponytail and she had on her half frame glasses.

“You look nice.”

“You’re way too nice for your own good.  I wouldn’t even put the glasses on if my contacts hadn’t been bugging me.”

“Honestly, you shouldn’t be so self-conscious.  You’re beautiful with or without glasses.  And I’ve seen you in both now and can judge that honestly.” He sat down on the couch and patted the seat next to him. “I ordered you some sweet tea.  I hope that’s ok.  It’s what you were drinking at dinner.”

“Yeah.  That’s perfect.” She sat down next to him. “Wait, you wear contacts?”

“Yeah.  Got them in now.  I haven’t had mine in as long as you have, so they’re not bugging me yet, but I know exactly what you were going through.  It’s a pain in the ass to have to wear them that long.”

“Amen!” She laughed.

“So your brother’s name is Killian?”

“Yup.”

“And you’re Kathleen.”

“And my sister Janice is the oddball.”

“And your brother gave you fighting lessons?” “God no!  He only thinks he’s tough.  My cousin Todd taught me how to throw a punch.  My brother taught me how to shoot a gun.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t worry.  I don’t carry.  I can also sword fight.”

“Now why would a nice girl like you need to know that?”

“A friend of mine is really big into medieval weaponry.  He taught me how to swing a bunch of different swords.”

“So, you can shoot a bow and arrow, you can shoot a gun, you can use a sword, and you can throw a punch. You’re officially scary.”

“Thanks.  I consider myself almost ready for a zombie apocalypse.” Her phone started ringing again and this time it was Stewie from “Family Guy” yelling “mom, mom, mom” over and over.  Kate rolled her eyes and got to her feet. “Hi mom.  Yeah, I’m having great fun.  You talked to Killian, huh?  What did he have to say?  Oh, yeah? He’s being dramatic.  Yeah, I did meet a nice guy that took me to dinner. Chinese.  I met him in Boston Common.  Uh, yeah.  I’d say he was.  I don’t know. I promise I’m being careful.  No, I don’t want to talk to him cause he’s just going to have a cow over everything.  I don’t know.  Then tie him up in a closet somewhere till he calms down and realizes I can take care of myself.  You have fun with that.  I’ll talk to you later.  Nope.  Bye, mom.” She set her phone down. “My brother told my mom I met a Boston boy and I’m probably going to move here now.”

“What would you say I was?”

“Huh?”

“You said to your mom ‘I’d say he was.’”

“Oh, uh….” She blushed. “She asked if you were handsome and then she asked if I was going to see you again.”

“That was the ‘I don’t know’ part, right?”

“Yes.”

“Well, change that ‘I don’t know’ to a ‘yes’.”

“What?”

“You’re going to see me again.  Tomorrow. I’m taking you to the game if you’ll let me.”

“The Patriots game?”

“Yeah.  While you were talking to your mom, I texted a friend of mine and got us seats in one of the suites.  Great view of the field.”

“Are you joking? Am I on a hidden camera show?”

Chris laughed. “No. Look, I meant what I said before. You’ve been one of the best conversations I’ve had in a while and I don’t want to see it end.  In fact, I’ve got the next couple of weeks off and I’d love to show you around Boston myself while you’re here.”

“You do?”  

“Yeah!  Who better to show you around this city than someone from it?”

“Well, I guess, yeah….” “We can go to the game tomorrow and then grab dinner somewhere and plan our week.”

“Chris….” “We don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“No, I do want to, it’s just….” A hundred different things went through her head to finish that sentence, but she settled on. “Unexpected.”

“Isn’t that when life is at its best?  When it’s unexpected?”

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[let-it-raines]

Second in Command (34/35)

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

Rating: Mature

A/N: I’m just going to throw these words at you and pretend that I haven’t already written the final words to this story. Thanks for being such wonderful readers for all this time! I really, truly appreciate it! 

Double line break of “-/-” means we’re changing POV and skipping ahead in time!

AO3: Beginning | Current

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

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“Darling,” Andy says out of nowhere, and Killian practically snaps his neck with how quickly he turns around to look at his son who is cupping his wife’s face with his small hands as he speaks to her with an intense focus, “listen.”

“I am listening, Andy,” Emma laments as she looks directly into Andy’s eyes while her legs are still covered with all of his toy trains.

“No, darling,” he sighs, making just the most ridiculous face that makes Killian feel such a kinship with the way that he moves his small brows across his forehead, “listen. I want biscuit.”

Why the hell is he calling Emma darling? What has made him decide to do that? And he’s definitely not getting a biscuit when he’s already had one today and they’ve still got to go to his parents’ house for dinner. He’s already going to be rambunctious because he’ll be around Alex and Lizzie. They’re so much bigger than him, and as nice as they are to him, they don’t exactly wait around for a one-and-a-half-year-old when they can run so much faster.

“Andy, what is her name?” he asks, pointing at Emma simply out of curiosity. “Is it Mummy?”

“Nooo,” he laughs as if Killian has just said the most ridiculous thing in the world, his blue eyes lighting up with such joy that Killian can’t help the way the corners of his own lips tug up into a smile. “She’s darling.”

Andy doesn’t quite say the word correctly, a few letters changed with others, but he has no trouble understanding exactly what his son is saying. It’s taking everything in him not to laugh. He doesn’t want Andy to think he’s laughing at him. He simply wants to laugh because his little lad is convinced that his mum’s name is Darling, and Killian doesn’t hate it. He actually quite loves it, but it does mean that he probably needs to start calling Emma by some different names more often.

“I like when you call me Mommy,” Emma sighs, lifting Andy off of her lap and up in the air while he giggles.

Emma looks over to him, a watery smile on her face, and he simply reaches over and places his hand on her shoulder, squeezing the soft material of her t-shirt. She’s been having such a hard time lately, and even when she’s happy he can still tell how upset she is over not being pregnant yet, how much it’s weighing on her mind. He is too. He wants another child so badly that it physically pains him sometimes, but he also knows that with how Emma is blaming herself, he could never say that. It’s not her fault. It’s no one’s fault, and he remains optimistic that things will be okay despite months of heartbreak.

Besides, they’ve got this lovable munchkin who means the world to him even when he’s having a crying fit so loud that Killian swears his eardrums have burst. Maybe his eardrums did burst and that’s why it doesn’t bother him so much anymore.

“Biscuit,” he repeats, and Emma’s eyes roll before they crinkle, lines forming that she claims are from her being thirty, but that he knows are from laughter. Laugh lines are the good ones, and he’ll be a wrinkled up old man as long as it means that he’s lived a good life.

“After dinner, Andy. We have to go see Gammy and Grandpa. And Alex and Lizzie.”

“Yay Lizzie.”

“Yeah, yay Lizzie,” he laughs, clapping his hands together and reaching over to take Andy out of Emma’s arms. Alex would be so mad if he knew that Andy preferred Lizzie to him. He wouldn’t care about it until he found out, but oh boy would he care afterward. “We’re going to see Gammy, Grandpa, Liam, Abigail, Alex, and Lizzie. And you can play with your horse.”

“I love how you say that like it’s an actual horse.”

“Maybe one day it will be. I’ve still got to get out there and teach you how to ride. We should go to the stables next week. The weather is supposed to be nice, spring finally coming in.”

“I’m not going to go spend a nice day out getting my teeth knocked out by a horse.”

“Oh, come on. That won’t happen.”

“It will.”

“It won’t.”

“Darling is silly, Daddy,” Andy laughs before crawling out of Killian’s arms and waddling over to play with his trains again while Killian can’t even bother to hold in his laugh, especially when he twists his head to look at Emma and sees how her cheeks are flushed.

“He takes too much after you. Just saying. Far too cheeky.”

“That is not at all a bad thing.”

“Yeah,” she sneers, even if there’s no venom behind it, while taking the toys off of her legs, “whatever. I’m going to go get dressed to go to your parents’. You can handle your mini me.” Emma stands only to immediately sit back down, her eyes tightly closed while her hands grip into the cushions, the material bunching as much as it can while her knuckles go white.

“Darling,” he whispers, reaching over and laying his hand over hers while his heartbeat ticks up a few paces, worry settling itself in his stomach, “what’s wrong?”

“I’m dizzy. I don’t…It was just for a moment. I stood up too quickly.” Her eyes open again, but she doesn’t look at him. “I’m fine.”

“Emma, the last time you were dizzy you were – ”

“Don’t. please don’t. I can’t think about that right now, okay? And before you ask, I don’t want to take a test. I’m tired of them and of getting my hopes up. We have to go to your parents’ place. I don’t have time to get upset about everything again.”

“Can we at least talk about it later?”

“I don’t know,” she mutters before she’s slowly getting up from the couch and walking out of the room.

He doesn’t want to get his hopes up either, but they already are. How could they not be? He just wishes that she’d talked to him, that she’d take a test and make sure she’s taking care of herself. Watching her faint in her early weeks of pregnancy with Andy was terrifying, and he wants her to be safe. He knows that she is, that she will be, but he also knows that this is now all that he’s going to think about for the rest of the evening.

And it is, even as they eat dinner with his family, the conversation flowing across the table from nearly everyone but Emma. She really only talks to the kids when they talk to her, but she will join in on occasion. It’s bothering her too. He can tell. Liam’s been telling a story about his time in the Navy, talking about some antics he and his mates got up to, and even with everyone laughing, Emma doesn’t. Maybe she’s heard the story before. Liam does tend to repeat himself when it comes to his younger days, but he believes that Emma’s simply preoccupied with her thoughts.

He wishes he could take her out of them.

“So Killian tells me your house is nearly finished building. Are you excited? Emma? Emma dear? Are you excited?”

“Oh yeah,” she startles, fixing her napkin in her lap and straightening up. “I’m thrilled. It’s absolutely beautiful, and I think we’ll be able to move in over the summer. I think Andy’s really going to like the pool and having the backyard. He and the dog are pretty much the same that way.”

“You’ll have to come see it, Mum,” he says, reaching next to him and resting his hand on Emma’s thigh, tapping his fingers against her skin so that she can feel him. “The master has these windows that open up onto a balcony that’s just over the garden and the pool, and you’ll love the kitchen.”

“I’m just sad that you guys are moving away from us,” Abigail whines, looking at Emma before glancing at him. “I know it’s only twenty minutes, but that’s so different than being able to walk over to visit.”

“Abi, they’re probably leaving so that we can’t do that anymore.”

“Damn, you guys have discovered our secret,” Emma laughs, a genuine smile forming on her face for the first time in a while. “I’m going to miss you guys too, but I’m sure we’ll still see far too much of each other. We just want the space to raise Andy, you know? And we don’t always have to be near the offices like you guys.”

“We completely understand, Emma. I’m simply teasing. You already know that I’m going to be bothering you all the time. Ruby and I will, really.”

“Ruby asked for her own room there, so she might move in.”

“With Graham?”

“Nah, he’ll get to stay at their home. They can visit each other on the weekends.”

“That’s quite the marriage there,” Liam laughs.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Abigail playfully laments, leaning back in her chair and stretching her arms over her head, “only having to see my husband two days a week sounds like a grand plan.”

“I’m sitting right here.”

“I know, darling. I’m hoping that you get the hint.”

“Darling!” Andy squeals, and Emma looks at him, her lips pressed tightly together for a moment until her entire face lights up in laughter while his does the same, the both of them unable to hold it together over his new obsession with the word.

“Have you two gone mad?” Brennan asks as he takes a sip of water.

“No, it’s just,” Emma giggles, reaching over to get Andy out of his high chair so he can sit in her lap while she smooths his hair back from where it had gotten a little wild. It’s got a curl to it now, almost like a swoop, and either he or Emma are always trying to calm it down. “Andy started calling me Darling today, so he really likes that word. I think he might think it’s my name even though he knows that I’m Mummy, right?”

“No. You’re Darling.”

“That’s adorable,” Abigail sighs. “Alex and Lizzie never do things like that.”

“Because your name is Mummy,” Alex says flatly as he squirms in his chair. “Can we go play now?”

“Finish those peas, and then you can go.”

“I’m finished,” Lizzie points out, pushing her empty plate forward.

“That’s because you like peas, Elizabeth,” Alex murmurs under his breath in the same manor that a teenager would. He’s six, but he’s got some spunk.

“My name is Lizzie,” she spits back, huffing her chest up to make herself bigger. This is obviously a fight they’ve been getting into lately, and so much like with Andy, even when he shouldn’t laugh, he can’t help himself. “I don’t like Elizabeth.”

“Guys,” Liam sterns, staring the both of them down with the same glint in his eye that Killian remembers Brennan getting when he and Liam were younger, “calm down. Alex eat your peas and stop teasing your sister. Lizzie, why don’t you take Andy with you so you guys can play in the playroom?”

“I’ll go with them,” his mum volunteers, pushing back in her chair and walking over to the other side of the table so she can take both Andy and Lizzie to the playroom. “I think I need so Gammy time with my grandbabies.”

“Andy is the only baby.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Allison says, her face stern. “I think I need some time with my grandchildren and then my one grandbaby.”

“Thanks, Mum,” he and Liam say at the same time before everyone dissolves back into conversation, Alex eventually finishing his peas and running off to the playroom to join his sister and his cousin far before dinner ends and everyone goes back to their respective homes with children who stayed up far too late and ate too many sweets. Andy finally got another biscuit, even if it was a small one.

After they have him asleep in his crib, they both walk to their room so they can change out of their dinner clothes and into pajamas. It’s been such a pleasant day, May deciding to actually be warm for once, but their house is cold enough to still need to dress in thicker pajama bottoms, most of which are already packed up in moving boxes. He’s just pulled on a t-shirt, his head getting stuck in the hole, when he notices that Emma is sitting on the bench in the closet still dressed in her clothes from dinner.

“If I…if I,” she begins, picking imaginary lint off of her pants. “Will you sit with me as I take a test? I know I said I didn’t want to, but I think I have to. I can’t turn my mind off.”

He can’t either. He can’t turn his mind off, can’t get it to shut up as his head pounds and his heart thrums, but it’s probably nothing compared to how Emma is feeling.

“You don’t even have to ask, love. Why don’t you go ahead and change though, okay? It’ll make you feel better.”

She nods her head before getting up from the bench and stripping out of her clothes and pulling on the first soft thing that she finds. She’s pacing herself, going as slowly as she can, but he doesn’t say anything as he watches her and the way that she fidgets. Honestly, the only thing that’s keeping him from fidgeting is keeping his focus on her, on making sure that he’s strong for the next few minutes.

For every minute to always be sixty seconds, the time never changing, never altering, it seems like this is one of the longest sets of minutes in his life. There were the minutes of waiting to know if he was going to be accepted into university, as if he would ever be rejected for who his parents are. But he was still nervous, still anxious about getting in on his own merit. There were the minutes before the first time he slept with Emma, all of the heightened nerves and emotions and flat out anticipation making everything seem so much more heightened than it was. Then there was the entirety of their holiday when he was about to propose. For that entire dinner he was anxious, so anxious that he didn’t ask until they were on the beach when that was not what he wanted. Those minutes seemed to drag on and speed up all at once. But then again, there were also the minutes right before he got married and the minutes right before he became a father for the first time. Those two moments, well, they likely get equal billing to this, and watching Emma’s leg rapidly tap up and down while she watches the timer on her phone doesn’t help.

“You know,” he begins, strengthening his grip on Emma’s hand from where their fingers are interlocked, the pad of his thumb running over her knuckles and around her engagement ring and wedding band, “we’ll have been together for ten years in a little over three weeks.”

“I know,” she whispers so quietly that her voice barely reaches her ears. “I have a gift for you hidden somewhere I’m not divulging, and you’re taking me to Scotland for our anniversary weekend.”

“Aye, I know. We’re going to have a great time.” He squeezes her hand again before bringing it up so that he can brush his lips over her knuckles once, twice, three times more. “You infuriate me more than anyone else on this planet, but I also love you more than anyone else on this planet. Don’t tell Andy that because he gets his own little category.”

Emma chuckles as she leans her head onto his shoulder, hair sticking up and getting caught in his mouth while her tapping slows a bit. “I promise I won’t tell him.”

“Good. You’re my best friend, Nolan, and I – ”

“Woah, talk about a flashback. You’re calling me Nolan again.”

“If I keep calling you darling, you’re going to have to change your name according to our son.” He twists his head to kiss the side of her head, smelling her perfume and the faded smell of her shampoo from this morning. “You’re my best friend, and Emma, as much as I want that test to be positive, as much as I think it’s going to be after we’ve tried for so damn long, if it’s not, you will still be the person I love most and the person who I want to eat horrible food with at two in the morning while we watch television. Nothing is ever going to change that.”

“How are you so damn good with words?” she sighs, nuzzling into him further. “Like, you are stupid good with them, and it’s not fair because I still can only do that on occasion. I can’t think of a single thing to say to you that doesn’t sound dumb. I guess I love you.”

He chuckles into her hair before pulling back and leaning down to kiss her shoulder. “I love you, and I don’t need your flowery words. I never doubt your love for me, and when I have my emotional meltdowns, you always know what to say too. I think we can look at the test now.”

“Can you do it for me? I know that sounds pathetic – ”

“It doesn’t,” he says, rising from his spot on the edge of the bathtub and standing to grab the pregnancy test that’s on the counter without letting go off Emma’s hand. He closes his eyes for a brief moment, gathering the strength, before he’s picking it up and looking at a little screen that very clearly says the word pregnant. Emma’s pregnant. She’s pregnant. They’re having another baby, and he does not wish to control the way his lips are tugging up on the corners or the way his heart is beating a quicker pace in his chest.

It could beat out of his chest right now, and he wouldn’t care.

“Killian, what the fuck does it say?”

He turns back to look at Emma, releasing her hand so that he can cup her cheeks, holding her gaze to his and staring at the freckles that run across her nose the way that her eyes are shimmering with tears. “I can’t wait for this kid to grow up so I can tell them those were their mum’s words in the moments before she found out she was pregnant.”

“Really?” she chuckles, the water already falling to her cheeks. “I’m pregnant?”

“Really,” he smiles, contentment spreading across every inch of his, “you’re pregnant.”

-/-

-/-

“Are you nervous?” Killian asks her as they wait backstage and listen to some of the other speakers at the women’s conference they’re attending today. Or really, she’s attending and Killian’s secretly tagging along because he’s weird and wanted to watch her speak. He’s being supportive, and she appreciates it, but she’s freaking out a bit right now. Her speech is as personal as she was allowed to make it, which she kind of feels like defeats the purpose of the women’s empowerment that’s going on today, but she also knows that five years ago no one in this family would have been allowed to do this because it would be seen as too political.

It’s not. It’s…human. Speaking up for women is human, and so this is simply another patronage that she is lucky enough to support and to bring attention to and not some kind of political statement. If she wasn’t speaking, she’d likely be bouncing with excitement and anticipation over this.

“I’m terrified,” she whispers, adjusting herself in her chair and smoothing down her dress over her protruding stomach. She’s six months pregnant, but sometimes it’s still so weird to look down and for something to be there that’s not always there. But it’s not like she can forget. If her body didn’t scream with the changes every day, she’d be reminded by Andy every day when he says hi to his baby sister or Killian when he’s far too overprotective and worries about her if she eats too much ice cream. She thought he’d calm down this go round, especially since the actual pregnancy has been so much easier (the months leading up to it not so much), but it might be worse. It’s sweet, but she wants to be able to pick up her two-year-old without Killian freaking out.

“You’re going to be fantastic. I know.”

“You’re biased. You don’t think the speech is a little much? That it’s not too privileged?”

“I think that you are afforded different opportunities and advantages in life but that doesn’t mean your experiences aren’t important.”

“There you go with your wise words again. It’s amazing how you can also be so dumb.”

“I love you, my sweetheart of a wife.”

“I know, right? I’m pretty much the definition of kindness.”

“And humble.”

“Oh, definitely humble. That’s what I put on my business cards.”

“Emma,” Isabelle says, interrupting them and pulling her out of her distraction and back to the reason she’s here, “they’re ready for you.”

“Thank you, Isabelle,” she sighs, rising from her chair and straightening out her dress as much as she can. “Alright, babe, wish me luck that I remember how to speak.”

“If our kid can do it, I have faith that you can too.”

She rolls her eyes before squatting down and briefly kissing his cheek. Isabelle guides her to the side of the stage, and when she’s introduced, she walks out and stands at the podium, her heel turning a bit underneath her. She’ll never quite get used to doing things like this. Spending time with kids and sitting at stuffy dinners, sure. Giving speeches, well, that’s different. She’s kind of regretting being here right now. She feels ridiculous.

But no. She wanted to do this. She wants to do this. She wants to support everyone who she can. This is a good thing.

“I am a lot of things,” she begins, swallowing the lump in her throat that always comes whenever she speaks in public. “I am a wife, a mother, a daughter. I am a former bartender, a current Duchess, someone with dual citizenship, a patron of charities ranging from education to mental health to arts and athletics. I am also a television enthusiast, someone who loves to eat every dessert I can get my hands as well as someone who enjoys running until my legs feel like jelly. And then, you know, eating actual jams and jellies.”

She takes a moment as the crowd laughs to tuck her hair behind her ears and take another deep breath. Why are there so many people? No, she’s not going to freak out. She can do this. It’s fine. It’s just talking.

“You can label me with every word in your vocabulary. A lot of people have labeled me in words that I cannot repeat here because I like to play as a proper lady sometimes. But here’s the thing, on top of these labels, on top of the ones that I embrace and the ones that I hide behind, I’m Emma. I’m Emma, and I am my own human being, my own person with all of my own interests and wants. Being a wife and a mother are two of the most important things in my life, but I cannot be either of those things without loving myself and knowing who I am as a woman first.

I spent a long time hiding behind the shadows and allowing others to control my life with their narratives of who I am. I was a thief, a pushover, a commoner, an unfit bride, and a horrible mother who refused to follow tradition for not showing off my newborn child five hours after giving birth. I was untraditional, uncaring, crass, and I was someone who was labeled all of these things by people who have never met me. After this speech, I’m sure I’ll be labeled the same things by more people who have never met me, maybe even some who have. So here’s my point. For your entire life, people are going to try to tell you who you are. They just are. It’s going to happen no matter what you do. But here’s the thing, you have the ability and the power to push back, to fight back, and to say no, I’m not those things. And even better, you have the ability to show them exactly who you are.”

She hears the claps. She really does, but these lights are bright, and her daughter is doing some kind of Olympic level gymnastic routine in her stomach. That’s really all she can focus on as she regulates her breathing again and runs her hand over her stomach, resting it there while she looks back at her page, the words written in large, printed letters.  The kicks comfort her. They’re proof of the life she wanted for so long.

“We as women have the difficult challenge of being cornered into a box and not allowed out. If I cry over having to leave my baby at home, I am weak. If I get excited over being pregnant, people think that I don’t care about having a career. If I love my husband, I am not my own woman. If I spend time to do things for myself, I am neglecting everything else in my life.

You know what? That’s not true. I can love my child in the same way that you all can, and it makes me strong. And if you don’t want to have children, good for you. It’s your life, and you shouldn’t do something that’s not right for you. If I am excited over being pregnant like I am right now, I can still be excited over getting to stand here speaking to all of you as a part of my job no matter how nervous I am. Being a mother does not mean you have to give up your life. It’s a way of adding to it. I can love my husband with every fiber in my being, but that does not at all mean that I am not my own person. And I can spend time with my friends, spend time away from home, spend time doing things that make me happy without being told all about how I have a baby at home. Trust me, I know.

What I’m trying to say is to drop the labels and simply and unapologetically be you. There is no better thing that you can be, and I hope that everyone here can be of service to you and to all of the strong women in your lives. Thank you for having me here today.”

She nods, smiling out at the crowd before she’s walking away with her heart pounding in her chest while her face heats. She was terrified to give that speech, terrified of how it would sound using herself as an example when she lives a privileged life, but she had to listen to herself and allow herself to follow everything she just said. She had to do what felt right to her, and while she never imagined having such a platform to help others, she’s glad that she does.

She’s definitely going to avoid public speaking for a little while, though.

“You’re bloody amazing,” Killian sighs when she gets to him, his hands palming her cheeks before his lips are slanting over hers in a kiss that makes her head reel from the emotion behind it. “I’m so damn proud of you.”

“Thank you. I think I’m going to go vomit now.”

“Pregnancy or nerves?”

“Both.”

-/-

-/-

“Okay, buddy,” Killian sighs, holding onto Andy’s hand as they walk through the back hallways of the hospital, “we’re about to meet your little sister. She’s really rather small, and like you are with Indy, we have to be gentle, okay? With Mummy too. So no jumping on the bed.”

“Why?”

“We don’t want to hurt Sutton or Mummy.” They walk up to the door, Thomas greeting them when they get there, and he picks up his son before they push through the doors, David and Mary Margaret’s backs the first things they see when they enter.

“Mimi,” Andy shrieks, squirming in his arms until his can get a hug and a kiss from his grandmother and eventually his grandfather. “I’m a big brother.”

“You are indeed,” David tells him as Killian walks over to Emma and leans down to briefly brush his lips over hers while she holds Sutton. It’s been six hours, and he still absolutely cannot believe that he has a baby girl. She’s beautiful. So is his wife.

“Hi, love. How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay. This still sucks, and she’s not latching, which is freaking me out. I want - ” she sighs, leaning back in bed and closing her eyes, a piece of her hair falling in her face “ – I want to take a nap, but I want to see Andy, okay? She’s quiet now, so it’s probably a good time for you to have brought him since I’m sure he won’t want the screaming banshee that I can already tell you that she is.” Emma looks down at their daughter then, running a finger over her cheek. “I love you, baby, but you are a handful already.”

“We’ll get that all figured out in a minute, okay? It’ll be fine, love. You want me to get Andy from your dad?”

“Yeah.”

“Dave, can I have my kid?”

“You have to say please,” Andy huffs, sticking his chest up as David walks toward him. Killian’s just about to say it when Andy gasps, his hands going over his mouth while his eyes blow wide. “Is that my sister?”

“This is your sister,” Emma laughs, holding Sutton up the slightest bit while David gently puts him down on the bed. “Can you say hi, Andy?”

“Hi,” he whispers, waving to her as he slowly walks toward Sutton and Emma. “She’s small. Can she talk?”

“Not yet,” Emma says gently, puling Andy closer to her while he keeps watching Sutton. “When she gets bigger like you, she’ll learn how to talk.”

“Can I hold her?”

“You can help me hold here. Um, hold on,” she mutters, adjusting Sutton in her lap. “Babe, can you get a pillow for him?”

He nods his head and turns to grab her breastfeeding pillow, figuring it’s sturdy enough for this as he adjusts it around Andy while he settles down next to Emma. It’s a bit of a complicated maneuver to safely get Sutton situated on the pillow and in Andy’s small arms as he looks down at her with a soft, pensive smile on his face.

“How did she get out of Mummy’s tummy?”

Emma’s cheeks flush, his doing the same, and he hears David snicker behind him. “You know what, Andy, I’ll tell you about that later.”

Andy shrugs before looking at Sutton and then Emma’s stomach, his brows pushed together in thought. Yeah, they’re definitely going to have to figure that one out later before he comes up with one of his ridiculous theories.

-/-

-/-

“Don’t we have to turn around at some point?”

Killian hums next to her and tightens his arm around her shoulder, fingers taping against her sweater while she gets a sniff of the spice of his cologne. “Most likely. The end of our property is just up ahead, and as much as I love Ruby and Graham, I’m not sure how much I trust them with a newborn and the wild child that’s itching to go swimming even though it’s still chilly.”

“They’ll be fine, babe,” she sighs, tucking her hand into the back pocket of Killian’s jeans and playfully squeezing his ass as they walk. “They’ve watched them before, or at least Andy. And Sutton is two months old, so all they really have to do is not drop her. Besides, I’m really enjoying our full transformation into an elderly retired couple with our walk.”

“Weren’t you just the one who wanted to turn around?”

“I mean, yeah, but I just wanted to make sure we didn’t walk all the way back to London when we’ve finally left it.”

“Considering I’d have to carry you home on my back were that to happen, I, well, wouldn’t let it happen.”

“Hey,” she laughs, slapping his ass again, “what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t have a death wish, so I’m thinking it’s not what you’re leaning toward.”

“And what exactly do you think I’m leaning toward?” He stops walking even as she keeps going, so when he tugs her back, she nearly stumbles and falls into the lush grass, dew still coating the blades. Or maybe it’s residual rain. She’s not exactly sure, but it doesn’t matter as long as she doesn’t fall. “What was that for?”

She sees his brows raise, then settle back into their normal resting place all the while one corner of his mouth ticks. He’s obviously trying to school his features, to keep from saying whatever it is that’s on his mind…which makes her completely sure that whatever it is he wants to say is going to make her mad. He’s so predictable in that way. Or really, maybe being together for eleven years means that she knows him a little too well.

Plus, those baby blues tell all.

“Nothing, my love,” he promises, wrapping his other arm around her and pulling her into an embrace while he brushes his lips across his forehead. Yeah, he’s definitely holding his tongue and trying to distract her. “Let’s keep walking until we get to the swing.”

“You’re going to have to fulfill your worst nightmare and carry me there because I’m not moving until you tell me what you were going to say.”

“I was going to say I don’t want to carry you and, you know, some other stuff that I’m seriously not going to say out loud.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m a weak, weak man who is incapable of carrying my wife unless I know that the faster I get her to the bedroom, the faster I’m going to have to have sex. So I could carry you go the swing now if certain promises are made.”

“I’m not having sex with you on the swing. Oh God,” she laughs, slapping his chest and leaning back so she can look in his eyes, the blue dimmed under the shade of his baseball cap. It’s a Yankees one, and she’s pretty sure that he stole it from her back when they were dating. “Is that why you had this swing built so far away from the house? Is it a sex swing?”

“Emma,” he bellows, leaning down and pressing his face into her shoulders while his entire body moves with laugher, the vibrations running through her from how close they are, “no, I did not build a bloody sex swing. I’m also not sure that you realize that that is something entirely different.”

“I know what a damn sex swing is, and you know that’s not what I meant.”

“Mhm, sure, love. Sure. If you want to hop on your old man’s back, I’ll carry you to our sex swing.”

“Nah,” she sighs, pulling back from him and reaching down for his hand so she can interlace their fingers and run her thumb over his knuckles, “I can walk. Take me to your sex swing.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

They walk a few more minutes until they come up on two large oak trees that twine together, obviously having grown here for much longer than any of the other trees and flowers they had planted when they were building the place. Her green thumb has gotten better since she planted the small garden outside of their apartment, but it’s definitely not enough to keep up with everything here. There’s so much beauty out here, much more than in the city, and even as her sneakers gets soaked in the damp grass, she’s so damn happy to be living here with her family.

The privacy is wonderful too. They can walk the grounds without worrying about anything. It’s like having freedom again.

She settles down onto the cushioned swing, not swaying until Killian settles down next to her, but then she pushes off the ground and starts moving them, causing the chains to gently hum and rustle with each movement. She’s going to have to bring Andy and Sutton out here one day. Andy will like the swing, even if it’s not like the one on his playground, and, well, maybe Sutton will like looking around at all of the leaves above them and the squirrels that are running around. She loves looking around, love focusing on her surroundings, and even though Emma sometimes thinks that her daughter is already attempting to be as different as possible from her brother with the fits and the crying, she does enjoy being swayed and getting to see everything around her.

There are so many similarities in her two children, so many that she already sees, but the moment Sutton was born without any hair but the tiniest of peach fuzz and the with features fairer than even Emma, she knew that this was not going to be another Killian. Sutton was going to look like her, even if her features are already changing, like a mix of the two of them but also her own person. Genetics are so strange, and even if she remembers studying them in school, she can’t quite explain her children. For all she knows, if they’re crazy and decide to have another one in a few years, that one could have hair as red as the flecks in Killian’s beard. That would really be something else.

“So I was thinking that we should go on a date sometime soon.”

“Yeah?” she asks, lifting her feet from the ground and curling them underneath her while she rests her head on Killian’s shoulder as he keeps them swaying.

“Most definitely, and as much as I love going on walks with you and hanging out on our sex swing, we should probably go somewhere without the kids being on the same property.” “Is this like when you made me leave Andy all night?”

“A little bit. But mostly I just want to take my wife on a date. We didn’t get to do that while I was courting you, so I feel like we still have so much to make up for.”

Sometimes he talks like he’s from a different century, and she’ll never be over how much she loves that.

“I don’t think we need to go on retroactive dates.”

“Well, that’s not really what I meant. I just meant that I like going out to dinner with you or sneaking into a movie or a play. Hell, we can go on a hike or to a football match. Just trying to keep the romance alive since my sex swing isn’t doing that.”

She chuckles to herself before twisting and propping herself up to glide her lips over his, almost instantly deepening it into a gentle push and pull. He tastes like his tea, but she doesn’t really notice that as she thinks about how much she loves him and how much he makes her laugh with his ridiculous jokes that literally no one else in the world would find funny. He pisses her off sometimes (a lot of the time), but then they have moments like this, the gentle quietness of nature surrounding them, and she wonders if all of the hell they went through to get here was actually quite so painful.

“Have I ever told you of the wonders that you are capable of with that mouth of yours, love?”

She laughs against his lips, their skin brushing together while Killian’s hand snakes up under her sweater and rests on the skin of her back, his skin warm compared to the early spring chill that’s still roaming around them. “You have, but it’s usually not quite in this context.”

“So dirty.”

“Hm, you usually say that too. I love you, you weirdo, and I definitely think that we should go on a date.”

“See, I always knew you’d come around to my plans. I’m very convincing.”

“Well, it sure as hell isn’t because of the wonders you can do with your mouth.”

He pinches the skin of her back before kissing her nose, the gentlest of touches that has her fluttering her eyes closed and trying to memorize this moment as one of the good ones. “You say that now, but wait until we go to dinner, and I drop the lettuce of my salad down my shirt.”

“You are a messy eater. That’s where Andy gets it from.”

“Eh, possibly.”

“No, definitely.”

“Whatever you say, darling. Just wait until Sutton stuffs a fistful of popcorn in her mouth instead of one or two pieces at a time. That’s what you do.”

“I do not.”

“You most definitely do.”

“Whatever.”

“Hey, Emma?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you too, you popcorn eating weirdo.”

-/-

-/-

She falls.

And then gets up.

And then falls again.

It’s this continuous cycle, but every time he gets up to try to help Sutton walk, she refuses his help. It absolutely cracks him up how independent she is, that sometimes she won’t even let him hold her hands for her to take a few steps around the room when she’s trying so hard to move. She’ll let Emma, the Mummy’s girl that she is, and on occasion, she lets him when she’s feeling particularly affectionate. It’s the funniest thing to him. Andy was the sweetest, calmest baby, and Sutton, well, she’s an absolute spitfire who is definitely some kind of karmic payback.

He’s not even sure if he believes in karma, but Sutton kind of makes him. He knew the first kid wasn’t difficult enough…and the first kid was damn difficult.

And while Andy favored Emma for a long time, mostly in his early days, he did come around to Killian eventually. Maybe he’s simply seeing it differently. Or maybe Sutton has much more obvious favoritism. Hell, Emma probably thinks that both of their kids favor him, even if only Andy looks like him. Sutton is all Emma.

Looks and personalities, though…two totally different things.

“Sutton, sweetheart,” he coos, adjusting himself on the ground and clapping his hands together. “Do you want to walk to come see Daddy? I think that sounds like a great idea, but you usually think otherwise.”

“So condescending there, Daddy.”

He twists his head to Emma standing in the doorway, her hair messily piled on top of her head and her t-shirt falling off her shoulder like it nearly always is. She must have finally woken up from her nap, and she obviously had a good one if the pillow creases on her face are any indication.

“I’m just speaking the truth. You try coming to get her to walk.”

Emma rolls her eyes before stepping into the room and over him so that she can take Sutton’s hands in hers as Sutton stands from the ground. “Alright there, baby girl, Momma needs you to walk with me, okay?”

Sutton’s face turns red for the briefest of moments, the tears and protests on the verge of coming to fruition, but then the red fades and she’s left with Emma’s creamy skin as her lips press into a straight line and she focuses on walking with Emma. It’s like watching magic happen, really. He’s got these two bloody incredible girls in his life, and they’ve got this bond that blows his mind. He definitely is jealous of it sometimes, jealous of the way Sutton doesn’t want him, but he likes that his loves have this bond.

He doesn’t understand how in the world he could have them, how he could have made one of them. It’s…sometimes he doesn’t deserve them, but man is he glad for them.

“Yay, Sutton,” Emma cheers when they take a few steps before Sutton insists that she sit down, crying out “Momma” until Emma releases her hands. “You did so good, Sutton, but you’ve really got to walk with Daddy sometimes, yeah? He gets a little jealous.”

“I can hear you.”

“I know. Don’t we have another one of these?”

“He’s in the playroom watching a movie, and I’ve got the camera on my phone. He hasn’t moved from the couch.”

“Good,” she sighs, reaching her hands down for him. “Why don’t we go in there and join him?”

He nods his head as he takes her hand, pushing up on his legs and ignoring the slight ache in his knees from standing from such a low position. “I think that sounds like a plan.”

Emma scoops up Sutton, and they walk out of the nursery and down to the end of the hall to the kids’ playroom. This room is nearly always such a mess, toys and clothes and pillows scattering across the floor and the tables despite the closet of bins that he swears he cleans up every single day. But it’s better that things are mostly contained in here, even though he stepped on a Lego in the living room downstairs yesterday, and he nearly screamed “fuck” so loudly that the kids could have heard him and woken from their naps. That would have been something else.

He does love this room, though. They have this set of windows at the end of it that stretch from floor to ceiling, and it looks out into the yard and to this oak tree that he thinks he might build a tree house in one day. He knows that they don’t age well most of the time, that children grow out of using them, but they’ll enjoy it for a little while. Besides, he and Emma get the cushioned swing out near the end of the property and the view of the pool from their bedroom. The kids can get this.

Some day.

“What are you watching, bud?”

“Chicken Little. The sky is falling from the sky, Mummy.”

“Oh no,” Emma gasps, settling down next to Andy on the couch and settling Sutton in her lap while Killian grabs some blankets out of the basket and dims the lights a little bit.

“Don’t worry, Mummy. I checked our sky. It’s still there.”

“Oh, okay. Well, that’s good.”

He snickers under his breath and then sits down in a recliner, propping the legs up only for Andy to scramble over to him and sit on his lap, his bony limbs poking Killian over and over again until he finally plops down in the small open space left in the chair and tugs the blanket up over his legs too, looking up at Killian and flashing him the widest grin. Andy looks so proud of himself, and Killian has no idea why. He’s probably hidden Killian’s wallet or something.

The movie continues to play, everyone settling into it, and then out of nowhere, Andy speaks. “If my name is Andy and Indy’s name is Indy, does that mean Indy is my sister and Sutton isn’t?”

“I’m sorry…what?”

“Is Indy my sister?”

His eyes glance over to Emma’s, and she simply smiles and shrugs, giving him absolutely no help for how to answer this. His son’s name is eerily similar to their dog’s, and sometimes he wonders how they didn’t plan that better. He didn’t ever really think that would be a problem though.

“Well, Indy is part of our family like me, Mummy, and Sutton.”

“And me.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles, tugging up on the blanket again, “and you. And we all love Indy, but she’s a dog, remember? She has all of that fur and we pet her and she barks.”

“And eats gross food.”

“That too. So her name sounds like yours, but Sutton is your sister and we love her too, right?”

“Yeah, but she cries.”

“She’s not crying right now.”

Andy tilts his head to the side, his gaze falling away from the television and toward his sister who’s intently watching the movie while Emma’s fingers play with her small wisps of hair. Without any kind of warning, Andy scrambles up from his spot, kicking Killian multiple times before he’s off of the chair and moving to sit on the couch while he stares at Sutton with rapt fascination like she hasn’t been alive and living with them for a year.

Finally he nods and reaches over to kiss Sutton’s cheek in a move so gentle that Killian feels his heart swell for a moment before going back to a normal, functioning size.

“I love you, Sutton,” Andy whispers while Sutton tries to decide if she likes her brother or not, her eyes slanted as she studies him. She’s always kind of wary of him at first, but then again, she’s wary of anyone who’s not Emma. “You’re not a dog, but that’s okay.”

They spend the rest of the day in the playroom, watching movies and letting the kids run their toys over the two of them before they feed them dinner and get washed up for bed. It takes far too long every night, but it’s not like they can simply not feed or bathe their children. That would be inhumane and bad parenting among so many other things. But it gets done, and the moment he closes Sutton’s door, the wood clicking into place, Emma takes his hands and intertwines their fingers while the corners of her lips turn up into a smile.

Beautiful.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Oh, Killian,” she mutters, walking backward down the hall and tugging him with her, “I know that you’ve gone all soft on me, but I still like to think that you know when I’m trying to seduce you.”

“Is that what this is? Because I don’t know if you��ve looked at yourself today but – ”

“Jackass.”

He tugs her closer even if she resists a little bit until their chests are pressed together and he dips his head to softly glide his lips over hers, staying still for a moment until she begins to move against him, her hands letting his go so they can wrap around his neck, fingers teasing his hair, and his hands find her hips and the skin that rests under her shirt, warmth in every inch of it that buzzes across his own skin.

She’s soft, always so soft even when she’s firm.

“Am I still a jackass?” he whispers when his nose is still heavily pressed into her cheek.

“Absolutely, but I’ll allow it.”

“Oh thank goodness.”

She chuckles against his lips, the vibrations traveling across his skin too, before she’s unwrapping herself from him and walking down the hallway and disappearing behind their bedroom door. By the time he joins her she’s setting up the baby monitor on the bedside table and stripping out of her clothes, tossing them on the glider.

“Someone is eager.”

“Someone is efficient,” she shrugs, reaching back and unclasping her bra until her breasts are exposed to his gaze, a shiver running down his spine that has nothing to do with the high speed at which the ceiling fan in this room is running. “And cold. I’m cold,” she laughs, quickly hoping into bed and pulling the comforter over herself while he laughs and strips out of his clothes as well. The fan has to do with Emma’s shivers, apparently.

“I love you,” he sighs as he lifts the comforter and settles down on top of her, feeling both the warmth and chill of her skin as their lips come together again.

“I love you, even though you’re not a dog.”

“Oh my God,” he laughs, trailing away from her mouth and moving down her neck, working all of the places he knows Emma loves while his hands move across her body, exploring and teasing and making her gasp from his touch, especially when he begins stroking her, wetness gathering at his fingers as Emma’s hips buck up into his in a motion that’s delightful and enticing while his lips move over her breasts.

Glorious, glorious breasts.

“K-Killian,” she stutters when he slowly starts pumping his fingers inside of her while his thumb rubs her bundle of nerves in slow, practiced circles.

“Like that?”

“Like that.”

It doesn’t take much longer as he teases her, and he didn’t realize how keyed up she was before they started as her hips buck at a more furious pace and she falls apart beneath him, alternating between whispering quiet words and muffling her loud curses against his shoulder.

“I’m still cold,” she sighs, and he grunts in response before covering her entire body with his, hoping that his warmth and the blankets that surround them will help as he guides himself inside of her, her warmth enveloping him and making his eyes roll back at the pleasure of being inside of her while he moves her left leg to rest over his hip, opening her up to him.

“Still cold?”

“I think that can be fixed if you start moving.” She smiles up at him with the most innocent of smiles, something he would see when they’re out working together, but then she thrusts her hips up, causing him to nearly lose his balance, and pulls his lips down to hers so that they can slide together in a rhythm that matches the thrusts he’s slowly moving into.

He takes his time, experimenting with thrusts and angles and depths, and as the minutes move on, the unsteady beat of his heart not at all matching up with the hum of the fan or the chirps of the insects outside, he finds himself in a position that’s good for the both of them. Emma’s breath is unsteady as well, her heartbeat likely beating a similar rhythm, and as her skin heats, sweat beading at her forehead and dripping down her skin, she mumbles for him to move onto back until he’s pulling out of her and rolling over onto his back only for Emma to settle her knees on either side of his thighs and slowly guide him back into her warmth as she moves above him.

He’s been with her for over a decade, since she was a little under twenty-one and him twenty-three, and over the years he’s seen her change, her personality and convictions and her body. She’s so much stronger now, so damn confident in herself that when he looks at her, he’s still amazed that she’s chosen to love him and to be with him. He knows how much shit she’s put up with over the years, a lot of it before him, some of it because of him, and likely even more of it that has nothing at all to do with him, and he’s watched her handle it with grace and with bravery and something undeniably Emma.

Softness and strength all at once.

Emma.

As she moves above him, her hips swiveling and driving him into madness while his hands explore her skin, kneading her ass and her breasts in the ways that she likes, he watches her with as much focus as his muddled mind allows him to. Her breasts are heavier than when they first met, two children likely causing that, and while Emma sometimes complains about not being able to get away with going braless anymore, he selfishly is not going to complain about that. Nor will he complain about the curve of her hips, the firmness of her ass, or the faded tiger stripes on her stomach from carrying their children and from simply living life.

Really, he’d be a fool to complain about anything. He’d also be a bit of an ass.

So he doesn’t. He won’t. His body has changed too, his life as well, and he’s simply glad that they’ve changed together instead of growing apart.

“Fuck,” he stutters when Emma leans forward and wraps her arms under his shoulders while her lips trail down his neck, the pleasure in his spine becoming concentrated at the base while his hips start doing the work, snapping up into her while she nibbles on his ear, her breath hot and lips soft. “Fuck, Emma. That’s incredible. You’re incredible.”

She gasps when his hands grab onto the globes of her ass, guiding her as she whispers dirty words into his ear that have him closing his eyes as his pleasure reaches him, the thrusts becoming erratic and his mind blurring for the shortest of moments even though he tries to keep the presence of mind to rub his fingers over where they’re joined to let Emma fall apart as well.

“I love you,” she sighs as she rests on top of his chest, not bothering to move even as he slips out of her and the need to cleaned up calls to them. Her lips trail across his chest and up his neck until they’re slanting over his lips, the salt of sweat prominent on them. “And I’m still cold.”

“I love you, darling, but I cannot possibly understand how you’re still cold. You’re literally sweating.”

“It’s making me cold.”

He snickers against her lips and nuzzles his nose into her neck, nipping at the skin for a brief moment before rolling them over and covering Emma’s body with his. “I’m going to go get you a washcloth and some flannel pajamas, okay?”

“My hero.”

He rolls his eyes before getting up and making his way to the bathroom to get the washcloth and some clothes.

“Hey Killian?” Emma calls, and he turns around to see her bundled up under the white of the comforter with only her head showing, her hair matted and tangled from the day and their activities. The sexiest women he knows is also the most adorable, and the affection he feels for her continues to grow.

“Yeah, love?”

“That’s a nice ass you’ve got there, so if you want to, you know, not get dressed, that’d be fine with me.”

He winks. “As you wish.”

[dat-town]

carpe diem

Characters: Mark & OC (Honey)

Setting: paranormal abilities au (~Tomorrow People)

Genre: fluff with a hint of angst

Summary: They have their own safe haven but when a boy with stars in his eyes says he misses something, Honey would like to know what that is.

Words: 2.6k

The day after tomorrow spin-off, set after the 2nd part. @restlessmaknae ♥  

Despite her name, Honey didn't have a sweet life at all.

It's not a sob story though, she just doesn't like to tell it anybody. Her past is a carefully hidden closet deep in her heart with the key thrown away. Nobody knows exactly who she is, not even the nation since she has no social security number or ID. According to the government she doesn't even exist, or at least shouldn't. That's why she uses her forged name and glares at everybody who asks about her real one. This one is as real as it could get.

Originally she had no intention of joining any group, she was more of a loner even with Johnny on her side. The elder definitely had some crazy brotherly instinct and that was why he stuck with her through the beginning even when she insisted on not needing anyone.

“We all need someone in our life. It doesn’t make you weaker that you do, too,” he said and reluctantly Honey agreed.

As time went by she learnt that Johnny actually had a sister on the other coast of the States but he left his family when he turned out to be dangerous in the government’s eyes, so that made him a threat to his own family and he wasn’t willing to risk their well-being. Maybe she reminded him of his own sister and Honey didn’t actually mind. A brother would have been nice to have in her life. So if she couldn’t have a real one, she was happy with what she got. Not to mention that the whole underground group started to feel a bit like family. As their number grew and they all took care of each other more their bond also strengthened.

They all shared two things besides being homo superiors, blessed with powers humans were incapable of such as telekinesis, teleportation and telepathy: they all hated Ultra, the organization ought to make their lives difficult by hunting them and the need for some friends, a family because most of them lost or left their owns behind so they wouldn't put them in danger with their abilities. Honey would have never admitted it out loud but joining the so-called Avengers of Tomorrow - the recent name is the courtesy of Yukhei - was one of the best decisions they could have made. Before the team, the two of them, she and Johnny, wandered from city to city at the first chance of getting caught when they accidently used their powers or agents seemed to find them. However, living in fear and uncertainty wasn't the ideal kind of life. But with a whole dysfunctional little family around them, living in a cool underground place where they could use their powers freely was almost living the life to the fullest. Especially because now they had a purpose.

It had been three weeks since their break-in to Ultra's laboratories. They helped almost a dozen of superiors escape from those cages. Some left the city, maybe even the country, trying to find a safe, peaceful place but some stayed and joined them. The original team, Yukhei, (his almost but not really girlfriend) Ariadne, Ten, Johnny, Mark and Honey who helped them nurture their powers and taught them how to fight physically when they can't use them. But now, weeks into their training watching them fight was somewhat satisfying because they all could see how much they improved and how they would be able to protect themselves next time when Ultra wants to cage them.

“You're good with the new ones,” a guy with boyish features sits down next to her on the couch. Then they both watch the two newest addition to the team circling around watch other in their madeshaft ring. Winwin was a quick learner, he excelled in telekinesis while Jeffrey was more of a teleporting talent.

“We were new once, too. They will get better,” Honey sighed and fell back onto the couch to find a more comfortable position next to the boy. It wasn't on purpose, the way she avoided contact. It was her nature to keep distance from everybody on instinct. Of course, she knew that nobody here would have hurt her but the memories faded too slowly for her liking, she couldn't kill off those reflexes that saved her life once.

“I’m still pretty new to this,” the boy shrugged not mentioning her sudden movements and kept his eyes on the new trainees. It’s true that he was the last addition to the original team before attacking Ultra but he behaved pretty professionally back then even if he had no choice but to support the whole mission from behind a camera. Without him and the electricity shortage he created in the building, they all would have stuck there for sure. 

“You’re a veteran rookie, Mark, don’t kid me. That telekinetic shield you used against Yukhei last practice was really cool,” Honey smiled at him and she found it adorable when the boy’s cheeks gotten red after her comment.

“Thanks,” he mumbled and ruffled his hair not knowing what else to say. They sat there side by side in silence just watching the practice from afar. The noises of the fight and Yukhei’s advice to both involved parties dissolved into nothingness as their thoughts seemed to be louder than words. Honey had a feeling they were both lost in their own mind deeply until Mark broke the silence. “Don’t you ever miss the surface?”

The girl looked at him nonchalantly and shrugged. “What’s there to miss?” She wasn’t used to moving out and she had not been allowed in the past. So maybe it was just old habits dying hard. She was rather familiar with the four walls and maybe that’s why she was so good at telepathy. She had been alone enough with her own thoughts to perfect that skill. Let's just say she had experience about being experimented on. That was something Johnny knew too, the only thing she could let slip when he found her behind a garbage truck after she ran away.

"I don't know. Everything. The sky. The fresh smell of spring. The breeze in your hair. The animals. I miss dogs," the boy pouted and with his doe eyes and pouty lips he was like a kid at Christmas who didn’t get the gift he wanted.

"You are being melancholic," Honey reminded him but her voice wasn’t cold or scolding. The way he felt was perfectly reasonable. Being locked into a place with no natural light could do funny things the person’s brain.

"Maybe I am. Don't get me wrong, I'm really grateful that we have this place where we don't have to hide who we are or we don't have to fear but it's like we locked ourselves in willingly," Mark whispered, words falling from his lips so tentatively as if she was the first one he dared to tell all this. Maybe she was which was ridiculous considering how close they all were. Of course they all had their own secrets but they talked about this kind of stuff normally. "Maybe I'm just complaining because it's been a while since I have been out. Yukhei said not to leave alone after what happened to Hendery."

They both remembered the panic of the recent event clearly. They were so very close to lose this place, or at least being exclusive in knowing about it. Some agents had been following the young boy back to the place and it was only thanks to Ten’s special skills that they realized what was going on in time, so they could trick them without getting caught. But it was a warning sign that Ultra had new methods and they became smarter too, so they had to be even more careful. 

"Sorry, I didn’t mean to be so negative. I just... I feel like I'm going crazy stuck in here," Mark sighed after the pang moment of silence and Honey didn’t know what came over her, it might have been the sadness or the longing in the guy’s voice that she could resonate with, but she blurted out:

"Then let's go out."

"But..." Mark’s doe eyes went even wider as he seemed absolutely taken aback.

"No buts. Nobody needs to know. We just come and go. A bit change of atmosphere," she turned to the other with her body, eyes fierce and confident. She might have not wanted to leave before but seeing how the guy missed whatever he missed up there, it made her curious: maybe there were things up there worth of missing after all.

"Look, we need you to be in your right state of mind when we demolish Ultra," she reminded  Mark firmly because she believed that if he had these internal turmoils, all these vulnerable thoughts, he needed to get rid of those before Ultra could get them and mess with his or anyone’s head.

"You say that like it's so sure it happens," Mark gaped at her, eyes wide and curious like he admired her but what for?

"If enough people believe in it, it will," Honey answered confidently and flashed a smile at the boy, one of her rare, genuine ones, the ones of the girl behind the fighter. Mark had to blink as he caught himself staring but then he tried not to stumble with his words as he nodded.

"Okay, let's do it," he agreed with a hint of smile on his face.

They didn't talk about details, they didn't plan anything further, they just got their wallets and phones and met up at the hallway. Honey merely left a note for Johnny that they have gone out because she knew the guy would have worried more if he didn't know where she was rather than if he knew for sure that she willingly went outside and not alone on the top of that.

As soon as they teleported outside, the chilliness of the late evening caught Honey by surprise. One thing about living in a place with no windows that you couldn't tell the time nor the weather just by looking out. A swear word slipped from her mouth as goosebumps dressed her skin.

“You curse like a pirate,” Mark laughed and she rolled her eyes. But the boy was too cute for his own good to be mad at especially with his explanation. “My mom used to tell me this whenever I cursed even if it wast something trivial, she scolded me like this jokingly.”

“She sounds like the typical loving mom.”

“She was better,” Mark smiled fondly nostalgic and Honey knew she wasn’t supposed to ask more because they had all lost something. Probably it wouldn’t have been the best to rub salt into the wounds of the past, so she stayed silent looking around for any suspicious movement around them but the dark alley seemed empty.

"Speaking of which I guess it wasn't your mom who named you like this so why Honey?" the boy blurted out the obvious question most people asked right after she introduced herself. As long as they didn’t insist on knowing her birth name, she let them be but didn't bother with a detailed answer. Though, with Mark it was a bit different. He was so open-minded and kind to anyone that she felt like he would have understood anything she told him. So she shrugged before telling him the truth.

"Johnny gave me the name. He said I was sweet and sticky, at least with him," she rolled her eyes in disapprovement but didn't comment on it. She remembered that day all too clearly, when she had met the brother-figure of her life and he had asked about her name, all she could think about was not wanting to be a bunch of numbers anymore. It took a few days of getting used to each other when Johnny decided to call her Honey because it seemed fitting. And it stuck with her.

"You are pretty sweet with me, too," Mark's thoughts echoed barely audible in the air but Honey heard him anyway, telepathic superior powers and stuff. She wasn’t sure Mark knew he failed to hide his thoughts but since she couldn't really handle compliments, she didn’t say anything to that. Instead clearing her throat she went straight to the point.

"Don't make me regret I came out with you," she shook her head instead of downright objecting the fact. "Instead show me something you love up here, so that I know it's worth the risk."

Mark's eyes sparkled as soon as an idea came to his mind and watching the smile spread on his mouth was like watching the sun rise.

"There's this adorable dog café I used to go. You will love it!" he exclaimed and they dived into the city looking for that special place.

In the meantime Mark couldn't shut up, he kept talking about what he liked up here and what he missed down there. He kept telling stories of him tripping by that corner, having his first, super-awkward date at that cinema, going to high school on the other side of that bridge and so on. Honey was used to the quietness, so all this was a bit fuzzy and a lot for her but listening to Mark was easy, it eased her nerves.

The boy was also right about the dog café. Both the food and drinks were good, not to mention the adorable dogs all around. They must have seen pretty comfy around each other because the waitress commenting on them looking cute together and neither of them could handle the situation accordingly. Honey just shook her head while Mark blushed, a good look on him, definitely.

Then they visited a PC room where Mark showed her his favourite game - in which she quickly beated him - and then they went for the walk on the riverbank. By that point even Honey started doubting it was merely friends hanging out and not a date but she was sure Mark didn't do this on purpose. He wasn't that sneaky.

But all good things had to come to an end eventually. They noticed they were being followed by some time and in such a crowded area teleporting would have been too risky. They kept talking through telepathy trying to get rid of the stalker, most likely an Ultra agent but in vain, he was like a leech.

“What if we make a run for it?” Mark suggested as they were already walking in ridiculous speed, so Honey quickly agreed.

“Yeah, let's show them,” she thought and without counting, they started running.

Adrenaline pumped the blood in their veins faster and the breeze in their face gave the full experience. Even though being chased wasn't part of the original plan, they handled it with care. They only teleported when they got to a secluded area but in the rush or the thrill of the moment, they stumbled right after getting back to the couch where it all started. Falling brought painful yelps and tangled limbs but surprisingly genuine laughter.

"This was..." Mark laughed, still panting, out of breath as he pulled away, tentatively looking in Honey's eyes as if he could find the answer there.

"Fun. We should do it again," she finished it instead of him. Still laughing while looking at each other she knew they had the very same thought. 

From then on they started living for the day too and not only for the tomorrow.

[llampacaeatingguppy]

Aspects of winter life that might not occur to you

Maybe you’re writing a book about someone in The North but you live in The South, maybe you’re moving somewhere cold, and maybe you just want to know. I don’t really care, I’m just a long-time resident of Wisconsin who wants to write a bunch of stuff, so I am. (Please note some of this might be Wisconsin-exclusive)

First of all, let’s talk about that little transition from summer to winter. There are literally maybe two weeks of a stereotypical “not too hot, not too cold” temperature, sometimes not even that. Fall is mostly unpredictable weather hell and it’s hard to be sure when they will truly decide to stop. For example: our last warm day was December 4, and it was almost 60 degrees (15.5 C). On my sisters birthday, December 6, it was 20 degrees  (-6.5 C) and snowing, which was far more normal for that time of year.

Women’s clothes are the dumbest things ever, especially jeans. Your top half gets additional insulation through your coat. Your legs do not, and women’s jeans are thin. Leggings and/or long socks under your pants pretty much every day are a must if you don’t want you legs to turn into icesicles. And if you must either wear leggings or jeans by themselves, I feel warmer in leggings. Sweatpants are the best, but I usually use those as pajamas.

On the topic of women’s clothes and coats, my classmate was cold in class once and I offered her my fall coat (which I wear if it’s about 40+ degrees (4+ C)). It’s a hoodie that I found in the men’s section. You know what she told me? It was warmer than her fall coat. Let me tell you something: that thing wasn’t even marketed as a coat. Don’t get me wrong, I knew it was warm, that’s why I wore it, but I didn’t realize it was that warm. Women’s clothes vs men’s clothes. Yay. And people wonder why men on campus are still walking around in sweaters when women are wearing their winter coats in the fall.

One more thing about clothes to get all the salt out of my system and then I’m done with clothes, I promise. If you want some women’s clothes actually suitable for the weather, your best bet is secondhand stores or small local shops, because those clothes are from people who also actually have to endure this climate. Any sort of chain of stores just don’t have clothes designed for cold weather. Heck, some of the stuff that I’ve seen in Target for “winter” I wouldn’t wear until May or June.

There is a confusing temperature where you’re not sure whether to wear your fall coat or your winter coat. It varies per person, but since my winter coat is literally a cleared for -30 degrees (-34 C) heavy duty stuffed trench coat (that I had to scramble for while it was on sale, cheap coats are not made for Wisconsin-level cold. People do it, but I have no idea how) and my fall coat is a men’s hoodie, the choice between roast and freeze is particularly present because the range of temperature those were made for is so different.

If you go outside and the snot in your nose freezes before you’ve taken two steps, you can safely say that it’s really cold without anyone arguing with you.

Also, “You know it’s cold when your snot is frozen in two seconds” and other variants is kinda a local meme. Probably has been for decades. I’ve lived here 18 years and I don’t remember ever not hearing it.

A lot of people seem to assume that sickness season is in the winter. It’s not. It’s the Times of Horrible Weather (aka spring and fall). People get sick in winter, sure, but it’s spring and fall where over half of the people you know all get sick at once, although it’s milder cold-like things. The exception to this is the explosion of influenza that happens around January, but one month is a small chunk of winter, believe me.

Spring is really similar to fall, just an fyi. I keep saying fall because we’re in the thick of winter now, it’s -17 (-27 C) outside, and spring looks like an impossibility, but they’re really similar in terms of awful temperature fluctuations. Most people are more tolerant of its obnoxiousness because when it ends the weather won’t be trying to kill you. I personally like it less because all that snow melting makes everything wet and muddy and all the litter that the snow hid is now visible and I never know if it’s hot or cold outside and it feels like nothing really grows until the week before summer so it’s just naked and ugly and inconvenient. I hate spring. Can you tell?

I’m just now realizing that it probably sounds like I don’t like winter, but I actually do. Like yeah it’s annoying, but I like it? It’s kinda like that character you love who’s a complete asshole and you’re not even sure why you love them but you do.

The. Car. It gets cold. And it doesn’t warm up right away, either, because of how cold the engine gets. And you might need to jump start it, too, depending on how good your battery is. Also there’s ice and snow and fun stuff that you have to scrape off after it snows. And it’s cold outside while you’re doing it. And you’re probably also late because the world hates you. And the roads are probably bad.

10+ inches (25.4+ cm) of snow = elementary and high schools have to close. -40 degrees (which is the same in Celsius, crazy right?) or lower windchill = elementary and high schools have to close. Both happen a few times a year. College classes don’t have that rule. You walk to class in -50 degree (-45.5 C) windchill anyways and try to ignore the fact that you haven’t been able to feel your face pretty much the whole time.

If you’re on your period, things can get really cold and uncomfortable down there. Changing your pad more frequently than usual helps some. Tampons might also do the trick, but I can’t tell you for sure because I don’t like to use them.

If you’re like me and get chilled easily, winter is kinda nice because nobody will judge you for wearing an ungodly number of layers. Are you still cold when you go outside? Probably, at least some of the time. But you’re comfortable while indoors, which is a nice change of pace.

Folks farther north try to assert their dominance over you, and you do the same to those who live farther south than you. This is achieved by bragging about the bad weather.

Snowing on Halloween is a very real thing. When you’re a young trick-or-treater, it’s beyond frustrating because unless you’re literally going as a scientist living in Antarctica or your parents don’t care if you get sick by running around without a coat, good luck having people see your costume because it’s coat time.

Bugs are small. The largest spider I regularly see is a little bigger than a quarter, and most of that’s legs.

My dad loves to tell the story about how when he lived in Virginia, they got two feet of snow and they still expected him to come to work because he was from the north, despite the fact that the state was essentially in a state of crisis. But we don’t drive in two feet of snow, either, because a crap ton of snow plows go out every time it snows. It’s not perfect, and the roads are bad for a while, but there isn’t literally the total amount of snow accumulation just sitting on the road for us to drive through. So please don’t ask your employee from the north to come in to work when it snowed two feet overnight and there are not nearly enough snowplows, because then there literally is two feet of snow on the road and that’s dangerous for anyone, north or not. (He didn’t go in, by the way.)

When the roads aren’t great, seeing cars in the ditch is normal. People don’t even bat an eye and they’re often used as a measurement for how bad roads are. (ex: “I saw three cars in the ditch on the way here” = roads are bad) This is just normal, car swerved a little bit and ran off the road stuff, though. If it’s more serious (like if the car flipped upside down or hit another car or something), then it gets regarded as a car accident, not as a car in the ditch.

If you’re asthmatic, the cold can induce asthma attacks. It doesn’t always, but when I was diagnosed with asthma a few years ago, the doctor told me to be careful because it’s a very real problem for some folks. The worst it does to me personally is makes me cough a few times if it’s less then 0 degrees and I breathe too deeply through my mouth, and if I cover my face with a scarf it gets rid of the problem altogether.

I have never in my life successfully made an igloo. I don’t think most people have. They always caved in at the top the few times I tried. What I did do all the time as a youngling was dig tunnels under the snow and army-crawl through them.

Later in the winter, when the temperature starts to ease up but it’s still not spring, just the top layer of snow will melt a smidge and then freeze back over, making a hard shell. It’s oftentimes thick enough for kids to walk on without breaking it and I thought it was one of the coolest things ever. Even now, if I find a place that can support my weight as an adult, it gives me this odd sense of giddiness and usually makes my day.

Electronics were not made to handle cold and leaving them out in it can be a nightmare on your battery.

There are quite a few people who eat summer-coded desserts in the winter, especially ice cream. Winter gives enough people negativity without the added sadness of certain sweets being off-limits.

[mrtroy]

The Quiet Satisfaction of Cutting Grass

When I was a kid, it always boggled my mind how my old man could cut the grass on a warm mid-summer’s evening while wearing long pants. Every once in a while Pops would wear shorts, but often times, I’d watch him go back and forth across the back yard in his Levis. My ten-year old self couldn’t fathom how anyone could wear long pants in 80-degree weather. And yet, every Sunday and every Thursday, my dear old dad trudged his way through the 1/3rd acre lot of the only home he’d ever owned. Mowing.

The cross-cut was always his specialty. One direction for a first pass, and then the opposite perpendicular just after. Not only would he wear long pants, but he’d also do twice the work For the life of me, it never made sense.

Into our early teenage years, my brother and I were taught very carefully the artisan craft of mowing the yard at 724 Potomac Avenue. My dad wasn’t a member of the grounds crew at Wrigley Field, but apparently, no one told him.

After cutting the yard, he’d edge, trim, and weed-wack until his ankles were a dull light green. Then he’d sweep – and in later years enlisted a leaf blower to clear any stray grass clippings from within 25 yards of a paved surface on our property.

And so, this is how my brother and I learned to take care of a lawn.

As teenagers, we’d mow the lawn from time to time, but mostly, our yard was used as a temporary training ground to learn how to cut the lawn with the ultimate goal of being able to cut other people’s lawns as a weekly summer job.

I had two weekly customers, and the spending money was just enough to pay for trips to Dairy Queen, or to buy baseball cards with my friends.

A few times in the Spring of 1998, I was trusted to mow our lawn as Pops was recovering from a knee replacement surgery. At first, in his truest of forms, the old man got out behind the mower and was determined to soldier on after his surgery. After proving to himself that he was indeed capable of doing it, I think my mom convinced him to have me do it every so often as a way of giving him some rest as he was healing.

I can vividly remember trying so hard to mow in straight lines during those weeks. Pops absolutely loved being able to stand on our back patio after finishing up the yard and admire the lines created as the direction of the grain of the grass alternated up and back. Dark green going one direction, and a lighter – almost white – going the other.

His lines looked something like Rembrandt. At first, mine were a bit more Jackson Pollack, but, as time passed, they got a little more orderly. I learned how to maneuver the mower – always one of Sears’ Craftsman – deftly around the numerous flowerbeds in the back yard. I got the hang of putting a little more pressure on the left side of the handle in order to get the front right side of the mower deck to pop up to avoid hitting the exposed root protruding from the earth under the large silver maple tree at the back of our lot.

As I grew older, and had more activities, I wasn’t expected to mow our lawn with any regularity, however, there were always times where I’d be asked to pinch hit for a week here or there. Many of my friends had to cut their family’s lawn every week, and they hated it. They thought I was the luckiest kid around to weasel my way out of lawn duty more times than not.

My dad likes doing it I always told them.

As I would say those words, I would shake my head a little bit. Who actually liked mowing grass? Sure, I had gotten better at it over the last few years, but I definitely wouldn’t classify it as something I liked…

But, if I ever asked him about it, my dad always emphatically reaffirmed the fact that he did indeed love cutting the lawn.

It’s relaxing, he would always say. I enjoy how it looks when I finish. I love when the yard looks good. It makes me feel good about the entire house.

I don’t think I’d ever seen him happier than the time one of our neighbors up the street put their house up for sale, and their realtor took a picture from their yard looking into ours with the caption, ‘majestic back-yard view with garden-like neighboring yard.’ I’m somewhat shocked he didn’t frame the real estate listing…

I mowed the yard on and off into and through college, and even a few times in my early twenties as I was living at home after college saving for the first house of my own.

Despite everything he tried to impart on me, I never quite developed Pops’ love of lawn care. When I learned that all the yardwork at my first townhouse was going to be covered by the homeowner’s association, I counted this as a win. My dad joked that I could probably mow the common area between shared driveways if I wanted. Everyone in the family knew he wasn’t kidding, although he got a pretty funny look from my realtor after the agent realized this wasn’t actually a joke.

A few moves later, I worked my way into a house with a yard of its own, and, you guessed it, mowing duties to match. Pops and I stopped in at the local Home Depot where we picked me out a shiny new Toro lawn mower.

He beamed with pride as we rolled it out of the store, and he couldn’t help himself but to fire it up for the first spin around my new yard. Never mind it was my house, he was going to christen the new machine, so help him God.

I laughed as he went. With each pass, he’d yell out some feature of the mower as I stood in the driveway trying to conceal my laughter. I couldn’t hear a word he said, but I know every word oozed with the type of enthusiasm I hoped I one day had for any topic – let alone cutting grass.

--

It’s coming up on two years since I’ve lived in a house with a yard, so I don’t do any mowing these days.

I’ve never missed it. When it rains, or I have to be out of town for days or weeks at a time, I never worry if my neighbors are silently critiquing my lack of lawn manicuring skill as they look at my unruly lawn from their living room windows.

As I was prepping that house for rent this last rent cycle, I did a little maintenance on my Toro mower. She was still in pretty good shape, and I have to admit, I did get a little satisfaction flipping her over and scraping the dried grass out from the underbody of the red machine. Those sentiments came and went quickly though as I gassed her up and got her ready for the renters who would now be responsible for cutting the lawn. Silently, I wondered when I might mow a yard again. Soon? Not soon? Either way, I didn’t figure to miss it.

And I didn’t

However, that next time mowing came today, and it was quietly satisfying.

My parents are out of town putting their National Parks Pass to good use and asked if I wouldn’t mind coming over to their house to take care of the yard while they are gone.

Sure, I said. What else would I say? I agreed that I would come over on the weekend after they’d been gone five days and take care of it.

Part of me figured that by mid week, I’d be dreading my assignment. Lawn mowing isn’t hard, but it does take time, and it’s not exactly the most exciting weekend activity a person can do.

But strangely, I didn’t begin to dread the looming task by mid week. The forecast was calling for rain on Saturday, so I decided to come straight from work on Friday night and knock the task out before the rains came.

As I punched the entry code into the keypad on the side of my parents’ garage door, I realized I couldn’t remember the last time I had mowed this yard. My boyhood yard.

As the garage opened, I saw that Pops had acquired a new mower since the last time I had noticed. No longer a Craftsman model, he was now the proud owner of a Troy-Bilt machine. How fitting that a Troy – especially a proud one – would buy himself a Troy-Bilt mower. I smiled. He was so predictable…

As I wheeled the mower out of the garage and pulled the cord to start the engine, unexpected emotions came over me. The Troy-Bilt roared to life after two pulls on the cord. When was the last time I had mowed THIS yard?

And wouldn’t you know it, coming right from work on a Friday now, I was wearing jeans as I began. I stopped in my tracks thinking about how many times I’d given my old man a hard time in my head for wearing jeans to mow the lawn… And yet, here I was…

I looked around at how much more lush the trees and shrubs were that surrounded the yard. The basic foundational elements were the same as they had been when I had first mowed the yard in the late 90s, but a lot had also changed.

As I always had, I started to the north side of the driveway and completed this section of grass first. Immediately, I noticed how smoothly this new mower ran. A few seconds later I started to go down that path of, ‘back when I first started mowing this yard, the mowers weren’t nearly this nice…’ – but I stopped short. I’m not even 35 yet, I can’t be starting that kind of things…

I moved to the south side of the driveway a few minutes later and began navigating some of the newer features the lawn now featured. I’d mown around them before – later in life – but I remembered back to when the birch tree didn’t have as much foliage surrounding its base. I could picture our family bulldog waddling around near it, his tongue nearly hitting the ground as he did.

The front yard isn’t big, and it only took me a few minutes to level the south section…

Moving to the back yard, I pushed the mower down the brick sidewalk that connects my parents front yard to its back. The surrounding flora had grown so much since I’d last done this, I was barely able to maneuver the 23-inch wheelbase around a bevy of ferns, spruce trees and other assorted plants I couldn’t name.

The trees in the back yard were so much bigger and fuller than I last remembered. I’d been in this yard regularly over the last few years – even in the last few months – but there was something different about mowing it. I noticed more. It felt more significant.

Again, I began mowing in a familiar fashion. One complete ring around the outer edges of the yard. Along the contours of the flower beds and up against the limestone the bordered the patio. The back yard hadn’t changed as much as the front had, and I was immediately struck by how much smaller it seemed. Teenage me always dreaded the backyard because it seemed so big, and ‘took a long time.’ In actuality, it took 22 minutes and minimal effort.

I surmised somewhere during the middle portion of those 22 minutes that it had probably been about twelve years since I’d mowed this grass. It was probably during my last summer of college that I’d done it.

I thought about the things in my life that had changed since then. The things I had learned. I thought a lot about my parents. They had been in their 40s and 50s then. Both are in their 60s now. They’re in the process of planning to retire and move away from this house they’ve occupied for 35 years.

I came to the raised root near the silver maple tree – the same one where I had learned how to raise one side of the mower to avoid clipping the root. Instinctively, I pushed down on the left side of the mower’s handle. The right front wheel popped up. The root was avoided. Not bad, I thought. I’ve still got it…

As I finished the yard, I felt a sense of pride in being able to come over and mow it for my parents. For hundreds of weeks in my youth, I’d had baseball games and camping trips. I’d gone away to school, and had at one point even spent 42 consecutive days on a road trip across the west cost of the U.S.

That fact brought a nice little piece of symmetry as I thought of my parents roaming around Colorado and Utah for the next few weeks.

As a kid, I didn’t always have the capacity to realize all that my parents did for me, and it’s been a nice little bonus of growing up – coming to the realization that adult responsibilities are hard, and the value in their consistency and commitment to just keeping the house running, or keeping my brother and I on track with school and other activities.

One thing I always struggled with as a kid was emptying the grass clippings from the bag on the back of the mower into a yard waste bag. As I went to do it this evening, I discovered something amazing: a little handle on the back of the mower’s bag that allowed you to easily grip the bottom of the bag as you emptied the cut grass into the refuse bag. Whoa. This was big. The angle it created to empty the clippings was immaculate, and they easily slid into the brown paper yard waste bag with no issues and no mess.

I can only hope some neighbor somewhere could have seen the smile on my face as I was doing this. Ha! Talk about a goofy thing to witness.

As I swept the driveway, I was extra careful to get every stray clipping off the concrete and into a flowerbed somewhere. If there’s anything my old man takes pride in, it’s the presentation of the lawn after the mowing has been done. The old blue-handled broom seemed a little shorter now, but it still did a number on the stray blades of grass as it brushed them out of sight.

I wheeled the mower back into the garage, put it in its spot and looked forward to being able to do this again next week. By then, Mom and Dad would likely be in Missouri on their way back home. I’d be happy to see them, and happy to relinquish my mowing duties.

I don’t miss mowing, and I am at peace with the fact that over the next year or so, my parents will move out of their house and bid farewell to their yard after 35 years.

But, boy, for these few times while they’re gone, it sure felt great to cut their grass.