June

When Harry comes back home, shaking the water off his umbrella onto the porch, the lights are turned on. There’s no bark of a dog—JB had passed years ago and Eggsy hadn’t yet the heart to get another—or the scent of something cooking. Instead, it’s just Eggsy, reclining on the couch and playing some sort of game on his tablet. 

Eggsy jerks up from where he’s been sitting, placing the tablet on the coffee table. “Harry! You’re home!” 

“Yes, I am,” Harry says, walking across the room to give him a kiss. “Have you been waiting up for me?” 

“Got to go pick up Daisy’s girl and bring her over soon,” Eggsy says, checking his watch. “Daisy and her husband are finally getting some time to themselves.” 

“They do need it,” Harry says. It’s been nearly half a year since Daisy’s daughter’s birth—My niece! Eggsy crows every second he gets, along with a wallet stuffed to the brim with photos—and she, according to Michelle, is as boisterous as Eggsy was, if a bit more. 

“Mm, yeah,” Eggsy says, then stretches, arms reaching for the ceiling. “Been sitting too long.” Lately, he’s been complaining of aches in his joints, giving Harry rueful comments about age catching up to him, and his hair is beginning to show prominent streaks of grey. The leg where part of a shrapnel hit aches on rainy days, while his hands stiffen in the mornings and after a great deal of physical activity. But, still, Eggsy hasn’t changed. He’s still bright, handsome, clever, witty, and loving, and Harry can’t help feel, even after all these decades, a small burst of pride when he spots the wedding band on Eggsy’s left finger. 

“Rian should give you a burst of energy,” Harry says, sitting down on the couch beside him.

“Yeah, but afterwards, well…” Eggsy laughs, shaking his head. “God, Harry, I remember when Daisy used to be that age. I feel fucking old.” 

“If you’re old, I’m ancient,” Harry retorts. 

Once they’ve all finished talking about their own planets, everybody turns to the humans and asks them what Earth is like. They’re only doing it to be polite though. They haven’t heard much about humans (except the usual stories, and only fledglings believe in those) and they can’t really believe that these fleshy bald looking things come from anywhere even remotely as interesting as their own planets.

There’s a pause and then one of the humans speaks up, “well, I come from a part of Earth called ‘England’ and, to be honest, it’s nothing like as cool as your planets sound. It’s alright though. We got some snow last year, so I’m hoping that we’ll have some this year as well when I get back.”

“Snow?” one of the water breathers asks, hissing slightly through their mask, “what’s that?”

“Frozen water that falls from the sky.” The human explains, “it’s really fun to play with. It’s only called snow when it’s soft though— when it’s hard it’s called hail. Nobody likes hail, you can’t do anything with it and it hurts if it hits you. I looked up during a hail storm once,” she adds, “when I was a kid. Huge hailstones and one hit me right in the eye! Hurt like Hell.”

“Is your planet really cold then?” one of the aliens asks, sounding doubtful since nothing has looked less equipped to deal with cold weather than a human.

“No,” she says, “not everywhere. England’s pretty cold, but in the Summer sometimes we get heatwaves. Last year I went out in one and forgot to wear suncream and got sunburn all down my arms.”

“Your planet’s sun… burned you?” a horrified creature asks, “was it painful?”

“Not really, just stung a bit,” she shrugs, “it was fine once the skin started to peel.” (At the back of the crowd that has now amassed around their table a voice says “I didn’t know humans moulted.” and another, horrified sounding voice replies “that’s because they don’t!”) the human continues on regardless. “It was really annoying actually, because it meant I couldn’t go out for a bit without wearing a jacket. Then when my burns had finally healed, I wanted to go to the beach, but when I got there there was this huge thunderstorm and I had to go home again.”

“Thunderstorm?” the word is whispered, mainly because the person asking secretly hopes the human won’t hear them so they won’t have to know.

“It’s when the clouds get all dark and it starts raining,” the human explains and everybody sighs with relief. Most planets have rain. “The clouds make these really loud banging noises,” she continues, “that’s the thunder, and electricity shoots down from the clouds— that’s called lightning. Sometimes people get hit by it, a few people even survive. I once—”

But one of her human friends cuts her off. “God,” he says, “you Brits are so boring, always talking about the weather!”

I’m sorry, these are getting out of hand but I keep getting ideas for this weird au and nobody’s here to stop me. Will is pretty done too tbh

The kitchen was warm from the wood burning oven. There was a loaf of bread being baked inside it now and soon there would be the fish to go inside next.

The catch had been small, but it would do for the next few days. There was always the fish in the freezer, but Will was wary of resorting to unthawing those just yet. 

Will held the smallest of the halibut by its head and lightly whipped the tail, slapping Hannibal on the cheek, leaving behind a wet trail that led to the corner of Hannibal’s upturned lips. There was no surprise or shock on his face, he was–as simply as Hannibal could be–happy to have Will’s attention. 

He wiped his cheek primly with one of the patriotically themed discounted paper napkins.

“There is a word for that.” Hannibal said.

“I’m not above doing it again, just so you know.”

“Cornobbling,” said Hannibal. He laughed at Will’s heartfelt groan. If it wasn’t for Will’s scale covered hands, he would have covered his face to shield himself from Hannibal’s humor.

Will pointed his knife at Hannibal. “I am not going to ask you how you know that. I’m not.” 

With every ounce of purposefulness, Will set the halibut back onto the cutting board, ready to start descaling the fish and add it to the tray with the others.

Hannibal moved and stood behind Will, circling his arms around him and placing his hands over Will’s. Together they scaled the fish. Hannibal bit gently at Will’s ear.

“You shouldn’t cornobble people who don’t deserve it.”

“If there was ever anyone in the world who deserved a fish to the face, Hannibal, it’s you.”

“That’s not very nice.”

Will could hear his pout and started to smile. “Yeah, yeah.”