pocketful of sunshine

It was rare for the Storm Par crew to have days like this. The nature of their profession meant they were often landlocked, miles away from idyllic lounging spots on the shore of salty water. That was what made Scott Miller’s suggestion for the team to hit the beach not seem totally anomalous. Just because Scott was stoic and curt didn’t mean he wasn’t human. The Wranglers were there already, so it was only fair to join them. Human nature was what brought Storm Par to the beach on a day off; it was also why Scott insisted on meeting the team there after he stopped to get somethin’. Only Javi knew what he meant, but he didn’t answer any questioning looks from the rest of the team. So, when Scott Miller’s truck pulled up to where they had set up for the day, no one batted an eye. The moment he got out of the truck and made a beeline for the passenger seat and flung it open, that’s when the shock set in.

Climbing out of the passenger seat with the help of Scott’s steady extended hand was a woman. You were such a tiny thing standing beside Scott once he got your feet onto the floor, looking up at him with a sweet smile. Scott gave you a quick kiss before handing you a bag from the passenger seat. As you adjusted the bag on your shoulder, Scott moved onto the back seat. Right as the back door opened, a tiny voice squealed from the backseat. A smile that Scott Miller never wore on the clock spread across his hardened features as he leaned forward into the back for a short moment before he hauled a small infant out of the truck and onto his hip. The little one was narrowly about to age out of infancy and was especially tiny in Scott’s hold as he planted a smacking kiss on the baby’s chubby cheek while she babbled away.

“Is that my favorite Miller?” Javi called out from the sand, setting his drink down on the lid of a cooler before jogging over. “Scotty finally brought the only reasons I still keep him around!”

“Ha ha,” Scott deadpanned as he adjusted the little bucket hat on his daughter’s head. “I wasn’t gonna leave them at the hotel while you jokers spent the day on the beach.”

“I wasn’t going to let you,” you chimed in with a pleased grin.

It was true, the beach had been your idea anyway. You were the one who had suggested it to Javi the night before when he joined the Millers for dinner. Then, he mentioned it to Kate the next morning when they got breakfast and she had been the one to put the plan into motion. When she then messaged you saying you had to be there, you have Scott a look that told him the beach wasn’t up for a debate. It wasn’t a suggestion. It wasn’t a request. It was happening.

From there, the folks of Storm Par got to watch Scott Miller be a doting husband and father at the beach behind looks of pure disbelief. Their dark sunglasses would typically hide their obvious observation if not for their unmistakable shock. First, the man ensured his wife was comfortable and sufficiently lathered in sunblock before insisting you join Kate and a few Wranglers in the water instead of fretting over him or the baby. Javi hung back with Scott and chatted about baseball of all things, Javi drinking a beer while Scott opted to share a water bottle with the baby.

The whole point of this was for you to get some time to just be a person and enjoy a day at the beach. Scott always sought to do that. It had always been a priority that you got to still be your own person, not just his wife or your daughter’s mother. So, when we saw you unwinding in the shallow waves with some Tornado Wranglers, he lounged with your chunky baby girl in his lap under the shade of an umbrella with Javi not too far off to the side, watching the waves from a beach chair.

He took his time, carefully covering his daughter with infant sunscreen, being mindful to get in between the adorable rolls of fat on her limbs and under her chin. After seeing a baby with bright red toes at the park, Scott always made sure the baby’s feet and toes were protected from the sun too. Scott couldn’t help but coo over her, showering her with little kisses on her giggling face and sweet words reminding her how beautiful she is. Most of the storm chasers watched him, absolutely dumbfounded.

“I know, pretty girl,” Scott hummed when his little Ruthie Jean whined at the feeling of the cool cream on her warm face, taking her little foot to kiss the sole. “But we have to make sure you protected. No sunburns on Daddy’s watch. Your Mama and my Mama would have my head.”

“Dada!” Ruthie whined again, kicking her chunky legs restlessly. “Ow!”

“Ow?” Scott frowned, immediately ripping his hands away and scanning her from head to toe with vigilant eyes. “Am I hurtin’ you, princess? ‘Ow,’ where?”

“Ew!” the little one sputtered out with a sob and a scrunched button nose, but Scott noted there were no tears in her big blue eyes, only frustration as she weakly kicked at his hands.

“Then say ‘Ew,’ please,” he sighed and continued massaging the cream on his daughter’s soft skin. “You scared me. Daddy thought he was hurtin’ you.”

“Ow!” Ruthie giggled through her phony pouts, laughing and kicking her legs again when Scott gasped animatedly with his hands ripped away. 

“No!” Scott groaned playfully, leaning forward to kiss Ruthie Jean’s chubby cheek. “No ‘ow’s. Daddy would never hurt you, baby bug.”

Javi was the only one who didn’t blink an eye. He was the only one who got to see Scott over Zoom meetings from home with a babbling Ruthie Jean in his lap. Out of all the storm chasers, Javi was the only one currently invited to Ruthie’s first birthday party coming up. However, Scott knew that the more time his wife spent with the other storm chasers, the more likely that would change. There were already rumblings of the upcoming event Scott overheard from his wife when she trotted off with Kate and Boone. It was a massive deal, in all fairness; their baby girl was celebrating a year of being the best thing to happen to her parents. Scott had always dreamed of being a dad and you had given him the most perfect child. Ruthie Jean was a healthy baby girl, the apple of her Daddy’s eye, and always got strangers cooing at her. As the person on the field closest to Scott, Javi was more than familiar with the soft dad side of him. The cute babblings and exaggerated smooches he overheard were nothing new to him, but were like looking into another dimension for everyone else. 

Scott, to their disbelief, was the most affectionate and loving father and husband. His dedication to his wife was equally as evident in how often he sought the sight of you out in the water, only content to return his attention to Ruthie when he confirmed Mrs. Miller was happy and safe. They all knew about you, though. He wore his wedding band every day without fail and most of them had seen the small photo he kept tucked in his phone’s clear case. It was of you and Ruthie sporting the brightest smiles the two of you could muster and it always put Scott at ease. The case and photo had been something you had given him at the beginning of the chase season, just a few months ago, and he never went anywhere without it. But that was your Scott, not many people got to see your Scott the way you and Ruthie Jean did.

He stretched out on his back with the little one sitting up on his ribs. With his eyes closed, Scott went between giving Ruthie some teething toys to play with and gnaw on and running his fingers through the dark curls trailing down toward the nape of her neck once she ripped her bucket hat off. She was so adorable in her frilly little pink swimsuit and half of her dark curls tied into two of the sweetest teeny pigtails. Her dimples were deep in her chubby cheeks, and an obvious Miller birthright, so easily attributed to the tall, grumpy MIT graduate. 

“M’mma,” Ruthie babbled after a short while of smacking her drooly little hands on her Daddy’s broad chest. “M’mma. M’mma.”

“Momma’s swimmin’, bug,” Scott hummed with his hand rubbing the baby’s back soothingly. “She’ll come back in a little bit. Just sit with me for a minute.”

“M’mma!” Ruthie whined and reached for Scott’s chin, who then readjusted her to be flat on her tummy on his chest so he could cradle her comfortingly.

“Momma’s having fun right now,” he murmured against her dark curls before kissing her head. “You can relax with Daddy to let her do that. We’re okay here, just us. Right?”

“Dada.” Ruthie hummed, her chubby little hand reaching for Scott’s mouth this time, causing him to grab her tiny wrist to press kisses to her palm.

“See?” Scott chuckled and tucked the baby’s face under his chin when her long, dark eyelashes fluttered with sleepiness. “Just take a nap with me, sugar. Momma will be back by the time you wake up.”

“She’s gorgeous!” A voice yanked Scott out of his peaceful nest of love for his baby girl, peeking out of one eye to see Tyler Owens approach, with Kate following close behind. 

“I’m aware,” Scott replied shortly with his eyes closed again and his hand rubbing Ruthie’s back when he felt her sit back up to coo at Tyler.

“Hey there, darlin’!” Tyler greeted the baby once he crouched down to be closer to her eye level. “My, you are even prettier than your Mama!”

“Momma!” Ruthie Jean cheered with excited claps that picked up when she saw you approach from behind Kate, bouncing her diapered butt up and down on Scott’s chest. “Momma! Momma!”

“She gets all her pretty from her Mama,” Scott added with a grunt as he sat up, hauling Ruthie up with him to greet his wife. “Hey, baby. Fun swim?”

“The water’s beautiful, Scotty!” you cried and took the baby from your husband without a word when the little one reached for you. “You should go for a swim! I think your daughter’s hungry, so she’s keeping me here for a bit.”

“I can wait.” Scott shook his head, helping you sit on an unoccupied beach chair with a hand hovering around you as you held Ruthie against your chest. “We can all go swimming once she’s full. Maybe even after she naps.”

“She won’t get a second of sleep out here, babe.”

“Maybe,” he hummed, rubbing your bare shoulders before draping your thin swimsuit cover-up over your shoulder to give you and Ruthie privacy. “Then, we can take her to dip her toes in the water. She’ll love that. I can wait for my girls.”

While Ruthie got to nurse, Scott fed you some fresh fruit the two of you had brought and made sure you stayed plenty hydrated. He was always looking after both of you, not just Ruthie. It was obvious that his role as a husband was just as important to him as his role as a father, and that made his recent interest in possibly making Ruthie Jean a big sister not sound all too crazy.

“Bunny,” he called, resting his temple on the door and knocking with two knuckles. “Is everything okay in there?”

Silence. 

Clark sighed, not with exasperation, but something decidedly… similar. 

These moments always happened at the thrift store. You would drag him out on a weekend to sift through mothy old clothes with tags from the 2000s skinny crisis, and then you would get upset when they didn’t fit. If it were up to you, you would buy them all and try it on at home– it took all of Clark’s power to even convince you to get in a dressing room most times. And while he didn’t lack empathy for the feeling of something not fitting, he just couldn’t seem to understand why you would do something like that to yourself. Part of you knew that used clothes were a risk for a girl of your body type, and you insisted on it anyway, being green or money-smart or what have you. It was a mystery to him. Clothes shopping for girls just seemed like a torture ritual to him, and he wished you were a little kinder to yourself.

He knocked again. “Bunny, come on. Answer me.”

He had a feeling this would happen. You had been eyeing a skirt since you walked in– it was on an end-cap display. Some long, flowing thing, a deep emerald tie-dye wash with little green beads stitched into spiral designs. It had that reminiscent style he would have seen on Buffy or some 90s television show; some whimsical, witchy number that was very you to want. But it was a large. When you first checked the tag, you gave that tilted little frown of thought, and walked away– the maybe frown. Clark knew then that you would keep your eye on it as you traipsed through every aisle, wondering if you could squeeze into it, or if you should just move on and hope to find something else you liked better. Something less of a gamble. You of course shimmied it off the mannequin and insisted on trying it after making a loop. Clark had no doubt you would look beautiful in it, but he just felt that gut-tugging feeling that the whole situation would not end well. Clearly, he was right.

“Baby, please? Open up the door.”

He heard a small sniffle before the lock clicked, and you cracked the door, peeking out. Your eyes were watery as crystals, and he gave you a sympathetic little smile. “Open a little more.”

You pouted and pulled the door wide enough for him to slide past, then shut it behind you quietly. “Don’t say anything, okay? I already know.”

Clark tried to be nice and hide the growing smirk on his lips. As he let his eyes trail over you, he saw the abundance of your thighs straining the skirt thin, and the zipper hung open on the side of your round tummy like wilted leaves. It was too small, for sure, but you were just so cute when you looked dejected. “Know what?”

You crossed your arms and looked at your feet, nudging the floor with the toe of your boots. “You’re giving me the look.”

“I don’t have a look.”

“Yes you do,” you glared, “that… I told you so look. Like you think I’m stupid for trying stuff on.”

Clark’s smile fell instantly and he wrapped his hands around the meat of your arms, rubbing up and down the skin gently. “Hey, no! I don’t think you’re stupid for anything, bun, why would you think that?”

“I… it’s just… you know how– well–”

Clark stepped a hair closer and cupped your cheeks, guiding you in to press a chaste kiss on your wrinkling forehead. “Take a second. String the words together.”

You released a breathy grumble and let your forehead fall into the dip of his chest, closing your eyes. “I don't think you think that. I’m sorry. I just– I knew it wouldn’t fit, and you even told me it wouldn’t, and you weren’t being mean, you were right, and I did it anyway and… now I’m just disappointed.”

Clark rested his chin atop the crown of your head, sighing in understanding. He raked his fingers through your hair out of habit. “Don’t be. You don’t have to feel bad because your body doesn’t work for something, things should work for you, remember? They’re only clothes.”

“I know, but sometimes I just feel so–”

“Do not say fat,” Clark squinted at you, nudging your head up. “We’re past that. Or do I have to make a scene in this store to remind you?”

Your cheeks flooded, and to his pleasure, a reluctant little smile graced your lips. Shyly, you mumbled, “No…” as a handful of moments came rushing back– moments where Clark showed you exactly how fat was never a bad word in his house, and how much use there was for that warm, soft body of yours…

Clark chuckled low at the dreaminess which crossed your face, and he traced his thumbs just below your eyes. “See? Don’t get in your head. You know you’re just right.”

“Mhm,” you nodded, burrowing into his hands. It only took a second to slip your arms around his broad back and squeeze, inhaling the fresh-laundry scent on his sweatshirt.

Clark hugged you tighter and spoke into the warmth of your temple. “Screw the skirt. You’ve got plenty.”

“I know, but I liked it.”

“I’ll find you a better one.”

“You don’t know the first thing about–”

“I’m sorry, what was that?” He pulled back with a sarcastic little grin, poking at your cheek. 

You laughed and swatted him away, but he refused to release you from his arms. “Clark– hey, stop it!”

He jostled you until you yelped quietly, and he paused to see your hands shoot down. The unfastened skirt slipped right off your legs and pooled at your feet, and you were stuck in your panties, flushing red in the face. Clark burst into laughter and wrangled you back, even as you whined about how embarrassing the whole thing was.

“It’s not embarrassing,” Clark snickered, tickling the dips of your waist, fingers pressing into the rolling flesh. “I’ve seen you naked a million times!”

You gasped for air and fought between laughter and frustration. “Shut up! I– ah– let go!”

Clark only relented when you began to hiccup, because those only came once you really couldn’t breathe. He smoothed his palms over the abused skin and grinned, dipping to kiss your jaw. “Do you feel better? Did you forget?”

You rolled your eyes. “Well, that makes me remember.”

“Remember what?” Clark hummed, as if his joke had all the intelligence in the world. “Come on. Get dressed. I’ll take you to the mall.”

“But–”

“I’ll pay for it,” Clark promised, cradling your skull and tipping you back. He slotted his lips against yours in a slow dance, and he kept it up until you stopped protesting. Only then did he whisper, “We’ll find you something pretty. It’ll be like Cinderella, all… perfect fit, meant-to-be-like.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“You shush. Don’t lock me out of the dressing room next time.”