Mar 20, 2016
Working on a SkyeWard fanfic.
So I'm working on a SkyeWard AU following the events of 2x19. Is anyone interested in Beta-reading it for me.
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Working on a SkyeWard fanfic.
So I'm working on a SkyeWard AU following the events of 2x19. Is anyone interested in Beta-reading it for me.
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Have a Newborn on Christmas? Need to Take a Nap? Read On...
Merry Christmas from the Craigslist AU! Skye is tired. So. Freaking. Tired. Snuggling and banging might ensue with her fiancé, but only If she can get a nap in first.
--
It’s surprisingly easy to hand Briar off to her Uncle Christian.
Skye thinks this may have something to do with the fact that she hasn’t slept in thirty seven hours and fifteen minutes- she’s counted- but that could just be a wild guess.
Briar, seemingly oblivious to the fact that it was Christmas Eve, spent the majority of the night either screaming, wanting to be held, or breastfeeding. Skye is literally out of juice at this point. She needs to hit a refill station, or something.
Grant explained to her, in the car, that it doesn’t work like that, but Skye knows how she feels, damn it.
And, despite pleading with Briar that Santa wouldn’t come if she didn’t go to sleep, Briar remained awake all goddamned night. Likely because she is a month old, and thus her brain is far too baby-sized to understand what a Santa is.
One day, though. One day, it’ll work.
And then they’ll see. They’ll all see.
The thirty-seven hours isn’t even the main total, given that a month with a newborn means pretty much no sleep at all, ever. She hasn’t gotten a full eight hours since Briar was born.
Skye is pretty sure she’s bordering on delirious, at this point. Which is why she says to Christian, “Joyous Festivus, oh brother in law.” Instead of something like, you know, ‘Merry Christmas.’ Like a normal person.
Grant, by the way, seems perfectly fine. He’s solar-powered, probably, and it’s been an especially sunny December. Also, he’s not the one that has to breast-feed, so he probably managed to get some sleep in there, at some point.
What a jerk.
Christian cradles the now perfectly-behaved Briar to his chest and gives Skye one of those looks. “Are you okay?”
“Tired,” Skye says. “Boobs on empty. Dead.”
“Right,” Christian says. “Grant, is she okay?”
“Briar kept us up last night,” Grant says.
“I see.”
Skye, with all the gusto of a woman on the edge, points an accusing finger at Christian’s face. She may be smushing his nose. She’s lost track of herself, at this point. “Don’t you take a tone with me, mister.” Smush. “She may be your little angel, but the second she’s old enough to sleep over at your place, YOU WILL SEE.”
Christian stares down at her. “I’m frightened, Grant.”
Briar blinks at her mommy, like even she’s confused.
“Baby,” Grant says, taking Skye’s arm. “You know what? Maybe I can see if you can nap in my old bedroom for a couple of hours. Get some rest in before dinner starts.”
“BUT THE FESTIVITIES!” Skye declares.
Briar shrieks in solidarity.
“Please go upstairs,” Christian says. “Just nap for as long as you like. We’ll all be here when you rejoin the world of the sane and living.”
“THIS WILL BE YOU,” Skye says. “YOU’LL SEE.”
“Okay,” Grant coos, taking her by the shoulders. “Christian, please explain to Mother that we’re resting.”
“My pleasure.”
He kisses her forehead. “Skye, love of my life, reason of my being, I am going to take you upstairs now. Okay?”
“Yes,” Skye says. “Yes. Good.” She leans in, and kisses Briar softly on the head. “Goodbye, Briar. I’ll remember you fondly.”
Briar blinks at her with big, brown eyes.
“Great job,” Skye tells her, and means it.
Christian has never looked quite so terrified in all the time Skye’s known him. Which is saying something. “Grant-”
“We’re going.”
She registers, faintly, that she’s never actually seen Grant’s childhood bedroom. And she’d love to make a comment about his actual, real-life snow globe collection, but he’s helping her out of her shoes and sweater and into his big, old bed. It’s so warm and cozy, damn it. Inhumanly so.
She will definitely say something about the snow globes when she wakes up.
For now, though.
She’s passing the hell out.
--
“Baby,” Grant nudges her shoulder. “Skye. We’re eating in thirty minutes, do you want to come down?”
Skye rouses from sleep like a bulldog does- With a lot of kicking and sniffling. “Holy shit,” she says, rolling over. “You scared me.”
“Oh babe, I’m sorry,” Grant says, frowning. “I didn’t mean to.”
She looks up at him, and shakes her head. “You’re such a tender heart.”
With a decided oomph, she grabs him by the wrist and pulls him into bed. “Skye!”
“Hey, stranger,” she says. “Haven’t had you alone like this in ages.”
He watches as she unfurls herself from the covers. “Skye.” He sounds a little embarrassed. “My family’s downstairs.”
“Please,” Skye says. “This house is gigantic. They can’t hear us.” She rolls on top of him. Lavishes him with a kiss.
“You were practically inconsolable two hours ago,” Grant murmurs. “What’s gotten into you?”
“Had a wet dream,” Skye says. Which is true. And kind of unexpected. She can’t remember the last time she’s had one since Briar was born.
So she’s taking advantage of the moment, is what she’s saying.
His hand finds the small of her back. “Dinner’s soon.”
“We only need fifteen minutes,” Skye says.
“Last time we hooked up at a family gathering,” Grant says. “You kind of had a baby.”
She rests her arms on his chest. Lifts her head. “Are you making fun of me?”
“Maybe.”
“Because you seem like the kind of person that would want me to like, five babies.”
“Maaaaybe.”
She thumbs the scruff on his chin. “Not happening. If we have another one, it’s not going to be for a long, long, long time.”
“Our DNA just wants to go together,” Grant says. “I can’t help it.”
“Is that your excuse for a pick up line?” Skye asks. “You are losing it, babe.”
He tilts his head up. Plants a kiss on her. It’s the kind where he grasps her gently by the back of the head. Where he sucks her bottom lip, just enough to make her want more.
And then he just. Freaking. Stops. “Still losing it?”
She moves her hands to his cheeks. “Shut up.”
He slides his hand to the nape of her neck. Pulls a shudder from her, without meaning to. “Take off your pants.”
“Bossy,” she says. “Trying to prove a point?”
He nips at her. “Could be.”
She wiggles out of her jeans. “Oh Grant, you’re so hot. Put another baby in me.”
He actually whimpers. Ruts up against her.
She doesn’t want to laugh. So she just grins. “Seriously?”
“Well, you were very convincing about it.” His hands makes quick work of her underwear.
Her hands wind up in the little space between their hips. Just so that she can undo his belt. “You’re so cute.”
“I try.”
Belt’s off. Button, zipper- She takes him in her hand. “Hi, baby.”
He huffs through his teeth. Hand on her ass. Making its way to her inner thigh. “Hi.”
“You feel good.”
A peck. His teeth against the corner of her mouth. “You’re warm.”
“Mn.” A stroke. Another. “Finger me.”
“Of course.” Slow. He’s always so slow about it. He starts with one finger, sinks it all the way in. “Whatever you want.”
“More, babe. Time crunch.”
“But I want to feel you,” he says, as she moves with his hand. “I want to-”
He adds another finger, and she sighs with delight. “Oh, God. Yes.”
“I want to be inside you,” he murmurs. “Come here.”
“I am here.”
He urges her forward. “Please.”
She can’t say no to him. “Just get me a little hotter. Just a little more. Move me onto you.”
There’s no space left between their faces. Just their noses pressed together. Their breath.
She can feel him grin.
He pumps once. Slowly. Then again, with increasing speed. “You’re so wet, babe, fuck-”
“Is that dirty talk?” she says. “I thought you for-”
He curls his fingers. Oh. She feels her toes curl in camaraderie- In pleasure. She shuts her eyes.
“Oh, God-” Her head falls to the nape of his neck. “Oh, Grant-”
In and out of her. Fast enough to get her to moan each time. He’s hitting her in just the right spot, and she’s getting all over his hand, and-
She-
He grabs her by the hips.
She finds him like clockwork. He’s in her- Filling her-
“Skye,” he whines, insistent. “Baby.”
“I’m right here.” She grinds her hips. “I’m right here, Grant.”
“It’s been ages,” he mutters. “You feel so good.”
She sighs against him. “You’re so big,” she coos. “God, Grant, fuck-”
“Grant, I wanted to tell you that-”
Grant yells, “Don’t come in!” at the exact moment that Skye sits up on his dick, whips her head around, and-
Christian shrieks in what can only be described as sheer horror, and-
Skye shouts “Oh my God!” And-
Christian flings himself into the hallway. “No, Thomas, don’t go in there! They’re- They’re-”
Skye has never been this embarrassed in her entire life. “I’m sorry!”
“Indecent!” Christian yells, panting like he’s run several miles.
“Really?” Thomas asks. “Nice.”
“I think I’m dead,” Grant whispers. “I think I died.”
“Same,” Skye says. “We should- Uh. I think we should stop.”
“Please just pull the blanket over me and leave me here,” Grant says. “Thank you.”
Skye bites her lip. “Sorry, baby.”
“Not your fault.”
“I mean, everyone knows we have sex-”
“Yeah, but-”
“There’s literal proof of us having sex downstairs-”
“Skye-”
She dismounts. “So really, isn’t it kind of Christian’s fault for thinking we wouldn’t be having sex in the first place.”
“You know I can hear you, right?” Christian asks. “The door is wide open and you’re not whispering.”
Skye finds her underwear on the floor. “Well then you should have heard us before you came in.”
“You were being quiet about it!” Christian protests. “Probably because you know you shouldn’t be having sex at a FAMILY GATHERING.”
“Okay, first of all.” Skye slips on her jeans. “We have had sex at so many of your family gatherings, you have no idea.”
“Lovely.”
“And second, mister high and mighty-” There’s her sweater. “I distinctly recall someone slipping off with his wife at a party just a few months ago.”
“Yeah, Christian,” Thomas adds. “You got it in.”
“Please don’t ever say that to me again,” Christian says. “And fine. But I thought you were still napping.”
Grant’s pulling his pants up. “Why don’t we just never speak of this again?”
“That’s an excellent idea, Grant,” Christian says.
“Oh please,” Thomas says. “Like Christian isn’t memorizing what Skye’s butt-”
“Thomas!”
“Flattering,” Skye says, coming out into the hall. “But ew.”
“I’m not memorizing what your butt looks like,” Christian says. He’s a very particular shade of pink, and Skye’s not sure he’ll ever go back to his normal color. “Jesus Christ.”
“That’s good,” Grant adds, following behind Skye. “Because then I’d have to beat you up.”
A beat.
Skye bursts into laughter. “Oh God, Grant. Good one.”
“What?” Grant says. “I could take him!”
“In what, little brother?” Christian asks. “A fight?”
“I’m stronger than you!” Grant protests. “And I think I’m a half inch taller.”
“You are not!” Christian says. “And besides! I fenced.”
“Oh man,” Skye says. “Look out, everyone.”
“If there are swords involved, we’ll let you know,” Thomas adds.
Skye loops her arm around Grant’s waist. “I believe in you, tough guy,” she says. “You could definitely take him on.”
Grant proudly puffs out his chest. “Thank you.”
Adorable idiot.
Christian just shakes his head. “You know, I did come up here for a reason.”
Skye tilts her head, “Which is?”
“Gramsy’s here,” Christian says. “Surprise.”
“I came up here because I didn’t feel like talking to anyone downstairs,” Thomas says.
Christian sighs. “Thank you, Thomas.”
“No problem.”
“But isn’t Gramsy usually in Istanbul this time of year?” Grant asks.
“She wants to see her great-granddaughter,” Christian says. “Shall I go downstairs and explain to her what’s taking so long?”
“Sure,” Skye says. “Go ahead.”
Christian stares down at her. “Well played.”
“Thank you.”
Grant snickers behind her. “Come on,” he says, nudging her. “We haven’t seen Gramsy in ages.”
Skye is greeted downstairs by an enormous hug from Rosie. Which is really the best Christmas gift of all. “Hi, baby!”
“Feeling better?” Rose asks, wide-eyed. “Christian said you were tired.”
“I feel much better,” Skye says, looping her arm around Rose’s shoulders. “Have you been taking care of Briar for me?”
“Oh, she’s a natural.” Gramsy is sitting on the loveseat, surrounded by a pile of gifts. “Aren’t you, Rosie?”
Rose beams. “I try!”
“Are those all for you?” Skye says. “Christian went all out this year.”
Gramsy gives a half-smile. “Please. He hasn’t gotten me a Christmas present in years.”
“What?” Christian says. “You never- You’re never even around for Christmas! Do you want something? Should I go out?”
“Oh, unclench,” Gramsy says. “I’m just teasing.”
“Where’s Briar?” Skye asks. “I realize I should’ve opened with that, and I don’t want anyone to think I’m a bad mom, but-”
“Here,” Anna says. “Sorry, sorry, I took her into the kitchen for a minute, she’s here.”
“Oh, my baby,” Skye says, holding out her arms. “Did you miss me?”
“She seemed fine, for the most part,” Grant says. “Christian refused to let go of her.”
“She’s not very heavy,” Christian says. “I just wanted to make sure she didn’t get fussy without her mother, is all.”
“She’s so beautiful,” Anna sighs, putting Briar in Skye’s arms. “You two are so lucky.”
“Please,” Gramsy says. “Don’t you two be so wistful. You’ll get your own one day.”
“And then you guys can go without sleep for weeks on end,” Skye says.
“So true,” Gramsy says.
“You really think so?” Christian asks. Which is perhaps the saddest thing Skye’s ever heard him say. But she decides not to press it.
“I know so,” Gramsy says. “Now come get your presents.”
“You didn’t have to,” Christian says. “I’m a grown man.”
“Depending on how you define it,” Thomas says. “I prefer fancy adult child.”
“Thank you, Thomas.”
“No problemo.”
“Presents!” Rosie says, happily settling next to Gramsy on the loveseat. “Open it, Christian!”
“Rosie helped me pick,” Gramsy says. “She had a pretty good idea of what you’d like.”
“Do you, Rose?” Christian asks. Skye catches the hint of a smile across his face.
“Yep!” Rose says, proudly.
“Come on,” Gramsy hands him the gift. “Open it.”
“It feels... soft,” he says. “That’s unexpected.”
Rose is practically vibrating with excitement. She brings her knuckles to her mouth, if only to keep from blurting out the surprise.
Christian unwraps presents exactly as Skye expects he would. He keeps the paper in perfect condition, carefully peeling back each piece of tape.
Skye rolls her eyes. “Promise me you won’t be that anal-retentive,” she whispers to Briar.
Briar blinks up at her mommy. She’s so pretty. The prettiest, best baby in the whole world. Even if she sleeps like she’s perpetually living out finals week.
“Thank you,” Skye says.
“She’ll be fine,” Grant says, gently brushing his fingers along Skye’s side. “Besides. Christian’s always unwrapped presents like that.”
“Dear God.”
“It’s-” Christian sets the paper aside. “A pair of teddy bear slippers.”
“Because you collect teddy bears!” Rosie says. “And slippers are the best!”
Christian holds the slippers to his chest. “They’re perfect, Rosie.”
“They look super warm,” Anna adds. “I might have to get a matching pair.”
“Do it!” Rose says. “I’m sorry, Anna. I didn’t get you a pair.”
“It’s fine, baby,” Anna says. “I’m sure whatever you picked is perfect.”
“Here!” Rose says.
It’s a much smaller box, which usually denotes jewelry of some sort.
Of course, Anna takes off wrapping paper with the same delicacy as Christian.
Skye blinks. “That’s just downright scary.”
“They’re perfect for each other,” Grant adds.
“What do you think, Briar?” Skye asks. “Scary? Is it scary?”
Briar makes a face. It’s an almost-smile, and Skye’s positive if Briar could speak or process words, she would agree.
“Yes it is!” Skye coos. “Christian and Anna are weird! Yes they are!”
“Excuse me,” Christian says. “Again. I can hear you.”
Skye stares back at them. “Kids,” she says, rocking Briar in her arms. “Always saying crazy stuff.”
“Well,” Christian says. “She is your daughter.”
“Please,” Gramsy says. “She takes after me.”
It’s... it’s a lot. Skye strokes Briar’s dark hair. “Really?”
“Dead ringer,” Gramsy says. “She’s gonna be a riot when she gets older.”
Skye smiles. Genuinely. Lovingly. Because she’s happy to be home. “Good.”
fuck-ups don’t fix bullet holes
flashback killers for hire for a very special girl. the first time skye fishes a bullet out of grant. With apologies to Ali.
–
Sure. She’s been shot before. It’s kind of in the top-down of the job.
Same for back-alley surgery. She’s had suspicious people take suspicious bullets out of her shoulders and legs and side. She’s got scars from bad stitches.
But here’s the thing. It’s a tiny thing.
One. She’s usually got something on her. An oxy or a molly or something that she shouldn’t be putting in her body but always does.
And ALSO. And this is the big thing. She’s always been the one being operated on.
She has no idea how to play amateur surgeon.
“Come on,” Grant says, with that sort of “I’ve got a bullet in me” casualness about him. “You’ve never played operation?”
She helps him onto the table. And she’s not shaking, or anything. Because she’s an adult and a professional and she makes people bleed for a living. So. “The one at St. Agnes was missing most of the pieces.”
Snickering. “God. It’s like your childhood gets sadder every time we talk.”
She scoffs. It’s somehow classic Grant. A complete jerk and a total moron all at once. “Fuck off. You probably got-”
She swallows. He’s bleeding like, a lot. Probably too much.
“Do you have anything?” He asks, as she tries to help him out of his jacket. He winces. “Fuck fuck fuck-”
“I can cut it off you,” she says.
“Absolutely not,” he says. “This is Armani.”
“It has a bullet hole in it.”
He sighs. “Cut it off.”
“Thanks,” she says. “And no, I’m out. Booze?”
“Nothing?” he asks. “You. Are you holding out on me?”
“I promise you, I have absolutely nothing on me.”
A noise of understanding. “Weird. Doesn’t seem like you.”
And she gets this feeling that he doesn’t believe her. That she’s enjoying this, or something, that his pain is amusing to her.
And usually it is! Slamming him against a wall? Great! “Accidentally” hitting him with a car? A classic! Wrestling him to the ground while they’re both naked? Nothing better.
But none of those are him possibly dying. Even the car thing, because she’d been moving very slowly and he’d refused to get out of the way. He’d deserved it.
“Maybe you don’t know me that well,” she says. “I really don’t use that much.”
He gives her a look. A studying glance. “I guess.”
“Grant.”
“What?”
“You have to believe me.”
He tilts his head. “Getting a little high on the pathos, Skye.”
She’d smack him on the bicep, if there wasn’t a bullet in him.
“Oh, fuck you. I’m trying to tell you that I don’t want to see you in pain, asswipe.”
“Aw, kid,” he says. “Next you’ll be telling me you just want world peace.”
Jacket’s off. She pulls the pieces of it off him, pointedly ignoring the sad little look on his face. “I’m cutting off your shirt, too.”
“Hot.”
“Do you want to die?” she asks. “Like, clarifying question. Would you rather bleed out?”
“With you on the job, pretty sure that’s where we’re headed,” he says. “You promised booze?”
“It’s your safehouse.”
“You know where I keep things.”
Gross. He makes it sound like they’re practically married. “Shirt first,” she says, cutting through white cotton.
She takes a fraction of an instant to appreciate his back. It’s so much nicer looking when there isn’t a bullet in his upper shoulder.
“Lay on your stomach. I’ll get the stuff.”
“You’re gonna need more than the booze,” he says. “Cabinet by the sink. Lighter, needle, thread.”
“Gauze?” she asks.
“Use my shirt.”
She’s actually doing this. She’s actually doing this. “How are you so calm?”
“I get shot a lot.”
“Yeah, so do I,” she says. “And it hurts like a fucking mother every time.”
“Do you mean a mother fucker?”
She whips her head around to glare at him. “Are you even in pain?”
He gives her a cocky little grin. “Skye. I’m literally dying.”
Well. When he says it like that. “Right.”
“You’re shaking.”
“I’m not.”
“You’ve picked one hell of a time to get squeamish, Skye.”
She takes the lighter into a heavy hand. Squeezes it against her palm. “I’m not fucking squeamish, okay?”
“I hope not,” he says. “You literally do this to people for a living.”
So do you, she thinks, but finds herself unable to say it. Weird. Pathetic.
“I’m a better shot,” she manages.
“Debatable.”
He’s trying to make her laugh. Probably. In the way he always does, which is by being the biggest asshole possible.
It’s not really working.
“How do I do this?” she asks. “You’ve done it before, right?”
“And you’ve gotten it done,” Grant says. “You should know this.”
“Thanks,” Skye says, dropping the supplies on the table. “Helpful.”
“The joys of being strung out during surgery, I guess,” he says. “I wouldn’t know.”
“Grant.”
He looks up at her. “I’m teasing.”
“You have to move your arm,” she says, nudging his bicep. “Lay it flatter.”
“Really having a hard time moving, here.”
She keeps forgetting. She keeps forgetting because she wants to pretend it’s not happening. This usually works. “I’ll help you.”
She finds a gentleness that she’s never associated with her own hands. Grant’s movement is stiff (Tin Man, she thinks,) but steady. He hisses, low enough that he thinks she won’t hear.
“You can be in pain,” she tells him. “You don’t have to like, fake brave for me.”
“Hiding my pain in front of beautiful women makes me seem more masculine,” he says, with every bit of seriousness she’s come to except from him. “Besides. I’m fine.”
“You are bleeding onto this table.”
“Relatively fine,” he says.
She can do this. She has to fucking do this. “Tell me how to do this.”
“Clean the wound.”
A pause.
“Pour some of the alcohol onto my shirt and wipe away the blood,” he says.
She wets his shirt like it’s a goddamn cotton ball, and when she presses it to the wound-
He’s silent. Oddly so.
Funny. She feels like she’s in screaming pain already. “Now what?”
“Now-” His voice falters. Cracks. The only sign of weakness. “Now you need to cut the bullet out.”
“Oh.”
Her hands are already coated in blood! Such fun! Such a crazy bonding experience!
She’s losing it. She is absolutely losing it.
“Skye, stay with me.”
“I’m not the one dying,” she says.
“Burn the knife with the lighter to clean it.”
“I feel like this is a tutorial, or something,” she says. “Press A to burn. Hold R2 to keep knife steady.”
“If that helps you, do it.”
“Are you ready?”
“Sure.”
She has the utmost desire to shut her eyes.
Which would, in all likelihood, cause her to miss the hole and stab Grant in the back with her bowie knife.
Sure, she’s thought about it! But now is not the time!
“Okay. Okay. You’re going to be just fine, got it?”
“Are you telling me?” Grant asks. “That’s some bedside manner there.”
“Baby, please, you’ve been super helpful but I need you to just- Shut-”
He gushes blood like a fucking fountain.
She screams. Not a prolonged scream, but certainly something to show her utter horror.
He growls. Not quite like an animal, but something like it. This raw, terrible noise in his throat, the only indication he’ll give her that she’s hurting him.
“The alcohol,” he manages, in the weakest voice she’s ever heard. “You need to use it as you pull the bullet out.”
Is she crying? Oh man. Oh man, that’s sad as shit. She’s not even sad, she’s just never been this stressed out in her fucking life. He’s probably not crying. He gets bullets pulled out of his back all the goddamn time, apparently.
She pours it over the wound.
“God-” He starts, in a shout. And silences himself. “Fuck,” he whispers. “Fuck, fuck.”
“Grant, you can yell,” Skye says. “I’m about to pull it out, okay? We’re almost done.”
“Not entirely,” he says. “You still have to stitch me- GOD DAMN IT, SKYE!”
“It’s out,” she says. “Oh my God. I did it. It’s out. Holy fuck.”
“Okay, congrats, shit, shit- Stop pouring liquor in my wound!” He slams his palm against the table. “That really fucking stings!”
“Most people would be inconsolable right now,” Skye points out. “So.”
“Light the needle,” he mumbles. “And stitch me up.”
She ignores how bloody her hands are. At this point, it’s moot.
“Are you okay?”
“Fantastic, Skye. Lightheaded.”
“Oh God, oh fuck-”
“Joking. Mostly. Not really.”
“Okay. Okay. I’m gonna thread the needle I’m going to- My hands are really red you are bleeding so much and-”
“Keep yourself steady. Deep breaths.”
“You sound strained.”
He manages to huff. “I’m in an incredible amount of-” He pauses. Clears his throat. “Pain.”
“Please hold still,” she says. “If you move, I’m absolutely going to manage to sew your arm to your side.”
“So reassuring,” he says. “Maybe I should just die. Thinking it would be less painful.”
She jabs him with the needle. “You’re not dying unless I want you to die.”
“And do you?”
The first stitch. “No.”
“You’re so sweet.”
He’s getting worse at masking the pain in his voice.
So she goes faster, thinking it will help.
He manages a whimper.
“Sorry, sorry,” she says. “Okay? I’m really bad at this but I’m almost- Just let me-”
“If I pass out, don’t think less of me,” he says.
“Shut up,” she says. “I’m done. Do I burn the wound now that it’s closed?”
“Jesus Christ,” he says. “No! Why would you even-”
“To make sure it’s clean!”
“Use the liquor, Skye!”
“You told me to stop!”
“That was before you closed it!”
She opts for half the bottle while he seethes in pain.
“Please tell me you used something cheap.”
“I grabbed what’s closest.”
“It’s the expensive gin, isn’t it?”
“Well,” she says, finally allowing herself a long swill. “What kind of asshole keeps expensive liquor in a safehouse?”
“Give me the goddamn bottle,” he says.
She takes another sip, then obliges.
He drinks like he intends to finish it. Which is funny, given that it has the taste and content of rubbing alcohol. “God damn it. You are so fucking bad at surgery.”
“I told you I was!” she protests. “And it was that or dying, so-”
“I’m probably going to scar,” he says.
“You’ve got plenty.”
“Now I’ll have one to remember you by,” he says. “This one, and the one from the time you stabbed me.”
“YOU STABBED ME FIRST!”
He tilts his head to grin at her. “Help me sit up?”
She hooks her arm around his waist. His good arm loops over her shoulders.
“You’re so fucking heavy,” she whines. “God.”
“Muscle mass, kiddo,” he says. “You wouldn’t know, with those noodle arms.”
“I owe you so many slaps for the comments you’ve been making,” she says, as he hops off the table. He’s not super steady on his feet, but he’s not leaning on her to walk anymore so.
Progress?
“Okay, Skye,” he says. “I’m sure you do.”
“You’re such an asshole.”
“And yet-” He reaches for the liquor over the sink with his good arm. “You saved my life.”
“Should you really keep drinking?” she says. She shows him her hands. “You’ve given me a lot of blood here, pal.”
“I’m fine. Just in agonizing pain.”
“So take a nap.”
“Your health advice is as solid as your stitch work,” he says, opening the bottle. He wrinkles his nose. “Can rum go bad?”
“No, dummy. Booze doesn’t go bad.”
He shrugs. “Whatever.”
“Give it,” she says. “If you’re polishing off the liquor cabinet, I’m joining.”
“I think I have some flat soda in the mini-fridge, if you want to mix.”
“Should we maybe clean the blood off the table?”
He laughs. “Do you want to?”
“Ew, no. You do it. It’s your blood.”
“Then shut up,” he says. “And drink with me.”
She grins without meaning to. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
He returns the expression, with a hint of affection. She hadn’t been expecting that. It looks weird on him. “What? You want a kiss, or something?”
She wrenches the bottle from his hand. “Nah.”
He watches her drink, with that same hint in his eyes. “Thanks.”
She rolls her eyes. “Whatever. Don’t make it weird.”
“Eh,” he grabs something else from the cabinet. “Too late.”
for the couple that is no longer Alone on Thanksgiving
happy thanksgiving from the craigslist au! here’s where it all began.
In which the girl from craigslist has a very happy and surprising(!) Thanksgiving.
--
They’re going to be late. And unlike last year, where she’d been late for a silly reason (sitting thirteen minutes, then pacing outside the coffee shop for three, wondering if she actually had the balls to go through with a Craigslist date), this is serious.
“What’s better?” she asks, holding up both shirts. “‘I’ve Got a Turkey in the Oven,’ or ‘This Thanksgiving, I’m Eating for Two?’”
Grant sticks his head into the bedroom. “We should’ve left like, ten minutes ago,” he says.
She shakes the shirts in his general direction. “Pick one!”
“‘I’ve Got a Turkey in the Oven,’” Grant says. “The other one has the turkey with a littler turkey inside it, and it’s kind of weirding me out.”
She holds it to her chest, glancing down. “Yeah, probably shouldn’t have gotten it. Goodwill?”
“Goodwill,” Grant agrees.
She tosses it to the side of the bed. “Ugh.” She pulls the other shirt over her head, waiting for Grant’s firm hands to come help her get it over her bump.
He’s there like clockwork. “My poor baby,” he says. “Just a few weeks left!”
“I know, I know,” she says. “But everything huuuuuuurts. Especially my boobs.”
He finds her chest. He has such warm, soothing hands. “They are really big, though.”
A look. “Grant.”
“What?” he says. “You’re so beautiful, Skye.”
Ugh. Ugh. He’s so cute. He is so damn cute. “Don’t give me those puppy-eyes of yours,” she says. “You just like the big boobs and the horniness.”
“And getting to rub your back every night, sometimes twice a day,” Grant says. “Plus rubbing your bump, and singing to Briar when you’re sleeping, and-”
“We get it,” Skye says, rubbing a hand over her tummy. “You’re an angel sent from heaven that accidentally got me pregnant.”
“The best accident ever,” Grant corrects. “You... Are excited, right? To meet her? And raise her?”
She cups his cheek. “Babe,” she says. “Duh. I mean, I’m excited not to carry her around, first and foremost,” Skye says. “And then yes, for everything else.”
“I’ll carry her,” Grant assures her. “You hear that, Briar? Once you’re out, you’re gonna have to get used to me carrying you instead.”
“Yeah,” Skye says, poking at her own stomach. “You can give Grant backaches.”
“Will you rub my back?” he asks, oh so sweetly.
She grins. “I’d rub you down right now, but you said we had to leave.”
He pouts. Cutely. Everything he does is done cutely, to be honest. “I know.”
“Come on,” Skye says, linking her arm through his. “I’m excited to see how I top last year’s spectacular.”
He smiles. “Shall we?”
She nuzzles his arm. “Definitely. I’ve been waiting for this meal all month.”
She holds her belly for most of the car ride.
“You know we’re going to have to get a baby seat,” Skye says. “Sooner rather than later.”
“I know,” Grants says. “I was thinking we could put it in your van, actually.”
She tilts her head. “What?”
“Yeah!” he affirms. “It’s a good size for kids, you know? And there’s already a bed in there, so we can just switch that out for a crib-”
“You hate my van,” Skye says.
He grins. “You know I’m joking, right?”
She smacks his bicep. “Grant!”
“Why would I be serious about that?” he asks. “That thing is a death trap! Especially for a baby.”
“That van was my first baby!” Skye says. “We were good together.”
“Well,” Grant says. “Maybe next year, when Briar’s old enough, we can go on a road trip. Instead of Thanksgiving.”
“Aw, Grant, that’s-” She winces. “Ow, Briar. Don’t kick me! Your legs are too big for that!”
“Be nice to mommy!” Grant chides. “She must be eager to come meet everyone.”
“But why does my cervix have to get the brunt of it,” Skye says, rubbing her stomach. “It feels like she just headbutted me, too. Jeez.”
“Briar!” Grant says, scandalized. “You’re not due yet! Calm down!”
“Ugh,” Skye says. “36 weeks is fine though, right? I mean, if she wanted to come out, she could. I am sore.”
“36 weeks is on the early side, but should be fine,” Grant says. “But it’s best for you to stay to term, young lady!”
“Ah,” Skye says, hunching over as Briar moves again. “Those were my ribs.”
Grant’s frowning in concern. “Do you want to go to the hospital? Is it bad?”
“No, no,” Skye says. “She’s just eager. Probably excited for the meal.”
“Are you sure?” he asks.
“Positive.”
“I’m keeping an eye on you, though,” Grant says. “Just in case.”
“You always do,” Skye says, warmly. “I’m sure if she comes tonight, you’d carry me to the ambulance.”
“Of course,” Grant says. “But try not to come out tonight, Briar! It’s gonna be a busy night!”
“You heard your father,” Skye says. “Stay put!”
“I like when you call me her father,” Grant says.
She watches him for a moment. The autumn sky moving through the windows, behind his head. “I know, baby. I like saying it, too.”
He squeezes her hand.
Thomas is waiting for them outside.
“Before you start, my very round sister-in-law,,” he says, as Skye gets out of the car. “This was Christian’s idea. He thought you might need an extra hand.”
“I’m not going to start,” Skye says. She stretches, sighing in relief as her lower back pops. “I just don’t need any extra help getting inside. Not with-” She gestures to Grant. “He’s got this.”
“Got what?” Grant asks. “Why is Thomas outside? Is something wrong?”
“Christian thought I might need help getting inside,” Skye says. “And yes, I may be on waddle-mode, but I’m perfectly fine.”
Or she is, until she gets another headbutt from her darling daughter.
“Jesus,” Skye gasps. “What the hell, Briar?”
“Hey-” Grant takes her arm. “Don’t get mad. We can go to the hospital any time you want.”
“I’m not mad,” Skye says. “I’m just crampy.”
Thomas takes her other arm. “And you said you didn’t need help.”
“Shut it,” Skye says. “Both of you, help me inside.”
Thomas nods. “Whatever you want, beach ball.”
“I will eat you,” Skye warns. “Don’t test me.”
“Both of you,” Grant says. “And come on, Tommy. You know Skye looks amazing.”
“I mean, she looks like she swallowed a planet,” Thomas says.
Skye elbows him in the ribs.
“I know!” Grant says, beaming. “Isn’t it great?”
“Aw, thanks Grant,” Skye says. “I just wish our little planet would behave herself!”
“Who needs to behave?” Christian asks.
She looks up.
The setup is the same as last year. Like someone captured a picture and reprinted it.
But it’s softer around the edges. So that’s nice.
“No one,” Skye says. “The baby. Thomas, probably.”
“You look good,” Anna says, from the loveseat. “I like the tee shirt.”
“You do?” Christian asks.
Anna shrugs.
“Good to see you guys, too,” Skye says. Grant and Thomas help her onto the opposite couch. She happily settles into the soft cushions. “Really.”
“Christian and I took bets if you would wear last year’s dress,” Thomas says. “He owes me fifty dollars.”
“We said ten.”
“And I want fifty,” Thomas says. “Duh.”
“I couldn’t fit into last year’s dress if I wanted to,” Skye says. “Not even as a bra.”
“Shame,” Christian says.
A beat.
“What?!” he says. “I wanted to win the bet!”
“God, mayo,” Skye says, laughing. “Remember how terrible you were last year?”
“I wasn’t terrible,” Christian says, pulling his wallet out of his slacks. “I was stressed because I had separated from my beloved wife.”
“And what was the excuse before that?” Thomas asks.
“You,” Christian says, handing his brother $50. “Obviously.”
“Asshole,” Thomas says. “Thanks.”
Grant gently sits down beside her. She’s quick to rest her head on his shoulder. “Hi,” she whispers.”
He rubs her leg. “Hi,” he replies. “You look so good.”
“You keep saying that,” she says.
“Because it’s true.”
She nuzzles him. “Thank you.”
“Where on earth are Mother and Father?” Christian asks. “They’re supposed to-”
“Supposed to what?” Skye says.
He looks away. “Nothing.”
“Um,” Skye says. “What did you do?”
“You’re terrible at this,” Anna says. “Jesus, Christian. It’s nothing, Skye. Don’t worry about it.”
“Well, I’m not worried,” Skye says. “But I’m definitely suspicious.”
“Where’s Rose?” Grant asks. “I figured she’d be-”
“Sorry!” Rose exclaims, as if summoned down the stairs. She rushes into the sitting room, hands hidden behind her back. “Sorry, sorry! I was making this!” She presents Skye with-
A crown of roses.
Skye doesn’t mean to start crying. Really, she doesn’t.
“Oh my God,” she sobs. Oh God. Hormone attack. Baby attack. Too much. “Oh God, Rosie-”
Rose takes a step back. “Oh,” she says. “Is it- Did I do it wrong?”
Skye lurches forward. Takes Rose by the shoulders and wraps her into the tightest hug she can manage. “Baby!” Skye cries. “It’s so beautiful and you made it! For meeeee!”
“She’s just very pregnant, Rose,” Christian says. “Those are happy tears.”
“Good!” Rose says. “Okay. I love you, Skye!”
“I love you toooo,” Skye sobs, gasping for air. “You have to put it on me, baby!”
“Okay!” Rose says.
“You should maybe let her go,” Grant says.
“I don’t wanna,” Skye says. “I don’t wanna, she made it for me! She made me a thing!”
“We all got you presents!” Rose says.
“Rosie, baby,” Christian says. “That was a surprise.”
Skye blinks. Releases Rose from her grasp. “You all got me presents?”
Christian sighs. “I mean, yes, we-”
“You all got me presents!” Skye yells, a fresh batch of tears all ready to go. “Oh my God! Come here Christian! Come here!”
“That’s fine,” he says. “I’d rather you not cry on my suit.”
“Wow,” Thomas says. “Astonishing.”
“C’mere,” Grant offers, pulling Skye to his chest. “My beautiful Skye.”
“Everyone loves me so much!” she says. “I’m gonna die!”
“Don’t die!” Rose says.
“It’s an expression, baby,” Grant says. He runs his fingers through Skye’s hair.
“Briar is hitting my cervix again,” Skye continues, crying all the while. “Oh my God. This is so much.”
“Thanks for that,” Thomas says.
“I love you,” Grant says. He tilts her head up. God, she loves the sight of him. His beautiful face, his warm eyes.
“I love you, too,” Skye tells him, sniffling. She feels a bit better. Like she doesn’t need to sob anymore, which is good. She doesn’t actually enjoy doing it. It just happens. Like the cramping.
The miracle of life. Truly.
“Well, if we’re giving gifts,” Christian says. “I suppose Anna and I can give you ours.”
“Wait,” Skye says. “Wait. Rosie-” She smiles. “Can you put the crown on me?”
“Yes!” Rose says, beaming with joy. “It’s gonna look so pretty!”
Skye bows her head. “I know it is, baby.”
Rose’s gentle fingers smooth Skye’s hair, pushing it back over her shoulders. “Your hair is so soft!”
A giggle. “Thank you, Rosie.”
The crown slides into place, fitting perfectly on Skye’s head.
“Can I lift my head?” Skye asks.
Rose moves a stray piece of hair from Skye’s face. “Yep!”
She straightens her shoulders. It’s kind of weird, since it’s just the Wards, but Skye suddenly feels a lot more like a princess.
“How do I look?”
Rosie gasps, bringing her hands to her mouth. “Amazing!”
“It looks really pretty,” Grant says. “You did a great job, Rosie.”
“You’re gonna make yourself a matching one, right?” Skye says.
Rose nods. “If you want!”
“I do!” Skye says. “We’ll be twin princesses.”
“And one for the baby!” Rose says. “She’s a baby princess.”
Briar, in response, kicks Skye in the ribs. “You have no idea,” Skye says, blanching.
Rose tilts her head. “Something wrong?”
“Briar’s been moving a lot today,” Skye says. “It’s very uncomfortable.”
“Well if she comes out before Christmas, I’m going to have to redo my entire gift list,” Christian says.
Skye gives him a look. “Your priorities are stunning.”
“Thank you.”
Grant rubs Skye’s shoulders. “Do you want to go lay down?”
“Nah,” Skye says. “Rosie, come sit next to me. Let’s keep the gift giving going.”
Rose happily bounces next to Skye on the couch. She settles with her hand firmly on Skye’s bump. “Be good, Briar,” she says. “Don’t hurt Skye.”
“Thank you, Rose,” Skye says.
“I want to clarify that I didn’t get you anything,” Thomas says. “I’m waiting for Christmas.”
“In which you will get me, hm. A dollar and a pack of corn chips,” Skye says.
He gives one of those dazzling grins. “Two dollars and a pack of corn chips.”
“Staggering.”
Christian clears his throat.
“Oh, sorry,” Skye says. “Did you want us to pay attention to you?”
He just rolls his eyes. “Do you want your presents or not?”
“You get me,” Skye says. “Presents, please.”
“Okay,” Anna adds, reaching under the loveseat. “So we went a little overboard, but that’s Christian’s fault. I just didn’t want to be outdone.”
Anna presents her with the most overstuffed diaper bag Skye’s ever seen.
Skye can do nothing but stare at it. “Holy crap.”
Grant leans forward, studying it. “Is this-”
“Burberry, yes,” Christian says. “It’s from this season, don’t worry.”
“Wasn’t my initial concern, but okay,” Grant says.
“Look inside!” Anna says, shoving it at them. Skye’s never really seen Anna so excited, and she’d hate to let her down. “We picked out everything ourselves.”
“Well,” Skye says, taking the bag and putting it on Grant’s lap. “That’s pretty impressive for the two of you.”
“Anna wanted to go with Prada, actually,” Christian says. “But we decided the Burberry design was better, and went from there.”
Skye’s going to just let that one go. She unzips the bag, and pulls out-
The most outlandish large stuffed unicorn she’s ever seen. It’s almost three feet tall. “Jesus christ.”
Rose gasps.
“You’ll get something like it for Christmas, Rosie,” Christian says. “This is for the baby.”
“It’s so pretty,” Rose says. “Briar’s gonna love it!”
“It’s huge,” Skye says. “How much- You guys didn’t spend too much on me, did you?”
“Of course not,” Christian says. “We spent it on Briar.”
“How much is too much?” Anna asks. “I mean, by your standards or ours?”
“You two do realize you’re like a parody twitter that someone brought to life, right,” Thomas asks. “Just asking.”
“There are baby shoes in here,” Skye says, pulling them out of the bag. “They’re-”
“Baby mary janes!” Anna says. “I didn’t even know Gucci made baby shoes until I looked.”
“Oh,” Skye says. She hadn’t known either, actually. She would’ve been just fine not knowing for the rest of her life, but here they are. “Wow.”
“Keep going,” Christian says. “There’s a few more things.”
Skye reaches in and pulls out an impossibly soft feeling... blanket. It’s a blanket, and it’s pink with a cable knit. “This is a Ralph Lauren baby blanket, isn’t it.”
Christian grins. “It’s even got her name embroidered at the bottom.”
Skye runs her fingers over the navy letters, which proudly read BRIAR. “I hope we don’t decide to change her name at the last minute.”
His face falls. “You-”
She laughs. “Relax. I’m just giving you a hard time. This is too much guys. Really.”
“You’re not even done yet,” Anna says. “Come on.”
“I feel a book,” Skye says. “Hold on, hold-”
It’s got a hot pink cover.
Grant furrows his brow. “This Little Piggy Went to Prada.”
“Isn’t it adorable?” Anna asks. “I thought it was so clever!”
“Well, you would,” Thomas says.
“Thomas, I will throw a shoe at you,” Anna says.
“You wouldn’t risk your shoes,” Thomas says.
“I didn’t say it would be my shoe,” Anna tells him. “I’d use one of Christian’s. He’s got his heavy oxfords on.”
Thomas responds by sticking his tongue out.
What’s really surprising is that Anna returns the expression.
“I like the book,” Rose says, decidedly. “It’s pink!”
“It is pink,” Christian says. “And it’s very you, darling.” He brushes Anna’s hand with his own.
“Thank you, dear,” she says.
It’s cute. In it’s own weird Christian-and-Anna sort of way. “And our last gift,” Skye announces, reaching into the bag. “Is-”
A dress. It’s lavender, with a big fluffy skirt and cap sleeves. Skye notes the flowers embroidered on the top.
“I know she’ll have to grow into it,” Anna says. “But we figured she’d be able to wear it by easter!”
“But guys,” Skye says, checking the label. “It’s not Ralph! And you can only wear Ralph on easter.”
“I think Mother will make an exception for an infant,” Christian says.
“Unlikely.”
She’s leaning in the doorway. Skye wonders just how long Mother Ward has been standing there, or why she insists on entering the room like a spectre, demon, or some third horrible and ghastly thing.
Christian’s good humor is snuffed out in an instant. “Mother. We started the gift giving early.”
“I know, Christian,” she says. “I have eyes.”
Rose moves off the couch. “I did it, Mom,” she says, quietly. “I was excited, I made Skye a crown and-”
Mother spares Skye a glance. Back to Rose.
Skye swallows. Even Briar seems to have stilled. She must know her Grandmother is in the room.
A curt nod. “It looks lovely, Rose.”
Grant actually sighs in relief.
But it’s Rose who smiles brightly, and wraps her arms around Mother’s waist. “Yay!” she declares. “I’ll make you one, too!”
“Of course,” Mother says. She doesn’t move to hug Rose back, but she does spare her daughter a fond pat on the head. “But you know I prefer-”
“Hydrangeas,” Rose says. “Yep!”
Skye thinks, for an instant, that she almost sees Mother smile. But she blinks, and the expression is gone. “Is it time for dinner?” Skye asks.
“Not quite,” Mother says. “I thought since we did gifts early, Maynard and I could give you ours.”
Skye tilts her head. Gestures to Christian. “But Maynard is-”
“My father, Skye,” Christian says. And he actually is smiling, which is nice to see.
“Right,” Skye says. She’s never actually heard him called anything but Father before, so this is kind of a trip for her.
“Maynard,” Mother calls. “Do you have the gifts?”
“Yes, yes.” He comes into the room, three boxes in his arms. “Sorry. You put them on the high shelf, and you know I always forget when things are on the high shelf-”
“Well the high shelf was the best place to put them, I mean really-”
“I’m not questioning you, Georgie, but-”
Skye blinks. “Georgie?”
Mother and Father turn to look at her. “Georgiana,” Father says. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s-” Skye could really use a reaction from someone else, write about now. “It’s fine?”
“You didn’t have to get us anything,” Grant says. Skye could kiss him, right about now. “Really.”
“Please,” Mother says. “It’s just the traditional lot. Nothing fancy.”
Nothing fancy. Of course. Not like those are all Tiffany boxes. This family is nuts.
“Well,” Grant says. “If you insist.”
“The three traditional gifts,” Father says, like he’s starting a presentation. He places them next to Skye on the couch. “Every Ward child receives this gifts from their grandparents.”
“So you four all have these already?” Skye asks. She’s not even sure what ‘these’ are, but it’s probably something fancy.
The four of them nod. “They’re more for tradition than use,” Christian says. “But they’re nice to have. Open them.”
She pulls the ribbon off the first box. Cautiously opens the lid. “It’s-” A spoon. A literal silver spoon. Dear God. “Oh. Oh, wow.”
“You went with the bow on the handle,” Christian notes. “Good choice.”
“Thank you, Christian,” Mother says.
“You’re welcome, Mother.”
Skye takes a moment, or two, to process that she has entered a twilight zone. Where she is having a baby, and that baby is going to have her own silver spoon. Because it’s family tradition.
“You okay?” Grant whispers.
Skye can see her own reflection in the tiny back of the spoon. She stares at the crown on her head.
When did this happen? When did she truly become a princess?
“I’m in awe,” Skye says. “This must’ve been- You must’ve spent a lot.”
“They’re really not that expensive,” Mother says. “It’s a misconception.”
Skye’s almost positive it isn’t. She goes for the next box, which has a matching silver rattle.
“That’s more for show,” Father assures her. “It’s a nice little thing to have. But once she gets her real teeth, you’ll probably want to give her something softer.”
“I didn’t even know they made silver rattles,” Skye says.
“They discontinued it,” Mother says. “I had to call, and-” She waves her hand. “There was a bit of a production. But we got it, of course.”
The biggest box is last.
“My mother wanted you to know she picked this one,” Father says. “She’s in Greece this year, always taking her vacations on the holidays, that one. But this is from her in spirit.”
“Oh,” Skye says. “That’s... incredibly sweet.” Too sweet. Unexpectedly so. She’s really trying not to have another sobbing fit.
It’s a ceramic piggy bank. But it’s not a pig, it’s a bunny, painted with delicate pink polka dots.
“I wanted to do a traditional pig,” Father says. “By my mother said to go with a rabbit.”
“I have the same one!” Rose says, proudly.
“Yes you do,” Father says. “Gramsy gives this to all her favorite girls.”
Skye sniffles. “You guys...”
“Oh Lord,” Christian says. “Mother, you may need to leave the room. This may be too much emotion for you.”
Mother raises a single eyebrow. “Thank you for your concern, Christian.”
“You’re welcome, Mother.”
Skye, despite herself, lets a laugh bubble out of her chest. And another. Until she’s shaking with laughter, gasping for air. “Oh my God,” she says. “This is all for me! You did this for me!”
“Of course,” Grant says, pulling her close. “You deserve it. Carrying a baby is hard work!”
“Thank you,” Skye says. To him, to everyone. The gifts are ridiculous and outlandishly expensive, but she’s never felt so touched. “I mean it. Thank you so, so much.”
Mother remains stoic as always. “You’re welcome.”
“Shall we eat?” Father asks.
“Please,” Thomas says. “I’m famished.”
“I’m double famished,” Skye says. “Which, since I’m eating for two, is really quadruple.”
“So we’ll just give you the entire turkey, then?” Christian asks.
“Um, yes please,” Skye says. “Seriously. I will eat it.” Grant helps her off the couch. “Guys? Who’s down to watch me eat a whole turkey?”
She doesn’t get the whole bird.
Just most of it.
And stuffing. And potatoes. And most of the vegetables, surprisingly.
She’s very proud of herself, actually.
“Wow,” Thomas says. “I thought you ate a lot last year.”
“Wait,” Skye says. “Wasn’t I supposed to deep fry a turkey this year?”
“Not safe with the baby,” Grant says. “Next year.”
“Okay,” Skye says. “But I’m serious. Next year, we are deep frying this bird.”
Mother pats at her mouth with a napkin. “Of course we are.”
Skye smiles. “Could I get some more apple juice, please?”
“Of course, babe,” Grant says, kissing her head. “Just a minute.”
She shifts in her chair. Briar must’ve enjoyed the meal, because she’s been pretty decent.
Except-
Shit. Shit. Is Briar on her bladder? Skye is feeling a trickle of something down her thigh. Okay. She’s not gonna pee herself at the table. She’s not-
There’s- There’s a lot of something, and it’s gross and wet and it’s getting all over her and onto the chair and holy fucking shit balls-
“Guys,” Skye says. No one’s noticed. She’s still sitting, and the tablecloth is pretty long.
Christian gives her a glance. “Something wrong?”
She nods. “I think my water just broke.”
There’s a thud from the kitchen. Scuffled footsteps. Grant bounding into the dining room. “WHAT?”
“Yeah,” Skye says, standing as slowly as she can manage. “This is such bull, only a small percentage of people said that their water broke like this and it’s everywhere and wow-”
The room is staring at her.
Grant rushes to her side, tucking his hand under her bump. “Oh God,” he says. “Skye, she’s coming, our baby-”
It’s like when people panic, and freeze. That’s exactly what’s happening. Everyone is panicking, and so no one is moving.
Skye nibbles her lip. “So, that happened.”
Mother sighs. “Well. I suppose that’s the end of that chair.”
Which, for better or for worse, is what breaks the silence.
“Mother!” Christian says. “Honestly?”
“Someone should call an ambulance,” Thomas says. “I mean, probably. Should we drive her to the hospital? What’s the protocol with this?”
“Ambulance or police escort?” Christian asks.
Skye holds her stomach and stares. “Do you have both on speed dial?”
“Yes!” Christian says. “Do you not?”
“Ambulance,” Grant says. “Let’s do ambulance.”
“Right,” Christian says. “Yes. Ambulance.”
“Okay so,” Anna says, putting her phone down. “Called the ambulance while everyone was freaking out. Nice job, by the way.”
“I was in a panic, really Anasta-”
“Which is why I stepped in, darling. We just need to get her to the door.”
“Thank you,” Skye says. “Anna. Really.”
Anna gives her a nod. “Of course.”
“That was-” Christian kisses her temple. “Really spectacular, Anna.”
She grins. “I know. I mean, when the whole family-”
“Rose,” Skye says, suddenly. Looking for her. “Rosie, are you okay? I don’t want to scare you, I-”
“Here!” Rose says, coming in with one of the throw blankets from the living room. “I thought you’d need this.”
Yep. Here come the tears again. “Rosie-”
“Can you walk?” Grant asks. “Do you want me to carry you?”
“I can waddle,” Skye says, as Rose lays the blanket over her stomach. “I just need help.”
“Of course,” Grant says. “Thomas, help her out-”
It’s Christian who finds her other side first.
“You’re going to get baby water on your suit,” Skye says.
“It’s called amniotic fluid, and I’ll be fine,” Christian says, looping his arm around her waist. “Grant?”
“Got her,” Grant says. Of course he does. He’s been by her side the whole time. He’s got her pressed right against him, where it’s safest. He’d never be anywhere else.
She tries to waddle, but they manage to semi-lift her anyway. Which is actually kind of nice. She just holds the blanket over herself, and tries not to panic.
“She’s early,” Skye says, though she’s not sure to whom. “Guys, she’s early, she can’t be early it has to be perfect I can’t mess this up, I can’t-”
They settle her by the front door, as Grant makes soft shushing sounds. “It’s okay,” Grant says. “Hey, hey. It’s okay. She’s coming exactly when she’s supposed to. You’re doing perfectly.”
“Please don’t be mad,” Skye says. “I didn’t mean to, I said in the car that I’m tired of carrying her and-”
“Skye,” Grant says, looking her square in the eye. “It’s okay. I promise you, this is okay. I am so excited to meet her. Aren’t you?”
She stifles her tears. Nods. “Yes,” she says, and means it more than anything in the world. “Oh God, Grant, I’m so nervous-”
“Don’t be.”
Skye looks at Mother, and says nothing at all.
Mother shrugs. “I had four. And it was fine. It’s hardly scary at all.”
“You’re gonna do great!” Rose says. “We’ll all be right there!”
“We’ll all be in the hospital waiting room until it’s time to meet Briar, is what she means,” Christian says. “We will not all be in the delivery room.”
“Oh thank God,” Skye says. “No offense.”
“Only a small amount taken,” Christian says. “I’ll have you know I’m something of an expert when it comes to labor.”
“Thank you, midwife Christian,” Skye says. “Oh, fuck. Contraction.”
“Okay,” Grant says. “Okay, baby. Just breathe. We’re gonna get you to the hospital, and it’s gonna be just fine.”
Skye breathes through her teeth. “Briar May Ward,” she says, to her bump. “I cannot even believe you right now.”
It makes Grant laugh. And that’s worth more than anything else.
In total, it takes seven hours.
The nurses tell her that’s a short amount of time.
During labor, someone jokes that Briar must be pretty eager to come out, which would’ve been hilarious had Skye not been dilated to hell and back.
Oh well. Bygones.
It feels like thirty years, really. Like she’s just laying in a hospital bed, exposed to the whole world, and eventually a baby’s gonna come out.
Incidentally, that’s kind of exactly what happens.
“Still think I’m beautiful?” she asks Grant, who has been nothing but kind and loving and understanding this entire time. For some reason. Because he’s perfect, she supposes.
He wipes the sweaty hair back from her forehead. Kisses her gently on the cheek. “Of course,” he says. “Do you really have to ask?”
“I feel like a giant mess, so-”
“You’re gorgeous,” he whispers. “You’re having a baby. How could you possibly be any more beautiful than right now?”
“I could not have a head at my damn cervix,” Skye says.
“We’re gonna be a family,” he says. “And she’s gonna be every bit as wonderful as you are.”
She wonders how he’s keeping it together. He’s usually more emotional, more open about these things.
But she appreciates the stoic thing. It’s needed.
She holds his hand. “I love you,” she says.
He kisses her just as the doctor comes in. “I love you, too.”
Here’s the thing about Briar May Ward, the newborn baby.
She’s perfect. She’s literally the perfect baby, with a head of black hair and golden-brown eyes.
Because Grant had been right. She’s incredible.
But she looks like her father.
She’s all cleaned up, wrapped in a pink blanket.
Skye can’t take her from the doctor fast enough. Well. Within reason. She’s not going to grab a freaking baby.
“Look at her,” Skye says. Only to Grant. “Look at our little baby girl.”
“Mm-hm,” Grant says.
She turns to look at him. “You’re crying.”
He’s biting on his lower lip, with tears rolling down his cheeks.
“You can cry, Grant,” Skye says. “Oh baby, you can cry. It’s okay. Thank you for being so strong.”
“Oh, God,” Grant says. “Look Skye, look at her little hands and her little face-”
Skye smiles. “She has your eyes.”
And Grant, her strong, wonderful Grant, who cried when she’d told him she was pregnant in the first place-
Well. He finally, finally starts crying in earnest.
Briar stares up at him, like she’s wondering what all the fuss is about.
“Welcome to the world, Briar May,” Skye says.
Her daughter. Their daughter.
“She’s so-” Grant sobs. “She’s so beautifuuul!”
There’s no better way to put it.
you’re the heart; i’m the beat
nanny au. in which grant calls phillip his son for the first official time. and it’s ADORABLE. also included: way too much new couple pda. special thanks to starbucks for this one. love ya, big guy.
--
It happens, as most things do, at a Starbucks.
Because it was at a Starbucks where, two weeks ago, Snoopy got very cozy with a beautiful lady stranger. And she, being a beautiful lady stranger being harassed by a dog, took it to mean that Grant was using the dog as a gateway to flirtations.
So she in turn got very, very flirtatious. And Skye, who had been mostly holding a baby and doing a crossword puzzle, only got very extremely not at all entirely jealous.
And it was in that very Starbucks where Skye, still with baby, kissed Grant deeply on the mouth in broad daylight.
At which point, the beautiful lady stranger, who had really done nothing wrong, politely gave Snoopy back, said “Thank you for letting me pet your dog,” and went back to her work.
Which made Skye feel entirely proud of herself. Because that was her boyfriend. They were dating. With full benefits.
Grant had just looked at her, touched his lips, and said, “Oh.”
Additionally, it was at a Starbucks where, three days ago, a less attractive stranger had tried to flirt with Skye while she waited on line for the bathroom.
And Grant, all six feet two inches of him, swept in out of nowhere with a dog and a baby. And touched her butt.
Like. Not a poke or anything. But he’d joined her on line, and slipped his hand into her back pocket. And then given her a squeeze, which was honestly kind of funny.
“Where’d you come from?” she asked.
He shrugged. And the fact that he was gently brushing his thumb against her ass through her jeans was pretty enduring. “Around.”
She’d have done him in the bathroom, probably. Except there was a pretty long line behind her, and the bathroom was filthy, and they had a dog and a baby to deal with.
Still. There’s not a time that she doesn’t want to jump his bones. He’s just gorgeous and kind and funny and hers.
And when he’s holding a baby? Her baby. Their baby.
It’s just unfair.
They should probably stop going to Starbuck. They seem to make increasing PDA spectacles out of themselves.
And really, she’d expected Phillip to get a bit fussier in public, as he got older. He’s teething more fiercely now, and crying jags should be the norm.
But he’s happy as a clam, mostly. Probably because of Grant. It’s been months and months. Only once has Grant mere presence not been enough to at least stifle Phillip’s crying.
And so she and Grant are the problem.
Not like, a problem-problem. They’re not burning down buildings with their love, or anything. Frankly, that’d be pretty irresponsible to do with a baby in the mix.
But they do seem to be trying.
And so they’re on line at Starbucks, like they usually are, and Skye is absolutely not thinking about how good Grant’s lips felt between her legs this morning.
Phillip, her perfect child, is starting to finally, FINALLY sleep through the night.
Which gives Grant and Skye a lot more time for, well.
Adult-friendly activities.
Not that Phillip hasn’t interrupted them multiple times. She’d say it still happens at least a few times a week.
And she likes checking on him. Or having Grant check on him. Knowing her little baby is okay. That they’re a family. That he’s just hungry or fussy and needs his mommy.
She also likes quiet nights. When she rolls on top of Grant and they go and go and go.
She’s tired in the morning, after those kinds of nights. But she doesn’t regret a thing.
And besides. She’s got an infant. When is she not tired?
Might as well be tired on her own terms, really.
Grant’s carrying Phillip on his chest, as usual. Which gives Skye the perfect opportunity to stand on the tip of her toes and nip at his ear.
He lets out a teeny whimper. Snoopy’s ears perk up at it, but Phillip doesn’t seem to notice. Which is good.
By the time he’s like, four, he’ll probably be old enough to be embarrassed by Skye and Grant kissing in public.
Maybe. She doesn’t really know what four year olds are like. Maybe they’ll have until he’s five or six.
“Skye,” Grant whines. “Did I not do enough this morning?”
It’s funny. That he actually means it, that he’s so doting and loving and good. And by funny, she means astonishing.
How did she keep away from him for so long? It’s a mystery.
“You did plenty, Grant,” she says, grabbing his butt for good measure. “I just can’t get enough of you.”
There’s that flush in his cheeks. He’s got no poker face. “Oh, I- We-”
She nuzzles his neck. “Later,” she promises. “We’re next in line.”
He blinks, like he’s trying to clear the dreams in his head. The sexy, dirty dreams. Her favorite kind.
“I’ll have a coffee,” she says. “No. A pumpkin spice. No! Do you have any more of those graham lattes?”
The barista takes a moment to stare at her.
Which. Deserved.
“We’re out of the graham cracker syrup.”
She frowns. “Boo.”
“Can I have a green tea, please?” Grant says. “And-” He looks to the snacks lined up under the pastry window. “Is there anything Phillip can eat yet?”
“I brought,” Skye says. Glances at the barista. “If that’s cool.”
The barista shrugs.
“Okay, good,” Grant says. He gently takes Phillip’s tiny hand. “Don’t want my little boy to be hungry!”
A pause.
Skye is faintly aware of Snoopy wagging his tail at something. Probably a nearby stranger offering him a smile or some attention. And she’s aware of the line of Grant’s back, of the way he’s staring at the counter.
Skye rubs his bicep. “No you don’t,” Skye says. “He’s got to grow up to be as big and strong as his dad.”
Grant turns his head. Looks down at her with wide, wet eyes.
She nudges him. “Finish ordering,” she says. “There’s a line.”
“I love you,” he says.
She grins. “Get me a hot chocolate, I guess?” she says. “I’m gonna take Snoopy to a table.”
She scoops their eager, tiny dog off the floor.
She makes sure to give Grant a kiss on the cheek for good measure.
She’s quick to take the lid off her hot chocolate. So she can lick all the whipped cream up. Naturally.
Grant stares at her for a moment. Takes the lid off of his tea, so it can cool.
Phillip’s nicely settled in his high chair. Snoopy’s resting under him and Patches, the stuffed dog, is held firmly in Phillip’s chubby arms.
“I should-” Grant starts. Purses his lips. “Do you really think- I know you’ve said it but-”
“Yes,” Skye says, and she’s probably got whipped cream on her nose. “I meant it. You are Phillip’s dad. And one day, we’ll get married and it’ll be legal, if you’re worried.”
He swallows. “You want to get married?”
She nibbles her lip. Maybe too much. Maybe. “Do you?”
“Yes!” he says. Too quickly. Flushes. “I mean. Oh, God. Skye. How could I not want to marry you?”
She feels a giggle bubble through her chest. It’s kind of childish and silly, but then Phillip giggles in solidarity with her. And she may actually have to wipe her thumb under her eyes. Because she was totally fine a second ago. And this is no big deal, really. It’s just marriage.
And a baby.
And a dog.
And Grant.
No. Big. Deal. Just a casual marriage discussion. In a Starbucks.
“Keep it up with the flattery,” Skye says, trying to calm herself. “And we’re gonna bang so much you’ll put another baby in me.”
Wow. Excellent tactic.
Grant manages the tiniest, fakest Skye’s ever heard. “Oh God.”
“Sorry,” Skye says. “Sorry, one’s plenty-”
“I mean, if you want more kids, we can have as many as-”
“And like, I’m back on my BC, not to scare you, certainly don’t want-”
“We should decide if we want to do it before or after we get married though, and-”
She pauses. “Wait. You want more kids?”
He swallows. Takes a moment to stroke at Phillip’s curls. “Yeah,” he says. “I mean, I’m one of four, and I really like it, so-”
She puts a hand over her stomach. “You want four kids?”
“Ideally, yeah,” he says. Notices the way she’s sitting. And the slight panic on her face. “Not now, though! Maybe not ever. I mean, I’d love for Phillip to have a little sibling, but it’s not easy having a baby, and we’re both so young, still, we have so much time and-”
She pulls him to her by the front of his tee shirt. And kisses him, harder than she should in a public place.
There is some tongue involved.
And he does suck on her lower lip. And tug on her hair.
But it’s like he said. They’re young.
She breaks it off, gasping.
“Wow,” Grant says. “Wow, that was-”
“We can work it out,” Skye says. She looks over to Phillip, who seems entirely fine.
She should really enjoy that while she still can.
Most kids don’t want their parents making out in public.
Phillip’s just a sweet, tiny baby.
But God. She doesn’t want another one yet.
“I-” Grant’s still stroking her hair. “I know. I just don’t want to put too much on your plate. You’re always busy with work and-”
“Well,” she says. “The kids will have one hell of a dad, at least.”
He beams. “You’re an amazing mom.”
They should probably go back to her apartment and bang. Like, now.
Well. They should feed Phillip, and take a walk through the park first. Normal weekend stuff.
And then later, they’re going to break the freaking bed.
Figuratively.
She doesn’t even want to think about how complicated it would be to get a new bed, and then there’d be strange people in the apartment and they’d probably wake Phillip at some point and just-
Grant kisses her temple. “You okay?”
“Just thinking.”
He takes her hand. Smiles. “Can I ask you something?”
“Yes,” Skye says. “Anything.”
He sucks in a breath. “Do you want to meet my parents?”
Oh.
Oh, God.
She looks at Phillip. Phillip looks at her. She blinks. “Sure?”
Grant just smiles back. “They’re going to be in town next week, because they really want to meet you. I mean, as much as they can really want anything, and-”
Well.
She should probably clean the apartment.
The bedroom’s a mess.
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the move-in
a skyeward throwback. consider it sometime in the early days, in a universe where everyone is happy. i missed this.
skye, grant, + “14 Discoveries You’ll Make Once You Move In With An S.O.”
She slides into the couch across from him. Smooth as can be. She only almost drops her laptop once.
“Buzzfeed posted a list about us,” she says.
He, as always, looks up from his coffee like it pains him. “What did you do?”
She huffs. “Nothing,” she says. “Wow. No, dummy. They made a list. 14 Things That Happen When You Move in With Your SO.”
Blink. “You know that means-”
“Supervising Officer,” she says, waving him off. “Yeah, totally. I got that. I just didn’t realize it’s a common thing, you know?”
“Are you being-” He gestures. “You’re doing the you thing, right?”
“The me thing?” Skye says. “I do a lot of things. I’m beautiful. I’m talented. I can curl my tongue, sometimes.”
“Why?” he says, and that could be referring to any number of things.
She pretends he’s being specific. “I dunno. Sometimes my tongue-”
“Why this,” he amends, like it’ll do him any good.
She shrugs. “The wifi’s being spotty.”
“Right.”
She grins. And he’s pretending that he’s not completely charmed, but she knows him. And he always is.
“So,” he says. Places his coffee cup on the table. “What’s number one?”
She clears her throat. Looks at her computer. Clears her throat again.
“Skye.”
“Number one,” she says. “1. Once you move in with an S.O., you won’t go out as much anymore.”
He stares. “Right.”
“Wait, wait!” she says. “It’s totally true! I’ve gotten super boring since I moved in with you. I never get to go anywhere.”
“We live on a plane, Skye,” he says. “And also, I’m not really sure ‘moving in with me,’ is-”
“Don’t make it weird,” she says.
He bristles. First of the morning. “I’m not making it weird!”
“We live together now and we’re roomies and it’s great,” Skye says. “But we never go anywhere. This is spot on. It’s just like our lives.”
“Where are we going to go?” he asks.
“I mean, where do you want to go?” Skye asks.
He pauses. Purses his lips.
“If you say dog park-”
“I miss Buddy!” he says. “Is there something about dogs on there?”
“We just started the list, so no, Grant,” she says. “There’s nothing about your dog on here.”
“Well there should be.”
She almost laughs. “Remember when you pretended like you didn’t have a sense of humor?”
“I’ve always had a sense of humor,” Grant says.
“Sure, Grant,” she says. “Right.”
“Don’t use that tone,” he says.
“It’s not a tone, it’s my voice.”
“It’s a tone.”
“Sure, Grant.”
He makes a face. “You know what?” he says. “We’re behind on training. We’re behind right now, even.”
“No,” Skye says. “No, we have 14 points, and we are getting to all of them.”
“Do it on the go,” he says. “C’mon rookie. We’ve got pullups to do.”
And she only goes because there’s a chance he’ll do his sets first. Unlikely, since he’d probably worked out earlier, at like, 6AM or whatever unGodly hour he’s up at.
Still. She can probably get him to do at least a couple.
“Four,” Skye says, as Grant pulls himself up on the bar.
“That’s more than four,” he says. “I’ve done at least ten.”
“I meant number four,” Skye says. “On the list.”
“Put your phone away,” he says. Up.
She watches his back muscles. God. “Nah,” she says. “I’m having fun.”
“Oh,” he says. “Good. I’m so glad.”
“See?” Skye says. “That’s a tone.”
He makes a noise. Which may be agreement or amusement or something. Or muscle strain.
“Anyway,” Skye says. “Four. Once you move in with an S.O., you’ll become sort of inseparable by default.”
“False,” Grant says, through his teeth.
“True!” Skye says. “Look at us. Besties.”
“Simmons wouldn’t want to hear you say that.”
“Simmons is, like Fitz, watching you work out,” Skye says. “So.”
“So?”
“We’re pretty inseparable,” Skye says. “You know, in a totally platonic way.”
“Right.”
“Super normal,” Skye adds. “Just buddies.”
“Are you trying to say something, Skye?” Grant says. And like, he should probably stop doing pullups. But she’s not going to tell him to.
“I mean, I’m just wowed that you didn’t react to the word ‘buddy’ being tossed around like that.”
“I did,” Grant says. “On the inside.”
“The humor,” Skye says. “It’s cutting. It’s real.”
“Can I stop doing pull-ups now?”
“I never said you had to do like, a thousand of them!” Skye says.
“Well first of all, I’ve only done like, twenty five, and second-”
“Fine. Keep doing pull-ups. We’ve got a long list to go. Number five-”
He drops from the bar.
She pouts. “Rude.”
She flops onto his bed sometime in the middle of the day. Naturally, this occurs without warning. She probably should’ve knocked, or whatever, like in case he was naked.
But like, she had also been hoping he was naked. And he isn’t. So what’s the point?
He’s reading, and pretending not to notice.
“Eat Pray?” Skye asks.
“No,” Grant says. “I thought it was too wordy.”
“Right?” Skye says, rolling onto her back. “And like, when are we going to get to travel?”
“We’re travelling now.”
“But we don’t get to go eat anywheeeeere,” she says. “God. Married life is terrible.”
He looks up from his book.
She grins. Got him. “Number seven-”
He groans, so she lightly smacks his leg until he stops. Well. Until he groans more quietly.
“Number seven,” she says. “You will also become each other’s therapists.” A sigh. “How do they just like, get me?” She gestures between the two of them. “Get us, I mean. I’m such a good listener.”
“What are my parents names?” he asks.
“John Garrett and Victoria Hand, duh,” Skye says.
A stare. “Yep,” he says. “Outstanding.”
“Continue telling me about your childhood,” Skye says. “What was prison like? What was Academy like? Do you have any piercings you regret?”
“I was there for a day, fine, no.”
“Whatever,” Skye says. Adjusts herself, again, so that she’s sitting on his bed. Facing him. “Then let’s talk about your daddy issues.”
Grant wrinkles his nose. “What?”
“I mean, Agent Garrett casts a pretty big shadow,” Skye says.
“He’s... well first of all, he’s not my dad, I mean-”
“You called him dad that one time, though, do you want to talk about that?”
“Nope.”
“Are you gonna tell on me?” Skye says. “Are you gonna be all like, Dad, Skye tried to get me to say mean things about you.”
“Skye-”
“And then he’ll come marching down here and call me like, a baby hooker-”
“You’re not a baby hooker.”
“Ha!” Skye says. Points square in the center of Grant’s pretty little nose. “Relationship progress. Moving in together has been so good for us.”
He’s unmoved. “Can you get out of my bunk?”
She shakes her head. “Noooope.”
“Can you let me read in peace?”
“Negative.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Has John actually called you a ‘baby hooker?’”
Skye nibbles her lip. “Well, I maaaay have started it-”
More groaning. Louder groaning.
She pokes his knee. Repeatedly. “Grant. Graaant. Grant stop.”
He buries his face in his book. Makes softer displeased sounds.
“Honestly,” Skye says. “You’re so mean to me, when all I am is kind, and nurturing, and-”
He’s still behind his book.
“Grant!”
“What?”
“We’re moving on to number eight.”
“Nope.”
“Grant-”
“Negative.”
“Grant!”
She can hear him laughing behind his book.
“Eleven,” Skye says, when her head is in his lap and the day is winding down. He’s petting her hair, as she knows he likes to do. Such a sucker, that Grant. Too cute for his own good. “The intimacy you share will reach a whole new level.” She shakes her head. “Too real.”
Grant makes a small noise of protest. She probably shouldn’t move her head when it’s in his lap. Oops.
Except not oops at all. “I borrow your stuff all the time.” She eagerly waits for his indignant response.
“That’s cool,” he says. “I borrowed your hair gel last week.”
“THAT WAS YOU?” she asks, sitting up. “I thought it was like, Simmons or May!”
“Why?” Grant asks. And he’s smiling at her. It’s so endearing. It’s terrible.
“Because it’s ladies’ stuff! It smells like coconut!”
“I like how it smells,” Grant says. “And it has good hold.”
“You did smell especially nice last week,” Skye says. “And I couldn’t put my finger on why!”
“Well, first of all,” Grant says. “It’s because you’re vain and you recognize something that you smell like.”
“I am not vain!” Skye says.
A pause.
“It’s cute when I’m vain,” Skye says.
“And second,” Grant says. “Are you taking stock of how I smell?”
“No!” Skye says. “But we work out together, and you like, have this deodorant that you use that really-”
He looks so pleased with himself. “Really what?”
“This was supposed to be embarrassing for you, first of all,” Skye says. And she has to put her finger up, because Grant is leaning dangerously close to her.
“I’m mortified,” he says. “Number nine cut me deep.”
She giggles. “Yeah it did.”
“Skye,” he says. “Intimacy?”
Her hand is doing nothing. There’s little to no space left between them. “More than ever,” she says. “Soon I’ll be using your toothbrush.”
His face falls. “Please don’t.”
With a grin of victory, she surges forward.
And as embarrassed as he is (or she is, whatever.)
He leans right into the kiss.
give me anything but blue; royal blue
based on the skyeward month prompt, AU: Tahiti. The one where they get that drink. Sort of.
Part 1 of 3 Tahiti prompts.
--
She looks at him and she sees-
They’re real Skye, and they always have been;
And-
I swore I’d never lie to you;
And-
Never turn your back on the enemy;
And-
The wordless way he’d looked at her when they’d strapped him down. The gentle way he’d let them. The tired movement of his limbs and the frown etched into his face.
“Any last words?” Coulson had asked, and it had been something like a joke. Like lightening the mood. Like it had been okay;
And-
The way he’d looked up, into the lights of the machine. Because he’d said it all, he must’ve, in that previous gaze. But she’d missed it! She hadn’t been paying full attention, and now he wouldn’t look at her, not even one last time, and-
And-
Her voice had gotten stuck in her throat. She’d managed one whispered, “Grant,” softly, carefully, and he’d-
He hadn’t looked at her-
And he’d said: “I’ve got nothing to say.”
And they’d turned on the machine.
She thinks she may have screamed.
He wasn’t- He hadn’t-
He had to say ‘I love you, Skye.’
He had to say it one last time and, and-
He-
She-
“Skye?”
She stares back at him. “Yeah?”
He drums his fingers along the table. “You okay?”
“I’m great,” she says. Pulls herself into a grin. “I’m sharing a drink with the hottest guy at the bar. Why wouldn’t I be okay?”
He’s not convinced. Or amused. “I really should-”
“What do you do?” Skye asks, leaning forward. He loves her boobs. He’s never been able to say no to it.
He barely gazes downward. “I’m training to be a vet,” he says.
She swallows. “You don’t look like the kind.”
“Excuse me?” he asks.
“I-” She blinks. “I mean, you’re a- You’re a big guy. I figured you were in the military, or something.”
He shakes his head. “Never served in the military,” he says. “I’m not a guns kind of guy. Violence just-” He makes a face. “Sorry. It’s probably un-manly, or something, to not like the sight of blood.”
“No,” Skye says. Maybe too insistently. “No, I think it’s very- It’s good. You’re good.”
His finger circles the rim of his glass. “I work as a vet tech right now,” he says. “But I’m doing well in school, so I think I’ll have my degree in a few years.”
She smiles. “That’s-” And she has no right to be proud of him. She has no goddamn right to waltz in here and be proud, like this is her doing. “That’s great. You must be really smart.”
He almost looks flattered. “I try,” he says. Rubs the back of his neck. “I mean, sometimes I feel like I’m-” He stares at one particular spot on the bar. “An idiot, you know? Or like, no one really thinks I’m all that smart? But I’m trying. That’s all I can do, really.”
She gets a stinging feeling in her chest. “You’re not an idiot,” she says. “Grant. You’re- You’re so smart, you know that, right?”
He lifts his gaze to hers.
Where the fuck is that spark? He’s supposed to- They need to-
Why isn’t he falling for her right now? Is it it the hair? She finds herself self-consciously tugging on her ends. “Sorry,” she says. “Just... I used to think I was stupid growing up, you know? So it’s kind of a thing for me.”
Something like sympathy. “Ah,” he says. “I’m sorry to hear that. I don’t really-” Furrowing of the brow. “I don’t remember much of my childhood. I went to boarding school, mostly. Pretty boring.”
“Didn’t graduate,” Skye says.
And here’s the thing.
She’s not an amateur con woman. This is not how she usually talks to strangers. This is not who she pretends to be when she wants a man to take her home.
Because honestly, she could do that in her sleep.
This isn’t a stranger. This is Grant. Grant doesn’t need her tricks or her lies because he knows her, right? He must still know her somewhere, deep down. Know that he’s in love with her, and he’s happy to see her, and they’re going to go back to his place and it’s going to be just fine.
It’s going to be just fine.
He just has to take the hint. Which makes sense! Really, this makes perfect sense. Grant couldn’t tell flirting from a paper bag. She’s just got to lay it on.
She runs her hands through her hair. Which takes much less time than it used to, and still feels kind of weird. “I mean, you know-” She smiles. “I’m not a school person. I like to have a good time too much.”
He tilts his head. “Um-”
“Do you want a shot?” Skye asks. “Do you want to do shots with me?”
“No thanks,” he says. He looks a little like he’s getting whiplash.
Too strong. Too strong.
“Right,” Skye says. “I just get over-enthused.”
“I mean,” he says, staring at his drink. He’s barely touched it. “I really don’t have time to-”
“We don’t have to do shots!” she says. “We can just sit here and chill.”
“That’s what I mean,” he says. “I didn’t come in to drink tonight, I was dropping of medicine for the bartender, her dog’s sick and she didn’t have time to come in and get it so-”
“But you come here all the time,” Skye says. And she doesn’t say, I know, because I’ve been watching you. And she doesn’t say, you take girls home all the time. Why not me? Why are you resisting me?
Because that’s what it is. He’s been pushing her back since the moment she offered to buy him a drink, and she doesn’t-
He doesn’t-
He doesn’t even know her anymore! He doesn’t know her. So he should like her again. Right?
She’s been planning this so well. This is his bar. This is his home city, now. And she is dressed just right, and her makeup looks perfect, and he’s supposed to at least-
He’s supposed to want her.
“Um,” Grant says. “How do you know-”
“Because!” Skye says. “I’ve been here all the time, too. And you’re so hot, I’ve had a crush on you since like forever and-”
“I don’t think we’re a good match,” he says, pushing his drink towards her.
Her breath catches in her throat. “You don’t know me.”
He looks away. “I- I don’t think I want to.”
This is-
He’s-
Not like this. This can’t be happening. Not to her. Not to them.
“Grant,” she says, softly. With the memories behind it.
It catches his attention. “Why are you so hell-bent on being around me, anyway?” Grant says. “You’re a beautiful woman. You could have anyone in this bar. Someone who’s actually interested.”
“But why not you?” she asks, slamming her hand on the table. “Why aren’t you interested in me?”
He stares at her in the low light. “I don’t really know,” he says. “I’m sorry. You just give me a bad vibe.”
She’s- She- “A bad vibe?”
“I don’t know,” he says. “I trust my instincts.”
“You do know,” she says. Insists. “You know me, Grant. You- You remember me a little bit, don’t you?”
His expression shifts. From apologetic to flat confused. “I’m sorry?”
“Skye,” she says. “We- You loved me, remember? You said you’d never lie to me and I- I-”
He gets out of his chair. “Are you high?” he asks.
She gazes up at him. Pleading. Desperate. “Grant Ward,” she says, with a feeling that it’s the last time. “Please don’t go.”
“You are really-” He runs his hand through his hair. “Really freaking me out.”
“Do you remember Buddy?” she asks. “Your dog? Or the Bus? Or Malta? The Hub? The school? Remember? Please, it’s not that thorough, you can break it if you want, you can remember-”
“I’m sorry,” Grant says. “I am really, really sorry. Because I don’t know how you know my name, but you’re clearly thinking of another guy.”
Another Grant Ward. Another life. A different Skye.
“I-”
“I’ve never known any Skyes,” he says. “I think I would remember.”
She wants to laugh.
She can’t.
“Goodnight,” he says, putting the money for his drink down on the table. “I hope you find who you’re looking for.”
And that’s the perfect irony of it. The absolute nail in her coffin.
He remembers. She knows he does. Not the meat of it, not the heart. But the ghosts of it.
He’d called it instinct. And in a way, it was.
But she could recognize it as the faintest hints of his memories. What he felt when he saw her.
Fear. Disgust. Apathy.
Pain.
He waves goodbye to the bartender. Doesn’t look back over his shoulder.
Skye’s heart settles like a stone.
He could remember, she thinks. Maybe sometimes he does. But she’s-
He-
She’s been fooling herself. Like he’d ever think of anything good. Like he’d remember her smile, and not her scowl.
That wasn’t how memory worked. Not hers, not his.
So if he did remember her, even in the faintest sense-
He’d have no reason to want to. Who would want to go back to that?
Who would want her?
Not Grant. Not him.
He’s already left. Which is good. It’s very good.
He can’t see her crumple against the table.
vacation is over; don’t wait
bff au. annual slumber party, summer before senior year. remember that big Thing skye and grant have been planning to do? well... they did it. and nothing’s actually changed.
--
“So,” Grant says. “I didn’t think I was going to lose it to One Direction.”
Skye grabs his hand under the covers. And she means to laugh, but she’s still kind of breathless. “Well,” she says. “I did.”
“If your Dads catch us,” Grant says. “You know I’m dead, right?”
“Depends which dad gets you,” Skye says. “Dad-Dad will probably throw a tantrum but be fine, but Pops-Dad-”
“I’d never make it out of the house,” Grant whispers.
“Nah,” Skye says. “Your dad will protect you.”
Grant laughs. It bubbles out of his chest like a melody, and Skye finds herself sighing without meaning to.
She rolls onto her side, facing him.
He looks the same. That’s good. The same as he did last summer, when they’d done exactly this.
Minus the thing.
The big thing. The S-E-X thing.
The virginity thing.
And it’s weird.
Because they’ve been meaning to do it. Sort of. They’ve been on and off about it.
They’d gotten really close after junior prom. Naked close. Naked and touching close but-
She doesn’t know. Because they’ve done it now, and she’s not really sure why she waited.
Like, where’s her coming of age soundtrack? One Direction hadn’t prepared her well enough for this. The album had finished like, fifteen minutes ago.
She feels like it took too long. Maybe. Sort of. She knows she didn’t actually, you know, orgasm, or whatever. Because she has before, and she knows what it feels like, and this just didn’t-
Like if Grant enjoyed it, then she’ll be happy. But he just kind of came in the condom and then they’d gone to the bathroom and now they’re laying her and it’s-
“Sorry,” Grant says. “I think I was- We just-” He lets out a puff of breath. “That was really bad.”
Skye doesn’t say anything. She just stares at him.
He turns his head to look at her. “My fault, though.”
And she’s back. Shaking her head, because she’s never heard anything so untrue. “Are you kidding?” Skye says. “You were great. Your penis is- Well-” She sucks on her teeth. Idly pats at his dick, like it helps. “It’s a lot of fun.”
“You didn’t come,” Grant says. “So I did a bad job.”
“No!” she protests. “You were good, I was just- I mean, it kind of hurt and-”
“You said it didn’t hurt!” Grant says. Props himself up on his side. “I didn’t want to hurt you, why did you let me-”
“Because I wanted to have sex!” she says. “And I liked it. I liked you inside me and I like how close it made me feel to you but-”
“We’re just no good at it,” Grant says.
“Yeah,” Skye says, with a huff. “We suck at this.”
“You felt good,” Grant says, reaching for her hair. “Like, really good.”
Skye wrinkles her nose. “Then why didn’t you like it?”
“Well,” Grant says. “I mean, you seemed kind of detached from it and you kept moving super fast like you just wanted it over with and-”
She wiggles forward and kisses him. “Sorry,” she says.
“Don’t be sorry,” he says. “I dunno what we were expecting.”
“Magic?” Skye says.
“Fireworks,” Grant adds.
“Rainbows, probably,” she says.
“I mean,” he says. “I already feel all of that with you.”
She melts into the bed. “Grant,” she says. “I love you.”
“And it’s not like we’ll always suck at this, right?” he says, brushing her hair from her eyes.
“I hope not,” Skye says. “I mean, there’s other stuff for us to do, though.”
Grant smiles. “Lots of other stuff.”
“Besides,” Skye says. “We’re gonna be together forever so it’s not like-”
“We won’t have time to learn,” Grant says. “Right.”
She snuggles closer to him. “Do you feel more mature?” she asks.
“Not really.”
“Sexier?”
“Nope.”
“Sweaty?”
“Very,” Grant says.
“Same,” Skye says. “Are you hungry?”
“Super hungry,” Grant says. “But it’s late. We shouldn’t eat this late and if we wake your dads-”
“Psh,” Skye says. “Just put your PJs back on. They’ll never know.”
“I want to live,” Grant says. He grabs her wrist. “Skye, I want to live!!!”
“You’re such a nerd,” she says, nuzzling his chest.
“Your nerd,” he says.
She wraps him into a hug. “My nerd,” she says.
They make it into the kitchen about fifteen minutes later. It had been hard to untangle. Grant’s very firm, and his skin is very soft, and he’s such a snuggler! Practically a snuggle monster.
It’s a travesty, really.
She’s very hungry. “Grab the pancake mix off the top of the fridge?”
“Shouldn’t we go for something less messy?” Grant says. “It is pretty late.”
“It’s cool,” Skye says. “We can just cook and clean up in the morning.”
“Won’t your dad just clean up when he comes downstairs?” Grant asks.
Skye shrugs. “I meeeeean,”
“Skye,” Grant says.
“I don’t really want to sleep tonight, anyway,” Skye says. “I want to make blueberry pancakes and stay up all night playing video games with you.”
He takes the mix off the top of the fridge. “Well,” he says. “I mean, I can’t say no to a perfect plan.”
She grins. “Nope,” she says. “You can’t.”
“And you do make the best pancakes,” Grant says.
“Better than your dad’s?” Skye asks.
He gives a conspiratory little grin. “A little bit,” he says. “But don’t tell him.”
She practically flings herself at him. Wraps her arms around his waist. “Never,” she says. “Your secret is safe with me.”
She takes the box mix from him with a smile. He kisses her forehead. “You’re so pretty. Do I tell you that enough?”
“Every single day and night,” Skye says.
He breaks their hug and goes for the fridge. “The milk’s still good, right?”
“Should be,” Skye says, grabbing the measuring cups. “Wanna turn on the radio?”
“It’s two in the morning,” Grant says.
“True,” Skye says. “I guess I’ll have to dazzle you with my singing voice.”
Grant laughs. “Cause we are living in a material world-”
“AND I AM A MA-TER-I-AL-”
“It’s two in the morning.”
Skye almost drops the mixing bowls. “Pops!” she says. “You’re up!”
Grant’s gone flour-white. “Mr. Skye’s Dad Fury, sir,” he says. “Hello, good morning, how’s it going, how are you, what’s-”
“You two are making pancakes?” he asks. “At two am?” He hasn’t covered his bad eye. So they woke him up, basically. Not good. Not a good sign. And she really, really doesn’t want Grant to die.
“Yep!” Skye says. “Slumber party activities.”
“Aren’t you two usually asleep by now?” he says.
“Last saturday before senior year,” Skye says. “We’re too anxious.”
He looks over at Grant. “Is that right?”
Grant casually begins drinking the milk from the carton. “Just a late night snack,” he says. “Just hanging out.”
“That’s not,” Skye says. “That’s our milk.”
Grant blinks. “Is it?” he asks, in a voice only dogs can hear.
“Yes it is,” Pops says. “Just keep it, Grant.”
“Thank you so much,” he says.
“You should really take it down a notch, son,” Pops says.
“Trying,” Grant says.
“So,” Skye says. “Want some pancakes, Pops?”
“I’m good,” he says. “I’m going back to bed. Stop making so much noise. And don’t leave a mess for your father.”
“Right,” Skye says. “Absolutely. Perfect.”
“And make sure your door is fully closed the next time you try to have sex,” Pops continues. “If your father had heard you, he would’ve died on the spot.”
“Ha!” Skye says, louder than she needs to. “Good one! Hilarious! Love you! Go back to bed! Bye!!!!”
Grant looks too scared to even move.
Pops gives her half a smile. “Goodnight, kids.”
She just stares at Grant. “Okay,” she says. “So he didn’t kill you.”
“Nope,” Grant says. “He did. I’m dead.”
“Grant,” Skye says, taking the milk from him. “I mean, he’s known you since you were six, I don’t think he’d really kick you out on your ass.”
“I’m dead,” Grant says.
Skye stands on her tip-toes and kisses Grant on the cheek. “Don’t die,” she says. “I love you.” She kisses him again. Again. Tickles his ribs.
She gets a giggle from him.
“Come on,” Skye says. “I mean, we’re gonna have babies one day, so they should probably get used to the idea of us having sex.”
Grant blinks. “Babies?” he says.
“I mean, I dunno,” Skye says. “Probably.”
“So many babies,” Grant says.
“Not yet!” Skye says. “Let’s get through high school, first. And college. And grad school.”
“A girl and two boys,” Grant says. “Oh, they’ll be perfect, and we’re gonna have so many dogs, and-”
“Weren’t you on the brink on death a moment ago?” Skye says.
“A terrier,” he says. “Maybe two, and at least three labradors, one in every color, and-”
She kisses him on the lips.
It feels exactly as it always has.
Perfect.