#might see if i can pop out to the shore today. wanna track down some grey plover

[ornithological]

my cat is also a birdwatcher. when i put out seeds and mealworms for the garden birds she parks herself at the back door to watch them lol

[captain--sif]

Salt on my shores

Words: 1.5k Fandom: 9-1-1 (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV) Characters: Evan "Buck" Buckley, Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV) Additional Tags: Christmas, Advent Calendar, Christmas Decorations, Christmas Cookies, Established Relationship, Banter, Marriage Proposal, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Christmas Fluff, Romantic Fluff Summary:

Chris makes holiday decorations for their home. Domestic Buddie fluff ensues.

Buddie Advent 2020, Prompt: Homemade Holiday Decorations

Read on AO3, on wattpad or below. Edit: added the cut now for better readability, now that tumblr isn’t being a dick anymore.

The door to their house clicks closed as Buck carries the groceries through the corridor into the kitchen. Eddie is standing at the stove, cooking, and looks up when Buck slides up to him, the two of them sharing a quick kiss to say hello.

“I brought bell pepper,” Buck says, getting two of them out of the grocery bags and putting it down on the countertop next to Eddie.

“Thank you” Eddie replies, rifling through their cutlery drawer in search of a good knife.

“They had a sale on the cereals you and Chris eat so I got a few more packages” Buck continues, putting them away “I also bought some gingerbread cookies for Chris to take to school and for us to take to the station. I thought it might be nice.” He looks up to see Eddie smiling at him while chopping the bell pepper.

“Don’t chop off your finger,” he directs Eddie’s way “you still need them.”

Eddie laughs and turns back to the countertop, his knife making a noise when it lands on the wooden cutting board.

“I got everything on our list besides vanilla sugar, so I had to get vanillin sugar,” Buck winces before shrugging “But it should be alright. I don’t think we’ve ever used real vanilla sugar before. We’ll survive one more time without.”

“The recipe explicitly calls for vanilla sugar.”

“They all do” Buck cries out, good-naturedly rolling his eyes at Eddie. “You can always subtract it with vanillin sugar. And it’s cheaper.”

“But not when vanilla is in the name of the pastry” Eddie interjects.

Buck sighs. “Well, I got you your vanilla beans.”

Eddie turns back around to look at Buck and leans forward to drop another kiss on his lips. “Thank you.”

Buck grins. “You’re welcome.” Over Eddie’s shoulder he perceives what looks like colorful Christmas cookies cooling out on a baking tray.

“Oh, did Christopher make these with his friend earlier?” he asks, reaching out to grab one and pop it into his mouth.

“Don’t eat it!” Eddie rushes toward him, his voice going into a higher pitch.

Buck lowers his hand that’s holding the cookie, suspiciously inspecting the white-ish grainy dough and the stark red and green icing.

He lifts an eyebrow. “Are they poisonous?”

“They’re decorations” Eddie informs him “they aren’t meant to be eaten.”

Buck furrows his brows. “They made cookies? That are not to be eaten? But supposed to serve as decorations?” He laughs. “You don’t think Chris will actually stick to that. A few days and they’ll all be gone. He won’t even notice that I ate one of them.”

Amusement takes over Eddie’s face. “Well, you can try, but you’re seriously gonna regret eating it. It’s salt dough.”

“What the fuck is salt dough?” Buck grimaces. “Doesn’t sound very tasty.”

Eddie laughs as Buck puts the cookie back on the tray. “It’s not. Apparently, it’s some kind of self-made modeling dough. Good for kids because it’s not toxic.”

“Except for the whole salt thing.”

“Still not healthy to eat” Eddie agrees “but I’m not sure you can bite through it anyway. The finished cookies are pretty hard.”

“You want me to prove that I can?” Buck teases.

“Please don’t. We can’t afford the dentist’s bill.”

Buck laughs, then steps closer to the tray, taking in the different cookies lying around. He recognizes some shapes of their own cookie cutters, as well as some new ones, likely belonging to Christopher’s friend. What he thought to be icing when he picked it up earlier, turns out to be some kind of glazing the children painted the cookies with.

“They really don’t look too bad.” He praises.

Eddie nods, leaning back against the counter he was previously cutting bell pepper on. “We could put some ribbons through them and hang them on the tree.”

“Sounds good.”

  So that's what they do, the three of them, sitting in their living room, the salt dough cookies and multiple rolls of colorful bands that Eddie went out to buy explicitly for this occasion all strewn between them, and each of them a painted cookie in hand, fiddling one end of the fabric through the hole to tie it around the other once it pushed through. Slightly off to the side stand three cups of hot cocoa and somewhere between all the ruffles and rolls, there's also a box with edible Christmas cookies. That last one was Buck's idea ("Would be fitting, don't you think?") that Eddie was vehemently against because he already saw this afternoon ending with someone chipping his tooth off after biting into the wrong cookies. He fears that might as well be him.

All that to say: Buck knows the cookies that should be hanging on their Christmas tree. He's seen them all, on the first tray, in the box they kept them in after, on the table when they were tying the ribbons. He's seen them enough times around the house to know how many there are or at least how many there should be .

So when Buck comes home one evening, a few days later, and catches sight of the decorated fir tree in their living room, he can't help but notice that there are more salt dough figurines than there should be if Eddie and Chris had put up all the ones they prepared earlier.

Not by a lot, subtle enough not to be excessive, but enough not to fool Buck.

Curiosity piqued, he approaches the tree, lifting up the designs unfamiliar to him. They're innocuous enough: some hearts, some stars, some snowflakes and Christmas trees, not too different from the ones Chris had made with his friend.

But then Buck's eyes and hands land upon a ring of some kind. Most of it is painted yellow (Buck assumes it's meant to represent gold, and he admits it looks close enough) but there's a small tint of blue towards the other side of the ring, the one that was facing towards the stem of the tree initially. Buck's breath catches in his throat.

His mind occupied, Buck only realizes Eddie has slipped into the room once he clicks the terrace door close behind him. He jumps a little at the sound, causing Eddie to laugh and tease him about it.

“What’s got you so jumpy today?” Eddie slides up next to Buck, leaning in for a kiss but stopping in his tracks once he realizes what it is that Buck’s holding. Then he laughs. “I thought I would have a little more time until you found it.”

A grin spreads on Buck’s face, his eyes lifting to Eddie’s, with a mischievous glint in his eyes but the ring still spinning between his fingers.

“Really, Eddie?” he asks “the next time you don’t want me to find something maybe don’t hide it in plain sight, oh wait, I think hiding might be a bit too strong of a word.”

Eddie huffs. “It was meant for you to find. But I thought it would take you a little longer. Guess you know me too well.” Buck winks at him in response. “I guess that’s why I hung it up in the first place.”

“Is that so?” Buck says, too smug for Eddie to believe the faux innocence put into that phrasing.

“I think I changed my mind,” Eddie says, turning around, but they both know he doesn’t mean it.

So when Buck grabs him, turns him around, and pulls him closer, he leans in for a kiss.

“I wanna hear it,” Buck says, not letting him go, a soft look in his eyes that don’t leave Eddie’s face.

“You wanna hear what?”

Buck huffs a laugh. “The speech you have prepared.”

Eddie crinkles his eyes. “Why do you think there’s a speech?”

“You expect me to say yes without a speech?” Buck lifts his eyebrows accusingly, before lifting the ring next to them. “And to a ring made out of salt dough?”

Eddie laughs. “Don’t act like you wouldn’t say yes if I presented you with a paper ring.”

“But only because I love you.”

“Well, everything else would be kind of embarrassing now.”

Buck laughs, leaning his forehead against Eddie’s for a second before asking again. “So I don’t get a speech?”

“It’s symbolic,” Eddie explains after an affected sigh. “The ring. We can’t wear rings at work anyway and I knew you’d scold me for picking up extra shifts just to buy an engagement ring you’ll hardly wear and because I couldn’t wait for you to do it instead and you seem to have become quite the fan of salt dough decorations, so I thought why not. We’ll get real rings for our wedding anyway and this is… something personal.”

“That’s cute,” Buck admits, leaning forward to plant a kiss on Eddie’s lips. “And my answer is yes, obviously.”

Eddie drags Buck even closer and deepens the kiss.

Also find this on AO3 or wattpad.

[rpf-bat]

Against The Tide And Undertow

Pairing: Ray Toro x Reader

Genre: Fluff

Summary: Written for Inktober 2019, Day 3. Prompt: “Bait”. You didn’t know what to expect, when Ray suddenly suggested a weekend fishing trip. But, what happens on the boat, in the middle of the lake, is even more unexpected.

You weren’t quite sure, what had possessed Ray, to drive an hour and a half, from Los Angeles, to San Bernardino. But, despite your bafflement, you found yourself sitting beside him in a canoe, in the middle of Silverwood Lake. Your friend had been so busy lately, working on recording his band’s latest album. So, if a fishing trip, was the only way you and Ray could spend time together, you supposed you would take it. 

“I never pegged you for a fisherman,” you confessed, looking over at him. 

“I used to go a lot, when I was a little kid,” Ray revealed. “With my abuelo. But, it’s been years, since the last time.” 

“So, why go now?” you asked curiously. 

“Being in the studio all week was starting to get on my nerves,” Ray replied. “All these guys in suits, asking us which track is going to be the first single, which one we think is most marketable. Like, I don’t know! I don’t compose music, because I want to sell records. I can tell I’m getting on Frank’s nerves, too, because I want to get the guitar melody just right.”

“He thinks that what you recorded already, is fine the way it is?” you guessed. 

“Yeah,” Ray nodded. “But, I know we can both do better.”

“Sounds like this is starting to stress you out,” you frowned. 

“It is,” Ray admitted. “That’s why I wanted to come out here, and get away from it all, just for the weekend.”

“To be honest,” you confessed, “I’ve never fished before.”

“Oh, let me help you get the bait on your hook, then!” Ray offered. 

You traced your fishing line with your finger until you found the hooked end. Ray fished a worm out of a small bucket, and dropped it into your palm. It squirmed energetically. 

“If I have to stick it on a hook, then it’s going to die,” you frowned. 

“It’s just a worm, Y/N,” Ray chuckled. 

“I know,” you nodded, “But, I would still feel bad for killing it.” 

“You’re such a kind person,” Ray smiled fondly. “Alright, if you insist, I can give you a plastic lure, instead.” 

He took the worm back from you, and rummaged through his bag until he found something that resembled a thin, green fish. 

“The big fish thinks it’s a little fish,” Ray explained, “and tries to nibble on it.”

“And then we reel him in?” you guessed. 

“That’s right,” Ray grinned. “Go on and cast your line.” 

You waved your fishing rod, sending the line beneath the surface of the water. Ray did the same, and for several moments, it was silent, as you waited for the fish to bite. You had to admit it was peaceful, though - a far cry from the hustle and bustle of LA. 

“I almost forgot,” Ray sat up suddenly, “there was something that I wanted to show you, while we were out here.”

He pulled out a boom box, and popped a CD into the slot. 

“It’s just something me and the guys have been working on,” he shrugged. “It’s still a demo - I definitely want to clean it up more, in the final version. But, it’ll at least give you an idea, of how it’s going to sound, when it’s done.” 

“Brendan isn’t going to be mad at you, for bringing the disc all the way out here?”

You were referring, of course, to Brendan O’Brien, the producer who was working on the new record with MCR. He’d worked with some big name artists in the past - Pearl Jam, for instance. And Bruce Springsteen. But, from the way Ray described him, you weren’t quite sure, if his style, really meshed well with what the guys were trying to do. 

“Forget Brendan,” Ray scoffed. “You’re my friend, and your opinion is important to me. So, I want you to hear this.” 

He pressed play, and a killer guitar riff boomed across the empty lake. You listened as Gerard’s voice kicked in with the first verse. 

You fell in love with a vampire

You wanna get it for free

Then say hello to the brush fire, baby

You gonna take it from me

I'm gonna take it from you

The melody that Ray had written, sounded amazing. But, you kinda thought that, about everything he composed. 

Say hello to the good times

And burning up in the sun

You're sitting back on an empire

While the world lays back

Puts a kid behind that gun

If we crash this time

They got machines to keep us alive

When the mix tape lies

Choke down the words with no meaning

I stopped bleeding three years ago

While you keep screaming for revolution

Me and my surgeons and my street-walking friends

We got no heroes 'cause our heroes are dead!

“Gerard sounds angry,” you commented with a frown. 

“I bet he is,” Ray shrugged. “I mean, I get it. Ever since we moved out here, to California, stuff’s gotten….complicated.”

That’s an understatement, you thought, remembering how Warped Tour had almost put the band’s frontman in an early grave. 

“I mean, don’t get me wrong,” Ray continued, “I’m grateful for the success that the band has had. I’m happy that I can afford a nice house, and I don’t have to worry about how I’ll pay for my kids’ college someday. But….I dunno. I don’t like the stress we’re under, to sell as many records, as many tickets, as many T-shirts, as possible. We used to be doing this, just because we loved it. Now, it’s a job.”

The final line of the song, underscored Ray’s point:

Because rebellion’s not a T-shirt you sell 

So keep your money, and I’ll see you in Hell! 

“So….that’s the mood in the studio right now, huh?” you sighed. 

“You don’t like the song?” Ray asked, a troubled expression on his face. 

“I love the song,” you assured him. “It fucking slaps.”

“I could do better,” Ray shook his head, sending his curls flying everywhere. “It’s not where it needs to be yet.” 

“Don’t be too perfectionist about it,” you advised. “You’re just going to make yourself more stressed out.”

“But, what if the critics hate it?” Ray fretted. 

“They loved your last album, didn’t they?” you reminded. 

“That’s part of the problem,” Ray confessed. “Black Parade was such a smash hit. Now I have to top that. Or at least, make something as good.” 

“You can do it, Ray,” you said with certainty. “You’re the best composer I know.” 

“You….you really think so?” 

You looked over at Ray, and noticed he was blushing furiously. For some reason, this made you turn red, too. 

“Y-Yeah, Ray. Yeah, I do.” 

For a moment, there was an awkward silence. But then, you felt a tug on your line. 

“I think I got one!” you gasped. 

“Reel it in!” Ray cried. 

“I’m trying!” You pulled hard, but the fish was pulling hard, too, in the opposite direction. 

“Let me help you!” Ray decided, and put his arms around you, so that his hands were on top of your hands, which were holding onto the fishing pole. 

“C’mon!” Ray encouraged. “Pull, Y/N!”

Both of you pulled as hard as you could, and, by your powers combined, you pulled a massive trout up into the canoe. 

“You did it!” Ray grinned, his arms tightening around you, in a congratulatory hug. He lingered longer than you expected, then pulled away awkwardly, as if he thought he might be bothering you. He wasn’t. 

“I’ll, uh, build a campfire when we get back to shore,” he offered. “Cook up the trout, so we can have it for supper. Unless you’d rather I spare it’s life, like you did with the worm?” 

“I am pretty hungry,” you admitted. Fresh, grilled trout sounded delicious. 

“Cool,” Ray smiled shyly. 

“So, are you going to start rowing back to shore now?” you wondered. He was just standing there. 

“Not yet,” Ray said softly. “The truth is, there’s another reason, that I wanted you to come out here with me today.”

“What is it?” you blinked, curious. 

“There’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you for a while,” Ray said nervously. “But every time I almost get up the courage, I always lose my nerve, and end up walking away from you. I figured, in the middle of a lake, there’s nowhere for me to walk.” 

“That��s true,” you nodded. Where was he going with this? 

“The thing is, Y/N….,” Ray took a deep breath. “I...I want to be more than friends. I want to date you.” 

For a moment, you simply stared at him, stunned. 

“O-only if you want to!” Ray sputtered, his face turning even redder. “And if you don’t want to, I understand, and I’m sorry to spring this on you, I just…”

“I do want to,” you said quietly. 

“Wha….What?” Ray stopped, like he hadn’t been expecting this. 

“I do want to date you, Ray Toro,” you said, more confidently this time. “The truth is, I’ve been meaning to ask you the same thing for a while. I just couldn’t find the nerve, either. I’m glad you did.” 

“So….we’re dating now?” Ray asked uncertainly. 

“Yes,” you smirked, using the fishing line he still held in his hand, to pull him in, so that you could kiss him on the mouth. He accepted your lips on his, hesitantly, but then eagerly. 

“You’re the best catch I could’ve asked for.” 

[izzy-b-hands]

Usurp The Throne

So I’m taking a stab at the other part of my Horror Movie AU with Ghost, and this is also technically part of the NOLA AU as I have it taking place with Eugene living there with Snafu, so both tags are gonna be on this one!

if y’all have never looked them up or heard them, give ‘em a whirl. It’s catchy Swedish metal with a hint of pop...idk magic? I can’t describe it exactly it just works. 

The song in question that inspired this one can be listened to right here: 

https://open.spotify.com/track/4yrxgaL6zAsxkeMCwCtORS

I might do more of these based on more songs, but we’ll see how this one goes first. If nothing else, I’m def indulging myself here but I can’t help it lol. 

My love to all who read/like/reblog!!

“That’s a goddamn zombie,” Snafu stuttered, and dashed away from the window, his eyes wide. 

“Very funny,” Eugene replied as he flipped to the next page in his book. “It isn’t even Halloween, but nice try. You aren’t gonna get me this time though. Not like last time with the vampires.” 

“That was funny though,” Snafu chuckled. “Poor thing, thinkin’ we had vampire neighbors.”

“After they party all night, every night, they look like ‘em. Still wish I could convince them to sleep for a night then come over for brunch,” Eugene sighed. “They seem like nice people, but they keep turnin’ me down.” 

“Maybe this gal will wanna come in for a nightcap,” Snafu said, slowly approaching the window again, as if something would come bursting through it. 

“You’re still tryin’ this, really? Okay, show me this spooky zombie,” Eugene set down his book on the coffee table, pulled himself from the comfort of the couch, and walked to the window. 

She was...rotting. There was no nice way to put it, no bush to beat around because the whole garden was already burned down. She dripped with the moss of the swamps from the outside of town, her bone exposed on various limbs, bits of muscle and gristle still hanging to some. And she was headed towards their door. 

“Jesus Christ,” Eugene backed away from the window, and searched for his Bible on the nearby bookshelf. “Is the door locked? Make sure it’s locked, and we can push the couch in front of-Snafu!” 

Snafu was at the door, and had opened it, staring at the woman as she stepped in front of him. 

“May I come inside? It’s so dreadfully cold tonight...” 

“It is August, and I have sweated through two shirts today,” Eugene said briskly, gently moving Snafu aside from the door. “But that’s what you say no matter what time of year it is, don’t you?” 

The woman’s eyes were somehow intact, though cloudy enough that he wondered how she could even see to walk around. “What year is it?” 

“1947,” Snafu piped up from behind him. “What year was it when you died?” 

“Merriell!” Eugene scolded. “Please don’t encourage this!” 

“She’s a real, live zombie! You tellin’ me we really aren’t gonna let her in and ask some questions?” 

Eugene sighed in desperation and frustration. “No, I don’t really want a dead woman in our house. Why on earth do you?” 

The woman’s sniffling caught his attention, and his glare fell. 

“I...how awful do I look?” she asked. “It was 1760...I was waiting for my sweetheart near her work and...” 

She broke out into gasping sobs, despite there apparently being no fluid left in her to create tears. 

“Okay, come in, come in. Not gonna leave a crying woman in the street, even if you are dead,” Eugene said, moving aside to let her in. 

“Do you remember what happened? Who killed you?” Snafu’s eyes were wide, with curiosity now instead of fear. 

She shook her head. “I don’t want to talk about it. Please...” 

“I’m sorry. It’s just...I mean...well, not often we have a guest like you,” Snafu said. 

“Or guests period,” Eugene remarked, thinking of the neighbors. 

“I...where do I go? What do I do? Why am I awake again?” the woman was suddenly encased in a fear of her own, and reached out to grab Snafu’s hand. “What curse is this?” 

Snafu stared at her hand on his, the bone of her fingers visible in her viscera that should have been so much more decayed than it was, and Eugene caught his eye to try and calm him. 

“Look. I...this is is far out of my range of what I know that I can’t even begin to explain it,” he said as he motioned for all of them to sit on the couch, though he feared for cleaning the couch later. “But maybe we can help. Somehow. I’m not really sure how...” 

“I just wish I knew why,” she sighed. “I mean...I remember some things after.” 

“Like what?” Snafu asked, a look of horror on his face. 

“The alligators. I never feared them much in life, but they were hungry. I don’t blame them for what they did,” she said, and with growing terror Eugene noted the scrape and bite marks on some of her exposed bone. 

“Could you feel it?” Snafu looked like he had thousands of questions behind his eyes, spinning in his head, but he seemed to be holding back for the woman’s sake. 

She nodded. “It wasn’t exactly painful just...sensation. But I fell back asleep then...or died again, however you want to put it. I mean, I must have been dead already. I must be now.” 

“Y’know,” Snafu said. “The city has a bit of a reputation now. For some spookiness. If you don’t...fall back asleep, maybe you could capitalize on that.” 

“How is she gonna do that?” Eugene asked. “Move in down the street and make herself a roadside attraction? That’s no way to live...er, or not live.” 

“Nah, nah. The swamps. How cool and creepy would it be, for there to be a myth of a Zombie Queen, haunting the swamp. Reigning over it all. If you wanna pass through, you better look out for her,” Snafu grinned, and gently took her hand in his. “You could do it, I bet.” 

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” she said softly. “I just want...I don’t know. To be somewhere safe. Your face when you saw me...I must look horrible. I can’t stay near town, or I’ll scare everyone.” 

“Exactly! You get your peace in the swamp, maybe take over one of the abandoned cabins out that way. Make an appearance every now and again to creep people out, and they’ll fear you but leave you be cause they know if they bug you, maybe somethin’ bad’ll happen. But nothin’ bad has to happen; we’ll just start the rumors that somethin’ would. We could do that, right, Eugene?” 

It wasn’t a bad idea. He felt for her, even as some of her flesh fell off of her onto the floor. She wasn’t the malevolent creature come to attack them like he’d thought. She was hurt and scared and lonely, and it seemed hadn’t even known really that she was dead until now. She deserved peace, if she was to deal with having been brought back to something near life by some unknown force. 

“I think we could do that. We travel out to the swamps on occasion, and I think we could report back a haunted cabin everyone should avoid for their own safety, and the sighting of a powerful and terrifying Zombie Queen, who commands the creatures of the swamp and has defeated death itself,” he replied. 

If she could have blushed, he figured she would have been, her eyelash-free lids fluttering softly as she giggled. “That’s a lot. But I like it. I just want to be left alone. Maybe get to fall back asleep again, and hopefully never wake up like this.” 

They drove her out of town towards the nearest swamp, after making a stop at the home of one of the queens they knew who had dresses that were being rotated out of their closet. 

The woman looked queenly now, in a thick black velvet gown, covered in sequins. It clung just closely enough to show off the shape of her exposed rib-cage, and she smiled as they traveled. 

At the edge of the swamp, they got out with her, looking out into the mossy waters. 

“You ready, Zombie Queen?” Snafu asked. 

Again, Eugene could envision the blush that would have colored her face. ���I think so. I...you didn’t have to help me. You could have more easily hurt me and dumped me somewhere else. And you’d be justified, given how strange this all is...” 

“We’ve dealt with weird things before. This won’t be the last thing, I’m sure,” Eugene smiled. “I do have to ask though, before you go: what’s your name? We can’t just call you Zombie Queen to everyone.” 

“Clara,” she replied. “But I don’t know if that’s a real queenly name. My sweetheart, now she had the queenly name. She was a queen, to me.” 

His heart dropped in sorrow. “What was her name?” 

“Delphine. Do you think you could use that instead? I think it sounds better...and then whenever anyone is talking about me, it’ll be sort of like they’re talking about both of us,” she said. 

“Zombie Queen Delphine,” Snafu smiled, but Eugene could see the tears at the corners of his eyes. “We’ll start spreadin’ word as soon as we get back to town.” 

“Thank you,” she smiled gently, and turned to the water. As she walked into it, it was as if the animals in the water somehow knew, and respected her new title. The alligators in the water all popped up around her, not attacking her, but watching, creating a sort of aisle for her to walk down as she drifted towards the other shore, far away, where one of the abandoned homes they had found in trips previous sat. 

 They held hands on the ride home, both of them asking the same question in their heads. If it was them in Clara (or rather, Delphine’s) situation, would they be strong enough to deal with living without each other? 

He wanted to think yes, but he knew that he couldn’t truly know for sure if it wouldn’t drive him mad. To be stuck somewhere between life and death, hundreds of years later, with Snafu dead and gone. He admired her strength and ability to tackle her new life, or whatever you would call what she had now. 

For now, he relished the feeling of Snafu’s hand in his, and focused on appearing as scared as possible for when they got back into town. They’d really have to sell it, and he was prepared to make sure everyone they met believed in the Zombie Queen Delphine, ruler of the swamp. 

[mckinnonkate]

all the love we had and lost

post s11, mulder and scully go on a babymoon! i tweeted about this once and had to get it out of my system so you get to deal with it

there’s probably plot if you squint but why would you do that

tagging @today-in-fic

He floats the idea to her during week fourteen.

They reserve Sundays for lounging around together at home. Though the sun creeping over the horizon might technically signify the start of the day, they often stay in bed together well into the morning, tangled up like the young lovers they used to be. Their lives have slowed from a frantic chase to an almost dreamlike crawl, but they have a new respect for the solace found in spending an entire day simply existing with the person you love – especially with the impending arrival of a new person looming in the not too distant future.

This Sunday, she’s sitting propped up by pillows with her eyes closed and her head tilted back against the headboard. He’s lying face down next to her, head perched on his arm flush against her hip, and his hand roaming across her bare stomach. It hasn’t quite popped – not yet – but almost overnight, her once taut and flat abdomen has developed the slightest curve, jutting out to let the world in on the miracle that grows inside. He can’t stop touching it; part of him continues to marvel at the incredible feat her body is accomplishing, a different part can’t quite believe this is happening and uses the touch of her skin as a litmus test for his lucidity, and another part entirely falls even more in love with her and their baby as they reach and surpass each milestone. Frankly, he couldn’t keep his hands off her even if he tried, but luckily for him, she doesn’t seem to mind.

“We should go somewhere,” he says, his voice slipping from his mouth like honey. She makes a noise somewhere between a groan and a sigh, he’s not sure, but either way, he knows she’s already against the idea.

“Don’t wanna move,” she mumbles through lips as soft as the sheets engulfing them. “Too comfy.”

He chuckles, the sound rumbling through his body like an earthquake in the stillness of their bedroom.

“Not right now,” he amends, “before the baby comes. Let’s go somewhere.” He lifts his eyes to her face and watches as hers slide open. She regards him with a furrowed brow, one of the expressions he knows means she’s curious and not angry or upset. He can work with that.

“I want to take you somewhere, anywhere, while it’s just us,” he tries again, stroking his thumb back and forth over their baby like a metronome. She huffs out a laugh and runs a hand through his hair.

“That’s very sweet, and I would love nothing more than to be whisked away by you, but you know how risky this is,” she reminds him, still softly petting him in the intoxicating way that makes him forget his train of thought. He suddenly wants nothing more than to just let the soothing feel of her nails against his scalp lull him back to sleep. If she whips this skill out on the kid, bedtime should be a breeze.

“I doubt my doctor would approve of travel, let alone allow it,” she continues, oblivious of the detour his brain just took.  

“She said everything looks really good though,” he counters, “and that we got through the worst of it.”

Which is true, technically. Despite near hospitalization when a week or two of particularly bad morning sickness ripped through her, an appointment a few days prior had shown that things were progressing exactly as they should. An image of their perfectly healthy baby hangs on the fridge and a recording of its perfectly healthy heartbeat resides on both of their phones, yet she’s hesitant to throw herself into this when it could all come to a screeching halt at any moment. Going through that heartbreak once was bad enough – she’s not sure she’d survive it again.

“I know we’re not completely out of the woods,” he says, and now it’s his turn to pull her away from her own thoughts, “but you deserve it. We deserve it.” She sighs, thinking about sun on her skin and wind in her hair and life coursing through her veins.

“We’ll talk to Dr. Klein next time we’re in and in the meantime, I’ll think about it, okay?”

He grins, a tender smile with all of the boyish charm he had when she met him 25 years ago.

“Good,” he says, propping himself up on an elbow. “I just want you to relax as much as possible before we’re scavenging for sleep like a pair of starving raccoons.” He leans down, then, addressing her belly. “Not that you won’t be every bit worth it, little one, but we’re really old.”

She laughs halfheartedly in response, covering the hand on her stomach with her own.

~

On a Tuesday during week sixteen, their baby is still perfectly healthy with a perfectly healthy heartbeat. Her doctor runs through the exam according to procedure, asking questions and taking measurements, and Scully updates her on feelings and symptoms when she’s prompted, but her eyes remain glued to the image of the baby on the screen. The evidence is staring her in the face, evidence that she can breathe and let go of some of her worry, but she still holds her breath and expects something to go terribly wrong. She’s seen too much, been through too much, to take anything remotely good at face value, and it kills her.

She hopes the baby can’t feel that.

“More than anything, Dana,” she hears her doctor say and immediately shifts her attention. “I want you to relax as much as possible. You and baby are healthy, everything is on track, and I want to keep it that way. The less stress you’re under the better.”

“Speaking of relaxing,” Mulder interjects from his place next to her, “in your medical opinion, do you think we’d be able to go on a little vacation of sorts?”

She pauses for a moment, forming a response, and hands Scully a paper towel to wipe the gel from her abdomen.

“In other cases like yours, I would typically advise against it. However, and I don’t want to jinx anything here, this pregnancy is going remarkably well. I think I can sign off on a small trip barring any abnormalities on your next scan.”

Mulder reaches over and clasps her hand, shooting her one of the smiles that makes her heart melt. She tries to return it, but the word abnormalities echoes persistently in her head.

~

By the time they reach the Tuesday of week eighteen, in addition to seeing and hearing that her baby is healthy, she also has the tangible proof of little limbs pushing against the confines of her womb. Once again, they’re told that everything is fine and once again, she waits for the other shoe to drop.

“I’m very happy with what I’m seeing here. If you’re still thinking about planning a trip, I think you’re in a good position to do so. My only conditions,” she adds, as Mulder helps Scully off the exam table, “are that you avoid international travel and stay on the east coast.”

In case something goes wrong, Scully supplies in her head, wincing slightly at the baby’s sudden onslaught of frantic movement in her belly as soon as she thinks it. Still, she can’t help but yearn for a respite out of the city, regardless of how brief it might be, where it’s just her and Mulder in a different place being different people.

Hopefully she can leave the intrusive thoughts at baggage claim.

They walk out of the OB’s office hand in hand, his thumb sliding back and forth over hers. When they reach their car, he regards her with the tilt of his head and the quirk of an eyebrow, uttering one location.

And that’s how they decide to go to Florida.

~

He takes over the planning part of the whole endeavor, asking her to trust him, and she finds it hard to say no when she thinks about how deeply he knows her and how deeply exhausted she is.

Within a week, he books flights and a place on the beach, consulting her only to find out when she’d like to leave.

The night before their flight out, she’s asleep in bed while he finishes some last minute packing. Suddenly, she’s roused from slumber by the sound of someone mumbling, and she realizes she can feel his head down by her abdomen and his mouth against her stomach.

“We can’t wait to meet you baby girl,” he whispers in a way that lets her know she’s catching the end of whatever he was telling their child. “Your mom and I love you so much already.”

She decides to pretend to still be asleep, teetering on the edge of consciousness until he moves her shirt back down to cover her belly and drifts off himself.

~

They leave on a Wednesday morning during week twenty. The flight is a little under three hours, and she feels every second of it.

It’s not that she doesn’t enjoy traveling, but traveling with an added 12 pounds of baby weight isn’t the most comfortable thing in the world. Still, the salt in the air and the warmth in the breeze puts a smile on her face, and she’s content the entire trip from the airport to where they’ll be staying.

As soon as the car pulls up, she’s impressed.

A dozen or so cabanas are sprawled out in front of them, each one with a stone walkway to the front door that veers off from a main path down to the beach. The buildings are quaint – short and fortified with concrete, able to withstand rain and wind beating against the structures. They’re all painted a soft yellow, which, paired with the beige trim of the roofs, reminds her of the sand she walked on in Africa years ago. Outside of each cottage, two deck chairs sit next to each other on the unnaturally vibrant grass, completing the picturesque vacation spot. She can hear waves crashing and smell the foam from where they stand.

While Mulder checks them in, she walks slowly up and down a small stretch of the main path down to the shore, one hand on the small of her back and the other resting atop her bump. The baby had been still since they left that morning, but she could feel her now coming awake under her finger tips, a kick here, a kick there. She felt the urge to talk to the human in her womb, to talk nonsense or say anything at all like Mulder seemed to be able to, but words stuck in her throat like tar.

So she simply walks, waiting for Mulder to come find her, and thinks about the way the sand will feel under her feet and the way the ocean will feel against her skin and not about the way the baby might feel in her arms.

He finds her easily and guides her to one of the cottages toward the front of the pack, closer to the actual beach than the rest. He unlocks the door and ushers her inside first while he grabs their bags, and despite the overwhelming floral prints and pastel colors that scream tourist!, the first word that comes to mind is charming.

The space is essentially set up like a one bedroom apartment, with a kitchenette and living room taking up her field of view as soon as she walks in. As she ventures further inside, she takes stock of the white wicker furniture and the king-sized bed in the bedroom. Most importantly, she spots a claw foot bathtub in the bathroom. Not bad, Mulder, she thinks, lowering herself to the bed. Not bad at all.

The man in question enters not a minute later, looking expectantly at her.

“Good choice?” he asks, insecurity creeping into his voice. She beckons him to her and once he’s standing in front of her, she takes a handful of his shirt and pulls him down to her.

“Very good,” she tells him against his mouth before pulling it against her own. His hands move up to cup her face and his thumbs swipe her cheeks. They come apart, but he still holds her face in his hands.

“Do you need rest? Food? Anything you want, say the word and I’ll make it happen.”

She shakes her head, attempting to pull him closer. “I feel like I’ve been resting all day. I want to do something.” As she’s speaking, her stomach growls, loudly enough for him to notice and her to blush. “But food first would probably make me and your daughter very happy.”

He chuckles and kisses the top of her head before reaching out his hand to help her up.

“C’mon, I think there’s a place down the street.”

~

The irony of being on the coast but not being able to eat seafood is not lost on her, but she manages to have some of the most mouthwatering food she’s ever had anyway. They leave the local restaurant and notice that the sun should be setting soon, and Mulder decides it’s the perfect time to walk on the beach.

(In her case, it’s more like waddling, but he knows better than to joke about that.)

They walk hand in hand along the shore, letting the remnants of waves wash over their bare feet and the setting sun beat against their backs. After a few minutes of bumping shoulders while they walk she stops and turns to him, facing the sun. The golden hour light makes her hair seem like fire and her eyes like sapphire, and her beauty nearly knocks him off his feet.

“Here,” she says, pulling their joined hands to her belly. “I think she likes it out here.”

Only recently he’s really been able to feel their child moving, and it seems like he hit the jackpot tonight. He can feel the baby tumbling around under the skin of Scully’s abdomen, the soft rolling sensation of a hand or a foot against his hand. It reminds him of the ocean, the power it holds and the almost otherworldliness of its existence. As the sun slides beneath the horizon, they make their way back to the cabanas for the night.

“Headed to bed?” he asks as she makes a beeline for the bedroom as soon as they cross over the threshold of the cottage. She hums in affirmation as she reaches the door before throwing a look over her shoulder.

“But Mulder,” she says, eyes dark and voice deep. “I’m not tired.”

~

They spend Friday lounging on the beach – she soaks up sun, he swallows a ridiculous amount of seawater.

She sits cross-legged on a blanket under an umbrella, spending a few hours in the shade to cool her skin off from the rays she’s already gotten, and watches as he trudges back to her, shaking out his hair and body like a wet dog.

“Hi,” he offers, plopping down on the blanket next to her and leaning over to kiss her check with a wet smack. “Long time no see.”

“I know, I wondered if I’d ever be able to get you out of there. Thought for a second you found a nice, beautiful mermaid to settle down with,” she jokes, squirting out some sunscreen in her hands. He scoffs in mock offense as she lathers her arms.

“Scully, please, scientifically real mermaids are nothing like the fairy tale iterations we’re peddled as children. They’re gruesome sea monsters with nasty tempers and while I’d love to meet one, that’s just so not my type anymore.”

She laughs, moving from her arms to her stomach, and rubbing the sunscreen in with small circles. He crawls in front of her, flipping onto his side, and watches her.

“How do you feel today?”

“Fine. Good. Really good. The change of scenery is nice.”

“And the baby?”

“Active, but calm. I think she can tell I feel a little more relaxed here, when I’m not thinking about the giant list of things we have to get done before she gets here.”

“Shhh,” he interrupts, scooting closer and placing his hand on the swell of their baby. “Tell mommy she doesn’t need to worry about anything because we’ll get everything done and everything will be fine.”

“I can’t help it!” she good-naturedly exclaims, only to be shushed by Mulder once more.

“This is a private conversation between me and our child,” he continues, despite her eye roll and exasperated sigh. “Please don’t interrupt us.”

“Anyway, as I was saying, baby girl,” he starts, once again addressing her belly. “Your mom worries about everything and everybody, and that might infuriate you from time to time, but eventually you’ll learn that that’s just one of the many ways she shows you she loves you.” She’s caught off guard by his sentiment and tears spring to her eyes.

“She is always going to make sure you’re loved and taken care of, and that’s why you’re so lucky to have her.” He looks up at Scully then, noticing the wetness of her eyes, and he kisses one of her knees. “We both are. Care to add anything, doc?”

She shakes her head, blinking back unshed tears, and continues reapplying sunscreen. His hand wanders from her belly to her bathing suit bottoms and he fingers the olive green fabric.

“New?” he asks, subtly steering her away from anything else emotional and genuinely curious. She nods.

“I had to pick up a new one or two. I…outgrew my others, for lack of a better word.”

She looks pointedly at her bump.

“Yeah, I can imagine.”

He looks pointedly at her breasts.

She rolls her eyes and shoves him onto his back.

~

The next morning, they come across a sign for a local flea market, and that’s how they spend Saturday.

When they walk up to the booths, they’re immediately intrigued by the local art, jewelry, and clothing they see.

They walk through the rows of vendors like any other couple, hand in hand, fingers interlocked. She feels normal, almost mundane, on a vacation somewhere tropical with her partner walking beside her and their baby tossing and turning inside her. It’s hard, though, not to think about how much they had to overcome to get to this point. The people they’ve lost, the pain they’ve felt, all reminders of the trauma they’ve faced, both together and apart. It feels sometimes that those memories are just barely hovering out of her mind, waiting for the slightest thing to signal them back into her consciousness and fill her with dread.

She thinks about Melissa as they walk past a table of handmade jewelry. Her sister’s death has been on her mind more recently as she thinks about the lack of family their baby will have. She would have been an incredible aunt – cool and fun and warm, and sometimes it makes her chest throb when she thinks about just how much she misses her. She pulls on his hand to bring them to a halt and surveys the spread of necklaces, bracelets, and rings. She picks up a gold chain with a crescent moon pendant and runs her finger over the metal.

“Hand-forged,” the woman, who, Scully presumes, makes the jewelry, offers as she comes over to them. “Each piece is one-of-a-kind unique.”

Mulder peers over her shoulder at the metal in her hand and leans closer to her.

“You like it?” he asks into her ear, and she nods, but goes to put the necklace down. “Then we’ll take it,” he directs the latter part of his statement to the owner, and she scurries back the way she came to get a bag.

“Mulder, no, it’s unnecessary.” She tries to fight the gesture despite knowing how futile her efforts are. If he can do anything for her, even the smallest thing, like buying a necklace, he’s quick to jump at it.

“Let me do this for you. Think of it as an early push present.” At her look of amusement, he rushes to clarify. “I read about them online. They’re a nice sentiment. Besides,” he adds, as he hands a wad of cash to the woman and takes the small box she’s put the necklace in. “buying you jewelry now is good practice for when you decide I can give you a ring.”

She smirks and lifts up on the balls of her feet to plant a kiss on his cheek, lingering there for longer than necessary, and slips her hand in his, leading them once again down the aisle. As they walk, she’s looking up at a hanging light fixture to her left when she feels a soft touch on her right arm. She turns to the source and finds herself face to face with a woman who looks to be about a hundred years old, but smiling at her like an overzealous child.

“Come over,” she says, gesturing to a booth of what seems to be knitted goods. “I have something.”

Scully looks at Mulder who shrugs, essentially letting her decide what to do. She doesn’t sense any danger, just maternal warmth that reminds her of her mother, so they follow the woman to her stall.

Once in front of the items, she sees that they’re all hand-knitted goods. There are blankets, hats, and sweaters, all in different colors with different patterns. Scully runs her fingers over one of the beanies and she’s shocked at just how soft the material is.

She looks up and sees the old woman rustling around behind the items on display, apparently searching for something. Scully disentangles her and Mulder’s hands to properly look through some of the items. Each one is as soft and well crafted as the last, and both she and Mulder are almost elbow deep in fabric when the woman approaches them again.

“For baby,” she says, handing Scully what she now sees is a blanket and nodding to her bump. Instinctively, she takes the offered item from the woman and runs a hand across the front of her abdomen.

If it’s even possible, whatever this blanket is made out of is even softer than the things she was looking at before. It’s a baby blanket, she notices as she unfolds it to its full size, and it has light grey stars with sparkling thread hand-stitched all over the white fabric.

“It’s beautiful,” she tells her in earnest, running her thumbs across the raised edges of the stitching. “What on earth is it made of?”

The woman smiles and her expression reads as equal parts coy and proud.

“I mix my materials. I take a little from one, a little from another, just to make them feel like clouds. It’s all a secret.”

“How much for it?” Mulder asks, sensing that no matter what the cost, Scully isn’t going to walk away without it. The woman makes a dismissive motion with her hand.

“No charge. I spotted you walking past and you needed it. I have a sense.”

She shrugs, and Mulder still tries to take out his wallet.

“Please, you put far too much work into something like this to just give it away.”

She firmly shakes her head and then turns to address Scully directly.

“My mother had my sister late too. It all turned out okay. It will also turn out okay for you.” Scully nods as tears spring to her eyes, and Mulder wraps an arm around her shoulder, kissing the side of her head.

In the end, they decide to also buy a larger throw for the living room, one that resembles a certain blanket that used to reside in his apartment.

~

When she wakes from a nightmare in the middle of Sunday night, she realizes she should have known she wouldn’t have a few days of peace.

She jolts upright as much as she can at twenty weeks pregnant and tries to calm her racing heartbeat. She can’t remember the specifics of the dream, but she remembers the specific kind of fear she only associates with something happening to her child.

She palms her abdomen, selfishly begging for movement, and breathes a little easier when she feels what she thinks is a fist pushing back at her. She grabs her phone off the bedside table and checks the time. A little after 1 a.m. means she’s only been asleep for a few hours, yet she feels too wired to fall back asleep. She looks over at Mulder, on his stomach and oblivious next to her, and slips out of bed. She uses the bathroom, careful not to wake him, and tiptoes outside.

The midnight breeze is cool, but her body is so hot these days it feels welcome against her skin. She looks out at the ocean, watching how the inky black water moves and crashes, back and forth, in and out. Deciding to perch out here until her sudden burst of energy dissipates, she lowers herself into one of the deck chairs. The surface is a little rigid, and the angle is a little harsh, but she moves around a bit before finding a position that’s somewhat comfortable. Her hands fall to either side of her belly and she rubs slow circles, trying to calm down the baby she knows she riled up. Maybe it’s the cover of night, or the presence of the ocean, but she feels something loosen in her, and starts talking.

“It’s just you and me tonight, baby,” she begins. The kicks get stronger as the baby becomes more awake. “I’m sure that’ll change once you’re out here with us, because I’m usually so much better at sleeping, but tonight it’s just us.”

She pauses for a moment, choosing to cradle her stomach with her hands.

“I think I should apologize to you, baby girl, because we haven’t talked that much recently. Or, well, ever. Your daddy is a lot better at this than I am. He believes that everything will work out, and everything will be fine. When he believes in something, he believes so fiercely, so he’s been more willing to talk to you and…um…love you.

The truth is, baby, I’m so scared that something is going to happen to you and I’ll never get to meet you. You’ll find this out when you get to us, but we’re quite a bit older than other parents. I’m a lot older than other moms and that comes with a lot of risks – risks that could really hurt you. And the last thing I want is for you to be in danger because the truth is, baby, despite every effort to keep a part of me detached from you in case the unthinkable happens, I love you so much already. I think about holding you and kissing you and watching you grow up and I want it so badly it hurts. Thinking about that being taken away from me…again…made it so hard to let myself love you, baby girl, and I’m so sorry.

I’m also sorry you won’t have much family around when you meet us. Your daddy and I have…been through a lot, and I wouldn’t change a single thing, but it’s cost us some of the people closest to us. And now, by default, you. You won’t have grandparents to spoil you rotten. You won’t have aunts to teach you the secrets of the world. You won’t even have a brother to protect you and keep you safe and god, baby, I’m so, so sorry.

But I want you to know, if you enter this world with any knowledge at all, that your father and I love you more than you could ever think is possible. That despite how unexpected your existence is, you are loved and wanted, and we never for a second thought about not having you in our lives. I made that mistake once, baby girl, and I’m going to spend the rest of my life paying for it, but hopefully the entirety of yours making up for it.”

As she finishes, she sniffles and hears footsteps on the grass approaching her.

“I don’t think the doc had this in mind when she told you to relax.”

She huffs out a watery laugh, letting him lift her chin so he can look in her eyes.

“Did you know that now my immediate response to waking up without you next to me is to try to call the police? I didn’t, by the way, but that was the urge I had to quell.”

“I’m sorry, I woke up from a nightmare and couldn’t sleep and…”

“Decided to catch some rays?”

“Something like that. How long had you been standing there?”

“Long enough. Can you scoot?”

She nods and moves forward a bit on the deck chair, allowing him to slide in behind her. He brings her back to his chest and she falls back against him, immediately appreciating the relief of a soft surface behind her. His hands find their way to either side of her stomach and he rests his chin on her shoulder.

“I know how scared you are, and I also know that there’s nothing I can really say that will make you not scared because you’re carrying a baby and that’s just how that works, but I want you to know that my faith comes from your faith. I believe in you, and that lets me believe that both you and our baby will be okay.”

She’s crying again, so he takes the sleeve of his hoodie and wipes the tears that have already fallen down her cheeks.

“Thank you,” she chokes out, trying to burrow even deeper into his embrace as he tightens his hold on her. “Thank you for being here and for being you.”

He kisses her temple before she turns her head to give him access to her lips.

“Now, kid,” he says, rubbing small circles on her belly with the tips of his fingers. “If you think this is a memorable trip to Florida, wait till you hear this…”

[rockpapertoast]

The Point

Mama told me not to swallow the pit of my cherry or else a big ol’ tree would grow right inside my belly. She told me that the deep red color made my lips look like Gran’s and that they were beautiful. I picked up the tiny fruits, one at a time, pulling off the green stems and piling them on the wooden steps. Mama sat in front of me so I watched her do it first. I ripped mine apart, turning my fingers pink and wet. I could see the little pit peeking through right in the middle. I ripped it out with my teeth, gnawing off all the little pieces that stuck to it, and spat it right in front of me as hard as I could. It hurt my mouth. She slowly turned back and looked at me with her big brown eyes and a smile. “Mama gonna getcha!” She growled at me as she squeezed me on either side. She tickled me red juice dribbles.

It was our first full day at The Point and we came in so late that we didn’t have time to get groceries, so cherries were all we had. There was a stick of butter left in the refrigerator, along with some squished old Wonderbread and a can of Krunzhmann’s Smoked Ham. Pop had probably left them. 

The Point was my great grandpa’s house when he was a little boy. His family grew up, all together, in this tiny house with one bedroom and one other room that held the furniture and kitchen stuff. No one can stay in the winter anymore because there’s no heat and the snow here gets really cold and deep, so Pop opens it in May for the summer months and me and Mama always come here to work after my school gets done. Mama works. I work more like part- time. The place is full of dust and old pictures- it gave me the creepies when I was little, especially after Dad stopped coming with us. He met a woman named Sherry and they have two girls together now, Shiva and Lillia. They sound like puppy names to me. Shiva would bark more. I see him once a month for strawberry milkshakes and a hug. He knows I like the cherry on top and extra whipped cream, so he gives me his. 

I remember Dad telling me stories about the pictures of Pop and his old friends. They are covered in dust and rusted-golden picture frames with warped glass covering the black and white figures. I would sit on his lap at night before bed and he would bump me up and down on his knee, telling me how many places Pops had traveled, how the blueberries that grow here are magic, and how the biggest fish in the entire world lived in the lake right outside. “He looks out for you when you’re out there swimmin’ like a big girl,” he’d say, “you can’t go out past the McDermott’s place or else he’ll come nibble on those toes!” I liked my Dad a whole lot even before the milkshakes.

After we finished our cherries, I sat on the back porch and tried to tie two stems together in my mouth. I always heard that was a sexy type of thing to be able to do, but I could never imagine how someone’s tongue could be capable of such a thing. Mine wasn’t. The back of my throat felt like it was tearing apart and the stems tickled the side of my tongue. Ripples of waves slowly moved towards the shore, just a few feet away from our deck. I could hear my tummy gurgling over the faint sound of the bird clock chirping inside, but I held it tight with both hands. I bet there were a hundred Bluegills out there in the lake just swimming around looking for breakfast, too. I don’t think they can eat cherries, or the pits. 

Mama and I left at five after nine to walk to town. The hills seemed much bigger than last summer. They were extra turny and the morning wasn’t fully gone yet so the clouds were stuck all around us, hanging on with all their might. Mama tells me that at night the clouds come in real close to hug us and keep us warm, just like a blanket. I don’t know if I believe her but I like the idea of extra blankets at night. I always get cold.  

“What kinda tree is this, Magpie?” Mama asked me as she let go of my hand and walked towards a dark green furry kind a few feet away from the road.

“How in the heck should I know that? It’s a green one, Suza, that’s what kind it is. A fuzzy green one that is not awake yet so he would appreciate it if you’d stop touchin’ him, thank ya very much!” I told her right back. She gets mad when I’m sassy to her but she woke up with big eyes this morning. That’s usually a good sign. 

“Miss Magapoo! You little devil, sassin’ your Mama first thing in the mornin’. Should’a left ya in Chapin!” Mama picked off a piece of the green fur tree and brought it back to me, sticking it right up to my nose. It smelled sweet, like most of the air up here. 

“Peeyeew!” I shouted at her. She knew I was joking and she laughed right back at me.

“Hemlock, Miss Magpie. He’s got some wide needles, round ends,” Mama said as she bent down next to me, holding up the needles to my face real close, “and if you flip ‘em over, you see he’s got two kinda white lines here.” 

“Hemlock. Hemmmlock!” I said, making up a song to help me remember. Mama always asks me about trees and I can’t remember them all. There’s so many up here so I try to make ‘em into songs or memories somehow. Like the Oak- I fell off of it smack dab on my bum when I was four and cried so hard I threw up all over myself. Mama wouldn’t dare let me forget that one. We don’t have the same kinda trees in South Carolina, so it’s hard to keep ‘em separate. 

We got to Tawny’s Market and I picked out the pink lemonade. I like the kind that looks like a jar because who doesn’t love the smack sound it makes when you yank off the top? I asked Mama if we could get summer sausage and she said we’d have some at Pop’s later. I always peel off the skin around it, the slimy clear stuff gives me the spooks, but the inside is nice and salty. We checked out and I helped put our food into the totes that Mama had brought with us. We ran into Tawny on our way out. She’s one hard lady to track down on a Saturday morning. 

Tawny had long brown hair that came almost all the way down to her butt and was tucked into one fat braid that swished side to side on her back as she walked. She saw us walking towards the bakery and opened her mouth wide, giving us big eyes and spreading out her arms. She jetted towards us full- speed. She smushed me with her fanny pack as she hugged me all kinds of tight and kissed my forehead. 

“Welcome back, so glad to see ya, Mags! Come down and visit anytime. We’re makin’ zucchini bread tomorrow if you wanna come help out while your Mama’s at work!” She was always real nice to me every summer and I usually came to visit about once a week when I got bored of Tommy Joe. She and Mama hugged and talked for a few minutes while I sat on the wooden bench right next to the bulletin board full of advertisements for lawn care, dog walkers and babysitters. I never understood who would just pick up somebody’s information at a market like that, but a lot of the flyers had been torn off where the tags stuck out. 

I wanted to ask for a jelly doughnut but I knew Mama would say no. Tawny used fresh raspberry jelly that was just the right amount of sweet and tart. Whenever I would disappear for an hour or so and come back home with a bag of sweets before dinner, Mama wouldn’t even get mad that my tummy was already filled up. She liked treats, too.  Tawny is TJ’s Mom and one of Mama’s best girls up here. They grill together sometimes and drink cocktails with booze in ‘em when me and TJ play sticks in the woods, or things like that. Tommy Joe is my best friend or something. I guess he’s my best friend when we’re in New London, so for three months of sunshine. It’s the same starting over every year. 

Mama has been working at the Toy Museum down the street ever since I can remember. Great Grandpa started collecting old antique cars and gadgets when he was a swinger and he kept ‘em all there. It’s made up of a few big garages jam- packed with old cars, creepy toys with painted faces, and a whole lot of spiderwebs. Uncle Don runs it now, since he lives here full- time, and helps Pop, who can’t do all that much heavy stuff anymore. Uncle Don is Mama’s older brother. His wife died of cancer two summers ago and ever since then, he only smiles with his eyes. He’s got one great big wrinkle that fits right across his forehead when he makes smile- eyes, but that’s all. Aunt Jill died of the same kinda cancer that took my Gran. Something happened to their lady parts. Uncle Don used to have real nice dimples on his cheeks, but they’ve been lost for a long time now. Auntie Jill had been sick ever since I was four, so I don’t remember her without a quilt on her lap and pink hat keeping her smooth little peach-head nice and warm. Her head was darn well near the softest thing I’d ever felt. 

TJ’s family lives three driveways down from The Point and his grandparents are friends with Pop. They used to own most of the North parts around the lake and Pop owned the South ones. Mount Kearsarge was the divider, smackdab across from our deck, way up in the distance. You can see the big hump of the mountain behind the clouds if you look at the right time. Our back wooden deck points right at the mountain, like an arrow, and the whole lake sweeps down and gouges into the land on either side of us. It’s like we get the best seats of all and the mountain points right back at us. 

After we got home and started unpacking our groceries, Mama said I could go find TJ to play before lunch. I laced up my new white keds that I’d gotten two weeks ago since my last tennis shoes were destroyed in the giant mud pocket that I found near my school three weeks before we’d left. I went into the bathroom and put sunscreen on my face since my nose always turns pink when I don’t wear protection in the sunshine. Tawny told Mama that it was supposed to be hot today, and she always knew the weather here exactly right. I smeared Coppertone right on my cheeks and nose while standing on my tippy toes and looking in the mirror. I could only see a few white and blue stripes of my shirt, since I wasn’t tall enough. This was my favorite shirt, with a stain on the bottom right from a cherry pit that got away. 

I grabbed my bike and started pedaling through the gravel to Tommy Joe’s. My face was still kinda sticky so I felt little smacks against my cheeks when I flew through the clouds of gnats. It was wide open around the house before the driveway took me into the woods for a while, leading out to the main road that I took to TJ’s. It had rained a few days ago so the sand- filled gravel was thicker, like gum was stuck to the bottom of my tires. I was out of breath as soon as I turned the corner to TJ’s house. 

The difference between the Point and TJ’s house is that they live there all the time, and we only live here for a few months. His house is dark green and about the same size as the Point. It’s just TJ and his Mom so they don’t need much room.

“Hey Tommy Joe! It’s me, I’m back here for ya!” I shouted as I dropped my bike next to his front porch and ran up the steps. The screen door was open and I knocked real hard on the chipped white painted part of the door. “It’s me- Maggie Smith! I’m back here for TJ!” I didn’t hear anything so I walked in and saw TJ on the couch playing some video game. It was beeping and speaking in video game words that I couldn’t much understand. 

“You could’ve answered the door,” I said to him.

“Hi Mag. Sorry, I’m finishing this,” He called back at me. His voice was deeper than I remembered and his nose looked bigger. His lips were pink and his skin was the same caramel that I remembered. I felt my chest get tight and roped up, as I stared at him shaking his Nintendo back and forth as he forcefully pressed the keyboard, like someone threw a rock and tickled it at the same time. My mouth got all wet and melted.

“I can come back later, It’s okay” I said to him, turning around and walking out towards the door again. 

“No, Maggie Smith, you come back here. Give me five seconds, I just need to finish level four with King Archibald,” he said to me as he ran up to me and grabbed my arm, pulling me back to sit on the couch next to him. He smelled salty and looked kind of sticky. I wondered if he’d put on sunscreen this morning, too.  

“That feels nice,” he said to me as I followed my finger along the side of his hair down by his ear. 

“Your head got bigger, Tom. How can you be so stupid and still have such a big noggin?”  

I looked over his shoulder for a few minutes as his little video game soldier fired away at dragons, crawled up stone walls and eventually found King Archibald. 

“Finished!” He said, “Wanna swim to the bank and look for frogs? I haven’t found any yet since it’s been kind of cold here.” 

“Sure- I don’t have my swimsuit here, though,” I told him. I usually wear it under my clothes, but I didn’t think we’d be swimming right away. And I don’t like how it feels on my bum when I bike.

“Here- just take this off,” TJ pulled at my shirt, so I slowly peeled it off to reveal my white camisole. It was too big for me, so it hung around. “Are you wearing underwear?” 

“Yeah I am, yuck- why wouldn’t I?” I hadn’t worn underwear all day yesterday. It felt nice to have a breeze. 

“Come on!” TJ said as he ran out of the living room letting the screen door slam right in my face. I grabbed a green and purple splotchy beach towel that hung on the coat hook and followed behind him, holding it tightly against my chest. 

He ran all the way to the dock and started taking off his shirt and his shorts. By the time I’d made it standing next to him he was bare chested. He was wearing whitey tighties that sat right on his hips. I never really knew the difference between boxer briefs and shorts, but apparently there is one. I saw the bulge between his legs and thought about what it would be like to touch it. I never understood how those things just fit all neatly right in there without popping out on accident. Like they just fold up when they’re supposed to. I think TJ saw me staring at him because he started fidgeting. I could feel my face getting hotter and I looked down at the rippling waves.

“Take off your shorts, come on,” He said as he kicked his pile of clothes and walked towards the edge of the dock. TJ dunked his foot into the water, sending a shiver through his body. He looked like he’d been electrocuted from the foot upwards. “Jesus Christ! Come here Mag!” He shouted at me, holding his crotch and pattering on his feet, one at a time like he had to pee really badly. 

I unzipped my shorts, tossed them right on top of Tommy Joe’s pile of clothes, and scooted up to grab his hand. 

“On the count of three. One, two, three- come on!” Shouted TJ as he fired himself forward, bringing me along into the greenish water. We sprung a few feet from the dock and both came up for air. 

“Woooo! This is way too cold!” I yelled, with my lips quivering. I could feel my goosebumps coming out and kicked my feet extra hard in the water. 

“Here, I’ll race you to Gull rock, it’ll get us warm!” Gull rock was the big boulder a few hundred feet away that had perfectly carved holes in it for us to climb out of so we could go searching for frogs in the marsh along the shore over there. We had to climb through a pile of rocks if we didn’t take Gull. I started throwing my arms, one after another, turning my head as fast as I could. TJ and I collided and I scratched his leg with my fingernail. “Sorry!” I said, but water was coming in and out of my mouth so fast that I’m not sure he heard a word I said. 

When we made it over there, TJ climbed out first, adjusting his boxers so they didn’t collapse on him. He reached down and stuck out his arm to help pull me up. The rock was slimy and my toes scrambled to find the right holes to push myself up on. My face felt hot and the sun toasted us as we bent down, crawling around in thick grass and muck to find creatures. We always found these tiny little green frogs with brown splotches on them and fat double chins. 

“Find any?” TJ hollered at me after a few minutes of silence. It was always a competition with us and whoever found the first one usually won, no matter how many more they found after that. My feet were making squaking squish sounds as I suctioned them out of the muck, like I had to fight to get them back even though they were mine. 

TJ spurted forward towards a shrub and dove into with his arms in front of him like he was ready to grab something. “Holy Jesus, look at this! Yeeehaaa!” He screamed as he clasped his hands real tight together. “Comere Maggie!” 

I teetered my way over to him, trying to keep from falling face first into the mucky grass. “Let’s see ‘em” I said, planting my two feet hard. TJ slowly brought his hands towards my face and moved his thumb down just a tad to show two big eyes and a beating chin. It’s mouth was sort of orange looking and it had two little lines that marked what should’ve been it’s nose, but i’m not too sure frogs have noses anyways. He was a real cute one. I stuck my fingers into TJ’s and touched his slimy back, it was slimy and just the right amount of bumpy. 

“Let’s take him back with us. I wanna keep him, look how cute he is- what a nice lil’ guy,” TJ said looking around, “Should we make him a raft or something? Can he swim?”

“He’s a frog, Tom, he can swim better than you!” 

“Shut your trap, Maggie Smith, let’s go. Here, you take him.”

I reached out my hands, cupping them just enough to take him without poking at him too much, and walked back to the rock. TJ jumped in first and I slid my way down, skidding my bum on the rock. 

The water felt much warmer now. I floated on my back, holding our new friend cupped snug in my hands while I kicked breaststroke. I learned how to do that in swim lessons- I’d been taking them ever since I was about four. TJ was probably swimming fast again but I didn’t mind. I was happy to be back here. The clouds were moving real speedy, and they looked extra puffy. I always wondered if they felt like Marshmallow Creme to touch. That’s how I imagined them. 

I kept kicking, looking back every few seconds to make sure I wasn’t going the wrong way or something. I was close to the dock and I saw TJ standing their waiting, his feet dangling along the surface of the water. 

“Almost there! Here, take ‘em,” I said to him, turning towards him and coming up straight. I reached my hands up and plopped him into TJ’s, climbing back up the ladder onto the deck next to him. I brushed the droplets of water off my face and shook my hair really fast. 

“Maggie. Look.” TJ’s voice turned higher, like the boy I’d known for the past nine years. I looked over into his hand- cage and got mine ready to catch the leaping frog as it came out. He lifted up his hands to show a lump of a frog, no leaps, no beating chin. 

“What happened?” I asked TJ

“I think he’s sleeping. He’s just tired from the swim is all, Mag.”

I swallowed hard and felt the sun all the way in my throat. I couldn’t look at it again so I told TJ to put him to bed somewhere else. TJ said okay and ran him back into the woods near his house while I stayed on the dock. He put the frog down by a tree and scattered some leaves on top of him. I sat down on the deck and wondered when he started falling asleep, I couldn’t feel it in my hands or anything. I knew that asleep meant dead, and so did Tommy Joe, but neither of us wanted to say it. TJ came back over and sat down next to me for a few minutes, but neither of us had anything to say. 

When I stood up, I wrung the water out of my camisole, sending it dripping out onto the deck. TJ’s face froze and he wiggled his lower lip like he was trying to fight with it. 

“Maggie? Are you okay?” TJ asked, looking down at my legs. I looked down, too, and saw a few red dribbles down my leg. 

“Is that from the frog?” I asked TJ

“Um, not unless you hurt him”

I knew that Gran and Aunt Jill had died because of problems with their lady insides and I hoped I would never have that stuff. 

“I’m dying, Tom,” I said quietly.

“Do you want to take a nap? Maybe you’re tired, too” He said.

TJ brought me out a blanket and a pillow from his bed. We layed on the deck and he traced his finger along my forehead. He was right, it did feel nice. If this was the way that I was going to go, it couldn’t be too bad. 

“Tell Mama sorry I couldn’t make it to dinner with Pop tonight. Bring me some summer sausage on Sunday mornings instead of flowers, just make sure to take the outside part off.” 

I’m coming, Gran, I’m coming Aunt Jilly, I thought as I closed my eyes tight. I could feel freckles growing on my cheeks and nose from the sun. Maybe i’d start to look like that frog, with splotches and orangey red all over my face. 

[floweringthewords]

Lost Love.

VOILA

~C

I went into work frustrated and left feeling the same. Even my friend Helen asked if I was okay. I wanted to tell her that no, I was not okay, because somewhere out there this dude is singing about an almost identical situation to mine and I have had zero luck finding out who he is or looking up the song because it’s been so busy, and this was going to bother me until I went the fuck home and either confirmed or denied this so I could feel better. Once the work day was done, I stop by the Starbucks across the street for a bagel and some coffee to lift my spirits. A part of me was convinced the song was following me; it played once at work and I thought it might start playing as soon as I entered. I open google while I waited in line, searching Lost Love and getting mixed results, mostly just a bunch of corny quotes and articles. I attach a lyrics that I remembered from the song vaguely, hoping there would be some kind of match. The first video to pop up directed me to Youtube and a band’s channel called the Maine. The Maine? I nervously press play, the sound of waves growing until the image fades in. A man sat by the ocean with his arms resting on his knees. The camera was focused on his long fingers for a moment, then another shot of tattoos on his arm, before finally panning up to his thin lips and- Oh my God. I pause the video to process his features. There was no mistaking that face or those hazel green eyes and long lashes; the strong jaw and big nose. No doubt left that it was him. Shocked, I hardly hear when I’m called next in line, walking up frazzled and stammering as I give my order. I leave my phone at my side, leaning against the wall near the desk while I try to understand. How the hell did I not know? I never heard from him after he dropped out. He left unexpectedly after the semester was over. No explanation, no apology, just vanished. I never knew he’d dropped out and gone to make music for a living. The barista calls my order and I quickly take it before rushing back to my car. I resume the video, watching his solemn expression as his eyes remain on the water. “John!” a voice calls out his name, and a small separate person in me does a tiny flip inside my stomach. He turns, saying he’d be right there as the camera turns to a group banded around a campfire but I already longed to see his face. He’d changed so much but he was still the same. And he’d gotten so handsome. The next scene shows him staring at his phone and opening his music I gape as he scrolls to Bittersweet Symphony and presses play. Rising to his feet, he walks toward the water and takes a deep breath, the wind ruffling his hair. “I’ll swim until I wash up to shore to you if I have to,” he whispers and I feel my pulse quicken as he submerges slowly into the water, showing a shot of his body down below. “What the fuck,” I mutter, taking it all in. Was this him calling out to me? It felt like too much of a coincidence and too specific a message for this to be about anybody. But I just… I didn’t understand. He was never in love with me. The sound of the song is muffled as his arms make long strokes, his loose white shirt floating around him and I grow mesmerized, wishing I could reach out and grab his hand and tell him I was right here. I never went anywhere. He was the one who left. Their own song merges cleverly with the one playing as the music video begins, but I had to stop watching. I still couldn’t believe it. All this time I had always wondered but never even thought to look him up. And now he’s staring me right in the face and following me around like a breeze. I was about to search for his name alone when I noticed it in the suggested links. “John O’ Callaghan of the Maine Talks About New Album, Lost Love, and Band’s Rise to Success.” I could never forget that name. Just as soon as I click on it, I’m overwhelmed by him smiling at the camera and introducing himself with that ridiculously long name and stupid permanent smirk. That slanted smile hasn’t changed a bit and now I was crying because that was definitely him. I had already known that, but it still didn’t feel real until I could truly put the face to the voice. My mind didn’t notice the interviewer already talking and I go back to hear his question and John’s optimistic nod and openness. “-is in the top 50 now. How has that been for you, y’know as part of an independent band and always having been keeping yourselves sort of under the radar?” His lips slant up and he scratches his head through his grey beanie. “Uhh, it’s been weird, yeah. I’m not used to turning on the radio and hearing, well me. It’s like, I try to change the station but ten minutes later I’ll hear the song and I’m like, ‘Oh, hey, that’s kinda cool. But shut the fuck up.’ I kinda get sick of it.” He laughs goodheartedly and crosses his leg. “But yeah, it’s definitely weird as well as incredibly humbling because we’ve gotten this far and that wouldn’t have happened without our fans always driving us on to keep making music.” “Yeah, it’s insane the traction that you guys have gotten with Lost Love. I mean, it’s playing on almost radio station. Were you a bit scared at first to release something so personal? Were you afraid of how people would react to this…well, declaration of love to put it simply?” My nerves tingle and he licks his lips as he sits up. “I think maybe at first. I mean I’d never talked about it to anyone except close friends so to reveal that was kind of terrifying. It’s something that I’ve kept to myself for years and I had always sort of had a neverending draft of what I wanted to say to this girl, and I haven’t seen her since college. I don’t know, the timing this time around for this album felt right and I wanted to give the fans something sincere, while still just doing it because I wanted to. It felt like a weight off my chest.” “Has the one you wrote the song about gotten in contact with you ever since the release of the song?” My mouth dries and I watch as he flashes a tight lipped smile. “No, no I don’t think she even knows about it or has heard it. I never talked to her again because I’m…an idiot, basically.” He does an open hand gesture as he shrugs and I huff, agreeing. “Let’s ask the real stuff. Were you ever in love?” I snort to myself, getting ready for the response that I’d been prepared to hear almost ten years ago. He’d find a way of breaking it to me and the rest of the internet soft. No, I think I was just infatuated. We were just kids so we only thought it was love. I liked her a lot but it wasn’t serious. He’d break it to me the only way he could, with his charm. This should be good- “Yeah, yeah I think it was love. But I never told her and that’s what that song is about, regretting I never did.” Wait. WHAT. “What?!” I shout at my phone, feeling my face heat up, both at embarrassment and anger. He fucking loved me? And he never told me? “And you never tried to find her again?” the man asks him. John gives a sympathetic smile, apparently not really knowing how to respond. “I always thought I was too late and I missed my chance. She was probably mad at me anyway.” “You fucking idiot,” I mutter, shoving my keys in the ignition and starting up my car. I was going to find him and I was going to fucking kill him.

I end up driving past College Avenue until I remember the way through his neighborhood, spotting the gates and being ushered through. I’d done my research and found out they’d just gotten back from a tour in the UK, so if anybody knew about his whereabouts, it was his mother. I’d no idea what she would think or do when she saw me, but hopefully it wouldn’t send John running for the hills. I’d bottled up my confusion and hurt for months when he left, and I was ready to let him have it. He was going to get everything he deserved. Pulling into the old driveway, I wipe my palms on my thighs, tugging down my shorts in fear of Jenny disapproving. I didn’t need her thinking that the woman her son wrote a song about wasn’t right for him. Not that I gave a shit, but right now I was scared and I gave a shit. I take a quick look in the rearview, making sure my light brown waves were in place and that I didn’t look as mousy as I feel inside. Just walk up the front steps, I tell myself. It’ll be fine. She probably won’t even remember you. Knocking on the front door, I stand there anxiously as I wait for it to open. I pray with every ounce of my being that he wasn’t making a quick visit because I didn’t know if I was quite ready for that yet. Jenny’s face greets me and I breathe out a sigh of relief, feeling fireworks going off behind my brain and the little me inside me waving a patriotic flag for non-embarrassment. “Marty?” she says in a surprised, but yet somehow still motherly voice. Her short hair bobs as she shakes her head, eyes closing for a second. “Oh my goodness.” “Um, h-hi, Mrs. O’Callaghan,” I say, the little me sitting the fuck back down. She beams at me and opens the door a bit wider. “Hello, dear! Wow, it’s so good to see you. How are you?” “I’m well,” I mutter, clearing my throat. “I didn’t think I’d find you or if you’d even remember. I know it’s been a long time.” She clicks her tongue. “How could I forget? All the time John brought you over, I thought for sure he was going to announce you two were finally together one of those days.” My cheeks tinge warmly and I bite my lip. “Right. Th-That’s actually why I’m here-“ “You’re looking for him, right? You heard it?” I open my mouth to speak, but I can’t bring myself to form any actual words and merely nod instead. Jenny grins warmly and rests her hand behind my back. “Come in. He’s coming over in a bit, you can join us for dinner.” My eyes widen. Oh God no. “He’s coming over now?” “Relax, honey. You have nothing to be nervous about. You’ve no idea how many times he’s called me just this month about how badly he hoped you’d call him or find a way to get in contact. A part of me knew you would show up here though.” I swallow and I try to process what she was saying. He’s had me on his mind for this long and he’s waited till NOW to fess up? And he couldn’t tell me about this damn song instead of driving me insane for almost a decade? “If you want I can give him a call,” Jenny suggests, seeing the expression on my face. I shake my head. “N-No that’s fine. I think I prefer him finding the unexpected visit himself.” Jenny shoots me a glisten-eyed look. “He’s going to be so happy to see you.” My heartbeat picks up and I grit my teeth. God dammit, the more she talked about it, the more I remembered how his lips and hands would feel and the less angry I was getting. Fifteen minutes late, I sat impatiently with a glass of water in hand, hearing the car pull up in the driveway but too nervous to peak. My heart was racing 80 miles a minute because it’s been ten years of not knowing anything and now I knew everything and he was just on the other side of that wall. The doorbell rings and I try to keep my emotions in check as I get the courage to stand, letting Jenny answer the door. I could see his shadow in the hall as he kissed her on the cheek. “Hi, ma. How are you?” “Oh, I’m fine. More importantly than that, I think there’s something you’d like to know.” He chuckles and the heart going at full speed now screeched and crashed onto the highway. It wasn’t prepared for the sound. In person. “Yeah? What’s that? Did pops break his leg again?” “No. There’s somebody here to see you.” It’s silent and I have no way of knowing what his face looks like. The longer I waited, the more I longed to see it again and finally sear it into my brain the way I would when we’d lay across from each other and joke about getting divorced if we were to ever have a future together. It felt so far away ago. Jenny mumbles something I can’t hear before moving into the kitchen, leaving him standing alone just around the corner. Did he know what was waiting for him? Finally, I hear him exhale and I raise my head despite wanting to completely hide. His gaze met mine as I felt the space between us getting closer. Suddenly we were face to face and his eyes were vivid and wide. “Mars.” Fuck. He hadn’t called me that since our last night together. I was done for. My hands cup his stupid perfect face and I press my mouth against his angrily, letting go of all the pent up hatred I held for him like he had let me go. At least I thought he had. This whole time and he was still holding on. His arms wrap around my waist in a tight grip, and feel the firmness of his chest that somehow felt so much bigger. I hear a whimper as it gets stuck in my throat and John raises his hand to my cheek, running his thumb along my freckles and reminding me the whole reason I was here. I pull away abruptly, breathless and his lips trying to pull me back but I hide my head under his chin. “Why did you go away, you dumbass?” “I’m so sorry, Marty,” he whispers, his nose in my hair. “You didn’t deserve that.” “The hell I didn’t. You didn’t even say goodbye.” My voice grows thin and I wipe my eyes weakly. “You didn’t try to explain o-or tell me the truth.” “I was scared,” he mumbles as he winces. “I didn’t know if how I felt was for real. I only realized it when I still found you on my mind at night, years later.” I shove on his chest and pull away roughly. “I still deserved something even as a friend. I was fucking hurt.” He swallows roughly. “I know. I never thought I’d see you again. I thought if you ever did hear the song that you’d just hate me more and I’d have to go looking for you like I should have the first time.” He gives a soft crooked smile. “I never thought you’d be the one to wash up to shore.” My hearts melts and the little me starts dancing while tossing petals over my head. I could feel every part of me telling me to stay mad at him, but it was telling me to kiss him already, to give the lost love another chance.

“I’m sorry, Matilda Martin,” he murmurs, resting his forehead against mine. “I’m so sorry. Everything I regret is in that song. I just wanted to find you.” Sighing, I close my eyes and put his hands back on my waist. It’s all I ever thought about when the side of my bed felt empty and the moon was out. And now he was here again and despite all the time we missed out on, it felt like the start of something brand new, and it was stronger. “I love you,” I tell him, unfiltered and sincere. “I always have.” His brows draw together and he kisses me once more, carrying me over the clouds and above the water. “I love you. To Mars and back.”