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the parent trap

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: i said a boom chicka boom!

Logan's swept off his feet. As is Maddox, in an entirely different way.

⁂

Janus breathes deeply and slowly as he fills out the information to check out of the hotel, signing the paper with a final flourish.

This weekend. Done with. The reunion with his son and ex-husband, done with.

The extensive legal battle they’re now apparently embroiled in? Just beginning. Remy Zawistowski has told them it will be a long, long lawsuit. But that paperwork will simply have to wait until he returns to London.

Now to that damned plane.

“Have a good flight, Mr. James.”

He manages to tell the concierge thank you instead of asking if he’s being mocked.

“Where’s Roman?” Janus asks Logan, tucking his wallet into his jacket pocket.

“He said he’d be down in just a moment,” Logan says, signing off his own paperwork and quadruple-checking for the presence of his passport.

“All right, then,” Janus sighs.

Patton smiles from where he’s waiting, that bashful, sweet smile.

“Have a safe flight.”

“I’d certainly hope so,” Janus mutters.

Patton’s smile turns more sympathetic. “Still not a big fan of planes, huh?”

“I don’t know how anyone can be a fan of planes,” Janus says, scowling.

The elevator door dings, and Janus looks. Ah, there’s his sons. Except…

“Oh, Remus, what on earth are you about to do,” Patton groans quietly.

…except the two boys are dressed identically from head to toe: hair mussed, gold-and-green earrings, button-downs, black jeans, each wearing one of the other’s trainers to create a mixed pair—one with red right-green left, the other with red left-green right.

And one twin is wearing an orange shirt, and the other twin is wearing a pink one.

“Boys,” Janus says. “What on earth are you both doing? We have a plane to catch.”

“Here’s the deal, Dads,” the twin in orange says, in an American accent. “We thought it over, and we decided we’re being totally hornswoggled.”

“Goldbricked.” The pink twin says in the same accent.

“Swindled, even!”

“I blame you for getting Roman that thesaurus,” Janus tells Logan.

“Papa promised we’d go on our camping trip, and we wanna go,” the orange twin says, switching the accent to English. “Together.”

“What camping trip?” Janus says, turning to Patton.

“The one we go on every summer together before school starts,” the pink twin says in an English accent.

Patton visibly falters.

“Roman, this is ridiculous,” Janus says. “Go upstairs, get your things, and put your proper clothes on.”

The pink twin smiles up at Janus. “Are you sure I’m Roman?”

“Of course I’m sure,” Janus bluffs.

“But it’s kind of hard to be 100% positive,” the pink twin says, switching accents again. “Isn’t it?”

Janus chews the inside of his cheek.

“Boys,” Patton says in a stern tone, putting his hands on his hips. “This is not the time for tricks. You’re going to make your father miss his flight.”

Janus wouldn’t mind prolonging the inevitable flight, actually.

“I know!” Patton says, turning to Janus and brightening. “We’ll check the—”

Except, in a move that must clearly be choreographed, each twin turns, pulling down their left ear.

To reveal identical winestain birthmarks.

Patton slumps, but Janus licks his finger and, in the tradition of parents everywhere, takes the nearest twin and tries to clean away any makeup with spit and his own verve.

“Aw, Dad,” the orange twin says with a laugh. “Won’t it be a shame if you spend all this time trying to rub it off only to find out that one of these is hypothetically applied with waterproof makeup?”

Janus releases the twin, frustrated.

“Remus!” Patton calls.

But the twins are prepared for this too.

“Yes?” They chorus in sly London accents.

“Say ‘ears,’” Janus demands.

“Ears!” Both twins declare, in a thoroughly American accent.

Patton bends forward, staring the orange twin in the face, then the pink.

“This one’s Remus,” he says, pointing to the orange twin. “I’m positive.”

“You know, I hope you’re right, Pa!” The orange twin says, bright and chipper. “It’d sure be a pain if you ended up sending the wrong kid all the way back to England.”

“But hey, if you’re totally sure,” The pink twin says.

For not being raised together, the pair of them wear smug on their faces in the exact same way.

“Here’s our proposition,” the pink twin says, stepping forward, then beckoning the orange one to stand beside him. “We go back to Pa’s house, pack our stuff, and the four of us leave on the camping trip.”

“The four of us?” Janus splutters.

“And,” the orange twin says. “When we get back, we’ll tell you which one’s Remus, and which one’s Roman.”

Oh, nuh-uh, no way.

Janus James does not do camping.

“Or,” Janus says. “You do as we say, and I take one of you back to London, whether you like it or not.”

The twins beam up at him.

⁂

Patton probably should be acting a bit stricter and sterner about this.

Probably.

But he’s just so gosh darn excited.

For the first time in their lives—in his life—he gets to bring both of his boys along on the yearly Big Camping Trip. Remus, naturally, has thrived in the times of Big Camping Trip; he’s always been the sort to run out and get muddy, he’s a quick learner, and, of course, all things gross and mucky in nature that seem to drive some away only draws him in.

But now he also gets to bring along Roman.

He is a bit nervous; Roman is, after all, a city boy. But Roman’s also a city boy who just spent his entire summer at an outdoorsy camp.

Patton hopes, very selfishly, that camp didn’t teach Roman everything about thriving outdoors. He’d like to share this with him too.

But there is someone who isn’t very happy about this latest predicament.

“Patton,” Maddox hisses as Patton hauls the boys’ bags of supplies into the trunk. “What am I meant to do at home for three days—sit at home and knit?!”

“It’s a bit of a sticky situation, honey,” Patton says.

Maddox buzzes right on by the pun. “Sticky situation?! What do you mean, sticky situation, what exactly—?”

But, as if on cue, Janus, with sunglasses and wrapped up in a yellow-and-brown flannel that Patton would put ten bucks on him not owning the day before, descends the stairs.

Maddox whirls back to him.

“Excuse me,” he says through clenched teeth. “What is he doing here?!”

Patton sighs, running a hand over his stubble. “That’s part of the sticky situation I was just about to explain, honey. The boys want the four of us to… y’know. Go together.”

“What?!” Maddox says. “What are you, suddenly, the Brady Bunch?! This is ridic—”

“Hello,” Janus says, smoothly cutting off Maddox’s gathering up of steam. “Everything all right?”

“Actually, no,” Maddox says before Patton can jump in. “It isn’t. I didn’t realize you were going on this little outing, and to tell you the truth, I’m not so sure I’m okay with it.”

Janus shrugs. “I agree.”

That seems to take some of the heat out of the situation. Maddox blinks at Janus.

“I mean—ex-husband in the next sleeping bag is a little weird.”

“Thank you,” Maddox says, smiling at Patton, as if to say, there, you see?!

“I absolutely insist that you come with us.” Janus says brightly.

There’s something about the curl of his lips… something about the shine in his eye… But Patton’s too excited about the concept of sharing this camping trip with almost everyone he loves to really dissect it.

“Janus—” Maddox starts, the smile fading from his face.

“No, really, Maddox, it’s the least I can do,” Janus insists. Patton tries not to narrow his eyes at him; that chipper, cheerful voice… Patton’s heard it reflected through their son back at him over the years.

“Oh, Maddox, that would be perfect,” Patton says excitedly. “What a great opportunity to bond with the boys!”

“Well—” Maddox falters.

Janus smiles, placing a hand over his heart, as beatific as an angel. “I’ve messed up your entire weekend, really, please.”

Maddox hesitates. And hesitates some more.

“I don’t know if I have a ton of supplies.”

“I’ll share!” Patton says happily. “Virgil always says I buy too many camping supplies anyway.”

“I’ll…” Maddox swallows, then, “I don’t know if I have the proper things—”

“Oh, Patton’s an experienced outdoorsman,” Janus says briskly. “I certainly don’t have anything. If he says he has enough supplies to cover you, he surely does.”

Maddox sighs.

“Let me go pack some clothes.”

Patton kisses him quickly on the cheek. “I’ll make sure we’ve got all the things you’ll need!”

And so Maddox goes inside to pack.

⁂

“All right, boys, pay close attention to how I tie in everything,” Patton instructs. “You’d be shocked at all the things in your life that can be helped by a well-placed, well-tied knot!”

“Uh, Dad,” one of his sons says; if solely from the color he’s wearing, a green t-shirt under a black flannel with a black handkerchief tied around his wrist, it’s Remus. “What’s Maddox doing?”

Patton glances over, then down at the boys, beaming. “Your father invited him!”

“What?!” The other twin says; white t-shirt, red flannel, red handkerchief tied to keep his hair out of his face.

“I know it’s a change in plans, but don’t worry,” Patton says brightly. “We should have everything we need, and Remus—whichever one of you is Remus,” he adds obligingly, in case they’ve double-bluffed him, “You know this trail well, we’ve gone on it before, you remember that nice, quiet lake up in the mountains? Oh, it’ll be so beautiful at this time of year, I can’t wait for you two to see it!”

The boys exchange a look.

“All right, back to the knot, now,” he says merrily. “I know you two spent eight weeks at summer camp, but I bet your old man’s still got some tricks up his sleeves!”

The boys sigh, but return their attention to Patton fastening the last of their luggage.

Once Patton ties the knot, tugging on it to demonstrate its sturdiness, he opens the door for Maddox to hop in the truck, then the back door for the boys, then hopping into the driver’s seat himself, and—

“All right, all set?” Janus says briskly, and pokes his head in through the driver’s side door, tapping at the window. “Have fun, you four!”

Patton blinks at him. “I thought we were all going?”

“Well, I’ve been thinking,” Janus says, turning his face up to Patton’s. “I really think you and Maddox ought to have some time alone before the big day. Plus, it gives me more time to get a solid sketch for Maddox’s wedding suit.”

“C’mon, Dad, that’s not the deal!” The green twin cries out in dismay.

“Oh, honestly,” Janus says dismissively, waving a hand at the boys. “You’ll have so much more fun without me.”

“Look, if you’re not going, I don’t have to go,” Maddox says hastily. “Trust me, I’m not exactly a big nature guy.”

“But this’ll be your chance to really get to know the boys,” Janus insists, his eyes round and shiny as marbles. “After all, after the wedding… they’re half yours.”

Wait. No. His eyes aren’t shiny. They’re glinting.

But Janus just smiles and steps back from the truck, waving.

“Have fun, you all!”

Patton sees the twins, not quite in unison, cross their arms and scowl and roll their eyes at the world in general.

“Aw, lighten up, kids,” Patton says brightly, turning so they go down the lane. “We’ll have a great time, just the four of us bonding together!”

Weirdly, this doesn’t seem to cheer them up much. Instead, they bend their heads together, whispering in each others’ ears and starting some kind of rollicking hand-slapping game.

⁂

Well, say this for this hiking experience gone awry: it really is beautiful out here.

Roman is in constant awe of how big things are here in the states, this hiking trail being no exception; the woods sprawl as far as the eye can see (some number of miles that Papa has mentioned that Roman has not bothered attempting to calculate into proper metrics) the mountains looming huge in the sky, the trees as tall as skyscrapers. The air here is crisp and fresh; it’s sunny and breezy, meaning it’s not too hot or too cold.

And Papa, seemingly so caught up in the whimsy and beauty of nature, is having the time of his life.

He knows a surprising amount about wildlife, which, when Roman thinks about it, isn’t too surprising; he makes his living growing grapes, it makes sense he knows a great deal about plants, and therefore a great deal about the animals around them.

Also, Papa just seems like the sort who likes all things four-legged and furry, whether they’re Sammy the dog or a cute little beaver that Papa excitedly points out as they’re near the mouth of the river at the very start of their hike.

Roman learns a lot, actually: like the state wildlife for California (grizzly bears, California red-legged frogs, California dogface butterflies, and golden orange fish for animals; California poppies for flowers, and purple needlegrass for grass), the reintroduction of the once-extinct California Condors and Humboldt Martens, and California’s native and invasive snake populations, most of which are perfectly harmless, but there’s easy ways to recognize the seven venomous ones to steer clear from.

Papa knows quite a bit about snakes, actually, which does strike Roman as odd. It doesn’t fit the furry categories most other animals of fascination have in common.

It’s really interesting, so long as he ignores the one huffing and puffing in the back.

Well. Ignoring him and, of course, arranging some tomfoolery.

They’ve arranged themselves strategically; Papa forging the way, Remus behind him, Roman blocking Maddox’s view, and Maddox trailing behind.

It’s not hard, after all, to nudge a rock in the way enough times that Maddox has to constantly keep his eyes on his absolutely impractical, if cute, shoes, to prevent twisting his ankles even more than he already has.

Which gives Remus the cover to sabotage tree branches, which gives Roman plenty of time to trip the trapped branches to thwack back into Maddox’s face with just enough inconsistency to be startling each time.

Roman hears Maddox swear—not even remotely creatively, Remus would certainly do better—and grins to himself, watching Remus’s hand come up to his mouth, surely to stifle his own cackling.

It doesn’t take long until Papa’s distracted, having come to a complete stop, his head craned back to look up at the trees.

“Oh, wow, boys,” Papa calls in a hushed voice. “Shh, c’mere! Look, look—up in those branches!”

Roman obligingly hustles forward, falling into step beside his father as Remus takes his other side.

“Look, right there—do you see that? That pretty shade of blue, by this river?”

Roman puts a hand over his eyes to shield them from the sun to see a bird—fairly big, and impressively hidden from their main sightline—a big bird with a straight bill, vibrant as a bluebird, winging from the branches down to the riverbank, flapping its great impressive wings.

“That, boys,” his father says, voice soft, “is a tricolored heron.”

Remus makes a sound of recognition; Roman tilts his head at it, then looks curiously back to his father.

Papa smiles, putting a hand on his shoulder, and nods back to it.

“These ones pretty solitary; they usually live in swamps, or by the coasts. Some other herons live by lakes.”

“There were some at camp,” Remus offers. “But I think those were great blue herons.”

Papa absentmindedly reaches over to ruffle his hair. Remus just continues staring, but he leans into the touch.

“Tricolored herons,” Papa continues, “are more common in this area of the world, but pretty rare outside it. I think they’ve been seen as far south as Brazil, almost always by oceans. I’d bet that one’s near breeding season; a male, probably, judging by that color blue, see how vibrant it is?”

“Cornflower,” Roman provides. “On the body, anyway. It’s a deeper blue near the face.”

Papa smiles at him.

“Yeah, sweetie,” he says, gently adjusting his red handkerchief back into place to keep tidy. “Like cornflower blue. That’s a great observation.”

They all stand in silence, for a while, watching the heron bob about the riverbank, eventually splashing in and diving its head down, coming up with something in its beak that it didn’t have before.

“Cool,” Remus says with relish.

“Yeah,” Papa says. “Really cool. Did you see that, Maddox? What a gorgeous bird!”

“Yes,” Maddox says, through gritted teeth, having caught up to them but standing several feet away, eyeing the nonexistent path they’d taken with some caution. “Nature is so… beautiful.”

Remus turns to smile up at Maddox. “Isn’t it just?”

Roman is the one who has to put a hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter then.

⁂

And so they trek along; they stop here and there for water breaks, or witnessing some of the unique flora and fauna in this region of California; once, Papa manages to peek through the trees and point out a doe and a fawn just in time for the three of them to watch them cavort about a sun-dappled valley, all of them silent, as if worried that a single word would shatter their Disney-esque sense of peace.

There is a lot of flora and fauna to be seen. Roman spots the promised California poppies, the great pops of orange against the lush green of the grass, which he’d forced Remus to take a picture of for him to paint later. He also gets to see a variety of little mammals scurrying about—squirrels and chipmunks and voles, mostly, but also the occasional little dormouse or kangaroo rat, which makes Remus coo and Maddox squeal.

No bears or mountain lions or any of the seven venomous snakes that Papa made Remus swear up and down not to mess with, Remus, I’m serious, they could cause some really serious injury, which suits Roman just fine, but seems to make Remus pout a little whenever it’s pointed out.

They also just get to behold some gorgeous scenery: sunlight dappling through the leaves, the view from when they get high up the rocks looking down into the vast forest below, the glimmering, constantly-moving lakes and rivers.

They make a pretty good pace, except…

“I’m gonna kill my trainer,” Maddox wheezes, plopping down onto a rock and slinging his backpack off his shoulders. “He says I’m in such great shape.”

Roman watches Remus bend down and pick up a rock the size of his fist. Roman quickly busies himself with catching up with Papa, doing something to keep himself from giggling.

“I can’t believe people actually do this for fun,” Maddox grouses.

“Hold on,” Papa says, gesturing to Roman as he’s about to buzz by. “We’re stopping.”

“Again?” Remus groans. Roman turns; Remus has done a decent job of hiding his rock of choice from any prying eyes. Instead, he’s got his Polaroid and digital cameras in hand, as if he’d been evaluating which one to use to take a picture rather than weigh Maddox down. “Pa, it’ll take us three days just to get to the lake at this rate.”

Remus, Roman has noticed, only voices this complaint when it comes to Maddox bringing them all to a halt. He hadn’t breathed a word when Roman demanded they stop for photos of the poppies.

“Maddox isn’t used to the altitude,” Papa explains patiently, for what feels like the hundredth time. “Besides, it’s nice to take our time and pause, it doesn’t have to be such a rush all the time. We probably wouldn’t have seen that neat heron if we hadn’t stopped, would we?”

Roman sighs. “I guess.”

Papa pats Roman on the shoulder. “I want to check our progress and consult my compass, anyway. How about you go grab Remus and use his camera to take a picture of something you want to sketch later?”

Roman pauses. “Erm—”

“Oh, sweetie, the jig’s up,” he says in a warm, friendly voice.

“Aw, man,” Remus says from a distance.

“I guessed on each of you before we even hit the road,” Papa says, fiddling lightly with Roman’s handkerchief. “But the heron confirmed it; Remus would know those types of birds after this camping trip, and you kind of tipped yourself off with knowing some niche color names. Your dad always knew the perfect name for any color we ever saw.”

“Aw, man,” Roman echoes, but does as his Pa says.

“If it makes you feel better,” Papa after Roman’s retreating back, “the pair of you can change on the final day before you get out of the tent and I won’t know which of you’s which for the hike back down!”

That does make Roman feel a little better, but Remus just sighs and holds out the Polaroid for Roman to take.

“I already got some wildflower pictures,” Remus says, “on my digital one” and Roman brightens.

“Thanks!” He says, and pivots to pretend to evaluate. “Let’s see… Maddox,” he says. Maddox turns to him, and Remus immediately takes his opportunity to start piling Maddox’s backpack full of stones, “what do you think I should draw?”

“Oh, what do I care,” Maddox groans. “I’m in serious pain—someone hand me my Evian—”

“Sure,” Remus says, zipping up the offending stone-filled pocket in question, then pausing.

“Excellent,” Roman hears Remus whisper, and spies Remus reach for something out of the corner of his eyes.

Roman turns slightly to look.

And he sees a squirming lizard cupped carefully in Remus’s hands, only to find purchase on Maddox’s water bottle.

Roman puts the Polaroid in front of his mouth to hide his grin.

“Here you go, Maddy!” Remus says in a bright, friendly voice, handing over the water bottle.

Maddox unscrews the water bottle, tilts it to his mouth, and comes face-to-face with Roman’s new favorite reptile.

Roman snaps a pic.

The resultant high-pitched scream is absolutely music to Roman’s ears.

Maddox hurls the water bottle away from him and falls off of his rock entirely, screaming still; Papa moves past Roman.

“Honey, are you okay?” He says in concern. “What happened?”

“Aw,” Remus says, as sweet as he can possibly sound, carefully lifting the lizard to eye level. “Pa, look! This little guy was on his water bottle! Isn’t he cute?”

“Oh,” Papa says, sounding relieved that it wasn’t an ax-killer come barreling through the woods, from the sound of the screams. “Here, Remus, put the little fella down, he probably doesn’t want to be held that much. He won’t hurt you, Maddox, that’s a perfectly harmless little guy! I bet he’s a—”

“Ugh!” Maddox shrieks, cutting off any semblance of animal identification that might follow. “Get that thing away from me, I hate things that crawl! Ugh!”

Remus looks offended on the lizard’s behalf, but obligingly secrets the lizard out of Maddox’s sight.

He doesn’t, Roman notices, actually let him go.

“Oh—uh,” Maddox falters, making embarrassed eye contact with Papa. “I’ll be fine—just a shock—you go on, you go on ahead—”

“You’re sure?” Papa says.

“Yes, go on, keep going,” Maddox says, “I’ve just about caught my breath!”

So Papa turns back to his bag, resuming his examination of both compass and map.

And so Papa doesn’t see Remus carefully place the lizard atop Maddox’s once perfectly coiffed hair, falling out of its precious styling with the addition of the sun’s heat and his own sweat.

“Make sure to help Maddox, boys!” Papa says, and briefly forges ahead.

“Sure, you’ll help me,” Maddox growls, pushing himself to his feet and pushing past the twins. “Right over a cliff, you’d help me.”

“Not a bad idea,” Roman mutters into Remus’s ear.

“Yeah,” Remus whispers back, “see any cliffs?”

“Need a hand, Mads?” Roman calls in his brightest voice.

“Not from you, thank you,” Maddox snarls, turning to face them again. “Don’t think I can’t see right through those excuses; I swear I will make your lives miserable from the moment I say I. Do.”

Roman crosses his arms.

“Got it?” Maddox snarls, and pivots again to follow Papa.

“Got it,” Remus says, then, not quite so loudly, “Cruella.”

“What did you just call me?!”

“Oh nothing, nothing,” Roman says breezily, then, so quietly that Maddox would surely question if he heard it again, “Cruella.”

“Oh,” Roman says, pivoting once they’re both past him. “By the way, Mads? I think there’s something in your hair.”

And with that last rebuttal, as Maddox begins to pat at his temples with a confused look on his face, the lizard slithering forward to put a clammy toe on his forehead, Roman turns and hightails it to catch up with Papa before either of them can be blamed for any resultant screeching.

⁂

Janus excuses himself from any semblance of group activity, citing work, which is good. Virgil only kind of knows how to navigate conversation with his best friend’s ex-husband.

But then that leaves him and Logan, alone in the kitchen together.

“Erm,” Logan says. “Do you have any plans for the day?”

“No,” Virgil says, awkwardly patting the counter. “No, not really.”

“No. Me, either. Would you be open to a proposal?”

“...sure.”

“Roman will be upset he’s missed it,” Logan murmurs, then, “I think the weather today is meant to be wonderful. Would you like to go on a picnic?”

“A picnic?” Virgil blurts out.

“You’d know the most picturesque location, of course, given that you live here. We could pack a lunch, a bottle of wine…”

Logan trails off, then takes his glasses off, removing a small cloth from his shirt’s pocket to polish hem.

“You can say no, if you’d like, I wouldn’t be offended.”

His voice is very even and emotionless.

“No!” Virgil blurts out. “I mean—No, that sounds… nice. I would like a picnic. That sounds really nice.”

Logan finishes polishing his glasses, settling his glasses on his nose. “Good! Shall we pack?”

“Okay,” Virgil says, ��okay. Um—let me grab something from the cellar.”

“I’ll find lunch supplies,” Logan says, and so they part ways, only to reunite at the back door.

“After you,” Logan says, and so Virgil leads him to the stables, and the question begins to echo around Virgil’s mind.

Is he trying to ask me out on a date? he thinks, even as he introduces Logan to the wonder of petting a horse.

“This is Sprout—have you ever ridden a horse before?” Virgil asks.

“Once.”

“Are you comfortable with riding one again? She’s good for beginners; we got her for Remus when he was a kid. I can ride with you, she can take two.”

“Well—yes, riding with someone else would make me feel more comfortable. So long as you don’t laugh at me for how I attempt to mount it,” Logan says.

“I’ll help—here,” Virgil says, moving closer and offering a hand. “Just put your foot in the stirrup—”

Logan does, uncertainly, but then he takes Virgil’s hand, and Virgil helps push him the rest of the way up so that he slings a leg over Sprout, sitting astride.

“Perfect,” Virgil says. “Just like that. I wouldn’t have laughed at you at all.”

“Well, that must be a success,” Logan says.

Virgil goes and gathers the basket, mounts Sprout sitting in front of Logan, and Logan wraps a surprisingly muscular arm around his waist.

His chest is warm against Virgil’s back.

It’s… very distracting. It’s a good thing Sprout knows the grounds so well, and she never goes into anything quicker than a canter.

“Have you lived in California long?”

“Since Remus was born,” Virgil says. “I was born and raised in Philadelphia—I met Patton when we were pretty young, he was in college and I was bouncing around looking for work…”

And so Virgil tells his life’s story; moving from east coast to west, moving in with Patton to help with Remus and the vineyard, the work he does around the house and around the fields…

Is this a date? Virgil thinks. These feel like the sort of questions one would ask a date.

“What about you?” Virgil prompts. “Have you lived in London long?”

“All my life,” Logan says, and then he starts talking about it—raised with Janus like a brother, doing a lot of the financial, hard numbers-side of the business for the wedding outfits, living with Roman and Janus’s father to help with Roman all this time…

“Oh, it’s beautiful,” Logan says as they come to a stop.

It’s field full of local Californian wildflowers; a hidden gem of the vineyard. Riots of blues and yellows and reds against the lush green grass, hidden from most of the rest of the world by a loose ring of trees.

“This is my favorite place here,” Virgil says, and he loops Sprout’s reins about a tree branch so she doesn’t run off.

Logan’s set out a picnic blanket as he does that; Virgil removes the bottle of wine (a classic Parker Knoll chardonnay) and begins to pour it into plastic cups, passing one to Logan.

“Thank you,” Logan says, accepting it, then, “oh, this smells lovely.”

“I’m pretty biased—but thanks,” Virgil says.

“Cheers,” Logan says, lifting the glass. “To you.”

Is this a date?

“To you,” Virgil echoes, and they move to touch glasses.

But Logan’s hand brushes against his, and that does it.

“Is this a date?!”

Virgil’s words hang in the air.

Logan blinks. “Would you like it to be?”

“Do you want it to be?” Virgil says. “It’s just—I’m very out of practice, but. Impromptu picnic… horseback riding… wildflower field… bottle of wine… touching hands…?”

Logan considers this. “I suppose it meets the metrics, doesn’t it?”

Virgil nods.

“All right,” Logan says. “It can be. Only if you’d like it to be, of course.”

“I do,” Virgil says.

Logan breaks out into a relieved smile.

It’s dazzling. Virgil loses the very breath from his lungs at the sight of it, and he realizes that he really quite strongly wants to see that smile again.

“Good,” Logan says. “I hadn’t considered it, but I would like it to be, too.”

“Okay,” Virgil says, then pushes a hand through his hair, swallowing. “Okay. A date.”

“You say that as if it worries you.”

“Everything worries me.”

“Surely not everything.”

Virgil snorts. “I promise if there’s a thing happening, I can find a way to worry about it. All the psychologists and psychiatrists I’ve ever had say so.”

Logan considers this. “Would establishing clear parameters help? In terms of expectations and potential outcomes.”

“Probably,” Virgil says, which he thinks is the nicest way to say sure, it’ll help some, but I’m going to be anxious about this regardless of how often I’m reassured.

“For me too,” Logan admits. “I was never much of a dater. I have very little grasp on how this sort of thing normally goes.”

“Our situation’s not exactly normal, either,” Virgil points out. “I’m your cousin-once-removed’s caretaker…”

“And I’m your ward’s cousin-once-removed,” Logan says.

“No mutual friends who intended to set us up, no lonely hearts ad, no speed-dating conference…”

“Just the matter of my cousin’s divorce,” Logan says.

“Yeah,” Virgil says with a big sigh. “That.”

“Salient points. All right, I suppose it’s time we consider this carefully,” Logan says. “Firstly, if we do indulge in potentially delightful things, and neither of us enjoy it, I suppose we’ll have to suffer a very awkward walk back up to the house and then pretend to find other things to do, at which point we’ll reconvene for dinner and then depart for separate continents shortly after.”

“Only a little painful,” Virgil allows.

“Rather minor hits to the ego, yes, but ultimately survivable,” Logan says. “Then, if we do do those very delightful things and we both enjoy it, then we both enjoy a couple days spent in another man’s company, with the potential to see each other again, considering each of us has a young charge who must be trotted between continents to see each other.”

“Hm,” Virgil allows.

“Not necessarily a deeply romantic long-distance relationship, if we don’t like,” Logan says, scrupulously casual. “Perhaps just a…”

Virgil arches his eyebrows. “An occasional romp in the sheets?”

Logan flushes. “I was going to say mutually-enjoyed dalliance.”

“Oh—yes,” Virgil says, his cheeks heating. “That works as well.”

“We can. Erm. Revisit that proposal.”

“Oh?”

“Perhaps we should start with a kiss first,” Logan says. “Our options are, as discussed—mutual, brief embarrassment; mutual, brief enjoyment; mutual enjoyment that could have the potential to be discussed to be not quite as brief.”

Virgil considers this. He can’t really find a hole in this proposal. So long as Logan keeps to his word—and he seems like the sort who would—the worst of it really is just a little embarrassment. And Virgil gets embarrassed all the time. He can barely check out at the grocery store without getting embarrassed that he’s doing something the wrong way.

With the concept of something so promising… And Logan really is quite handsome…

“Whichever way you consider it,” Logan continues. “I do believe we have nothing to lose.”

“Well,” Virgil says, his voice gone much huskier than normal. “I certainly can’t argue with that logic.”

“I was hoping you wouldn’t,” Logan says, and he leans in and kisses him.

He moves gently and gingerly, as if he’s a little nervous even after all that discussion of the logical thing to do; Virgil certainly can’t blame him, he’s got his hands fisted in his lap to keep from doing anything too improper.

Logan’s tongue brushes against his bottom lip before he pulls back.

“All right?” He murmurs very quietly.

“All right,” Virgil says breathlessly, and they come eagerly back together, and he is no longer worried about propriety, not with the promising hint of tongues and hands and Logan’s body pressed to his…

And so Virgil kisses him, and kisses him, and kisses him…

⁂

Roman makes his excuse to step aside as Remus spends a lot of time distracting Pa with questions about potential invasive species they should be worried about. It’s almost too easy, really.

But that provides a fair bit of cover as Pa talks about various fish and plant and bird species that might cause various problems, and the more he talks about various fish and plant and bird species that might cause various problems, the less time he has to notice that Roman is off causing various problems.

Roman slips back at Remus’s side, beholding the lake before them.

“All good?” Pa says, glancing at them.

“Yep!” Roman says brightly.

“Did you do it?” Remus mutters into his ear.

In answer, Roman slips a small piece of sandpaper out of his pocket for Remus to see, then quickly replaces it so no one else will.

“I did the mountain lion stick thing too,” he breathes out, pretending to busy himself with checking his fishing line.

Remus grins. Excellent.

“All right, boys, worms on hooks?”

“Yep!”

Pa glances over at the tent.

“Maddox?” He calls out.

Maddox pokes his head out, looking very uncalm.

“You sure you don’t want to join us?” Pa says. “We’re fishing for dinner!”

“Fishing?” Maddox says. “With worms?!”

“Yep!” Pa says cheerfully. “Should be a lot of trout this time of year.”

Maddox’s eyes go to the twins and, surely imagining what they could do with a canister of unsupervised worms, calls “I’ll spectate!” and quickly reaches for a pair of shoes.

From Roman’s quietly hissed yessss, they’re the ones Roman’s just spent filing away the soles.

“Okay, boys, let’s cast our lines before Maddox gets here,” Patton says. “You always want to look back, to make sure no one’s caught on your hook—here, you two space out, that might get a bit messy later.”

The twins obligingly shuffle apart.

“And back,” Patton says, demonstrating with his own pole, “and… cast!”

Remus and Roman watch their kid-friendly bobbers land gently in the water.

“Good one,” Remus says, “yours got out pretty—”

“OH!”

The Parkers (and James) turn at the abrupt sound.

“Oh, Maddox!” Pa cries out, taking in the scene. “Maddox, are you okay?!”

“I’m fine,” Maddox says, teeth gritted, from where he’s landed sprawled in the dirt. He, slowly, gets to his feet. “Must have slipped. Um… I’ll just sit right here.”

And he sits on the rocks right next to the canister of worms, giving them a deeply disgusted look.

Roman and Remus snicker together.

And that’s how their afternoon goes: Maddox, keeping a wary eye on the worms and therefore missing the tiny seashells that Remus sneaks into his pockets for the sole purpose of sticking into his shoes to make them even more uncomfortable; Patton, patiently walking them through the finer arts of fishing; and Roman and Remus, each trying their very best to taunt fish into coming to bite by waggling their poles to and fro to make the bait dance appealingly under the water.

And all the while, whenever Maddox seems to try to get up, he slips and falls on the slightly slicker rocks by the lake.

It’s a lovely way to spend time, Remus thinks, even as Maddox manages to make his way over to Pa, to press his reddened lips against his jaw and murmur in his ear.

Pa squeezes Maddox’s waist comfortingly.

“Papa!” Roman cries. “Papa, I think I’ve got a big one!”

“Oh—coming, sweetie!” Pa pats Maddox’s shoulder before he splashes through the shallows to come help Roman haul a fish to the surface; Roman, straining, looks grateful for Pa’s help to pull it to the surface.

Maddox, seeming to realize that he’s left both Remus and the worms unsupervised, takes one step. Two.

Then he yelps and falls, yet again, right on his ass.

But this time, he manages to land in the muddy banks of the lake.

Remus buries his face in his flannel sleeves before he loses it entirely.

⁂

There is something so soothing to Remus’s animal hindbrain about sitting in front of a crackling bonfire, warmed by it as the lakeside night air cools rapidly around them, huddled in a hoodie alongside his brother, and eating something he’s caught and killed.

And also to see the abject, absolute misery on Maddox’s face as he sits, scowling at them, wrapped up in the itchiest blanket that Pa’s brought. That’s pretty soothing too.

“Here we are, fellas,” Pa declares, approaching with an armful of sticks and branches, “this ought to hold us for a while.”

He tosses a thicker branch onto the fire, poking it into place with a stick, before he settles alongside Maddox.

“You sure you don’t want any trout, Daddox?” Remus says, then, “I hope that’s okay, by the way, if I start testing out dad-type nicknames with you.”

“I think your Dad would prefer if you called me Maddox,” he says pointedly. “And no, thank you. I do not eat trout. For the thousandth time.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Pa says, sounding genuinely contrite. “You liked salmon and tilapia, I just assumed seafood would be a go…”

“I will wait for breakfast,” Maddox says. “What are we having?”

“Trout!” Remus and Roman chorus together, in their most annoying voice.

Maddox lets out a great, frustrated sigh, then slaps at his wrist, missing the buzzing bug.

“I’ve got a protein bar, I think, if you’d like—the trout’s part of the experience,” Pa says.

“Mm, and what’s the other part?” Maddox snaps, getting out the bottle the twins had planted in his pack. “Being eaten alive by mosquitos?!”

“Let me see what you’re using,” Pa says, holding out a hand, and Maddox passes it over then grumpily scratches at the bug bites on his legs.

Pa sniffs it, then, frowning, dabs out a bit of the solution onto his wrist, touching his tongue to it.

“Well, you’ll attract every bug in the state with this stuff,” Pa says. “It’s sugar and water, where’d you get it?”

Maddox glowers at the twins.

“Oh, is that where that went?” Remus says cheerfully. “I saw the idea in a magazine, Pa, sugar-water for your instant coffee in the morning.”

Pa levels a stern look over at him.

“In a bottle with a dropper?”

Remus just smiles.

“That’s it,” Maddox declares, throwing off the blanket in a huff. “I am taking one large sleeping pill and going to bed.”

Then Maddox gets up and picks up two sticks from the firewood.

And then he starts clacking them together, leveling an anxious look to the darkness of the woods, where positively anything could jump out at them.

He fell for it, Remus thought gleefully. I can’t believe it, he fell for it—

“Uh, honey,” Pa says. “What’re you doing?”

“I don’t want the mountain lions to—”

But then Maddox falls quiet. Remus snorts around a mouthful of trout.

“There aren’t,” Maddox says, practically gnashing his teeth, “any mountain lions up here. Are there.”

“...No.”

Maddox contemptuously casts the sticks aside.

He promptly cups Pa’s face in his hands, bends down, and tries to suck the very life out of his mouth, clinging to him like some kind of lousy, lusty octopus.

Remus grimaces at Roman, who looks similarly repulsed.

Pa awkwardly clears his throat, smearing a hand over his stubble, before he sets aside the trout and gives the boys an unsmiling look.

“Boys,” he says. “Those were a couple of unkind tricks to pull. Sugar water? Mountain lions?”

Ah, so he hasn't caught on to all the other ones, Remus thinks. Good.

Pa continues, “I’m not marrying him because he’s Annie Oakley.”

Roman blinks. “Who’s Annie Oakley?”

“This isn’t his thing,” Pa says. “You don’t have to make it harder for him. I know that tricks like this are sometimes the way you show affection, Remus, but he doesn’t know you like I do. Just… cool it. Okay?”

The boys exchange a look.

“Okay,” Remus says. Roman’s staring down at his dinner plate. Remus copies him, trying to seem properly repentant. He looks up just enough to see Pa chewing on the inside of his cheek.

“This is going to spoil that talking-to,” he admits.

“No, no, it won’t spoil it,” Remus says hastily. “You were very effective. Practically harsh, even. I feel real chastened.”

“Yes, definitely,” Roman says. “We’ve been told.”

A grin splits Pa’s face. “Who wants some s’mores?”

“Me! Me!” The boys cry out, and so they set aside the issue of Maddox entirely to enjoy their fire-roasted sweets.

⁂

“Okay,” Remus says. “We have to do something tonight. Something big. Maddox said he’s taking a sleeping pill; that give us a lot of ammo.”

Roman hesitates, scratching a fingernail against the artificial material of their tent.

“I’m not sure about this,” Roman admits. “Do you think Papa will get very angry?”

“Pa? He doesn’t really get mad.”

“He might,” Roman says anxiously. “He seemed upset when he caught us at it.”

“Okay, well,” Remus says. “Think about it. Which is more likely to make him upset? Us pulling a couple measly little tricks, or getting trapped in a loveless marriage with a man who’s only with him for his money, who’s bound to start trying to ship us off to military boarding school in Sweden or some crap, and getting Virgil to move out, which means Pa is going to be all alone with him and powerless to do anything, because he still thinks he loves him?!”

Roman’s face has gone paler and paler, while Remus feels himself getting madder and madder.

“And,” Remus pushes, “all the while, Dad is single and standing there as the worst the one that got away ever? Which one would make him more upset, Roman?! I think the tricks are pretty small fry compared to that!”

Roman sets his jaw. Remus meets Roman’s eyes, which have gone flinty and cold.

“Give me every awful idea you’ve got.”

And, gleefully unfurling the pages of his notepad, Remus does.

⁂

It’s very easy for Janus to get lost in his work.

The idea for a design there, a decent surface for him to doodle here, and suddenly hours have slipped away from him.

Being in his ex-husband’s house apparently does not quell that urge.

Janus stands, stretching out his arms and wrists, wandering from his office into the hall.

“Hello?” He calls. “Hello, anyone home? Are you back yet?”

His voice echoes down the way; Janus pivots to examine the (surprisingly modern) tastefully decorated living room.

“Logan?” Janus calls. “Virgil?”

Still nothing. He goes, then, to the kitchen, where Logan’s spare glasses cloth is still waiting.

Clutter. Left on a counter. If Logan were here, it would be unheard of.

So he isn’t.

Logan, swept away on a date. For hours and hours.

“Unbelievable,” Janus mutters, and goes about scrounging for dinner.

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