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cleromancy · 10 months ago

Note

HI I WOULD LOVE TO SEE SNIPPETS OF THE EX CHILD STAR AU

thank you anon 🥰 sry it took me a few days to post this lol

cws: references to mental health problems and a previous suicide attempt, and lasting trauma from exploitation. uh, and past drug use.

If you had asked Dick twenty-four hours ago about his apartment, he would have said it was fine. Not too modest, not too ostentatious, not so public he has to worry about creeps but not as isolated as the villa. He's so glad they sold the villa. Nicest place he's ever lived, and if he'd stayed there one more day he'd have been peeling off the wallpaper muttering about ex-child stars trapped inside, creeping. Where he lives now is within walking distance from a friendly little corner store where he picks up cereal and almond milk and anything else he doesn't want to wait to get delivered, which is convenient, and a somewhat-longer-but-still-doable hike away from Dick's favorite store in L.A, a tiny little candy shop that only stays afloat out of sheer spite. The owner, a cantankerous old man that Dick loved immediately upon meeting, roasts Dick mercilessly every time Dick comes in, but he also keeps Dick's standing order of the tragically discontinued Triple Xtreme Face Pucker Nuclear Warheads in stock just for him, so Dick wouldn't buy them anywhere else even if he could.

And as long as you have that and a laundry room, you're golden. If Dick had to leave his apartment to wash his socks he'd just lie down and die, or else wear a lot of dirty clothes.

So normally if asked, Dick would conclude that the apartment is, actually, better than fine, maybe even pretty good, and then he would change the subject.

It's just hitting Dick now that he's lived here for seven years now and he doesn't think he's ever actually looked around. They hired somebody to move his stuff into storage while Dick was still in inpatient and somebody else to decorate the apartment so it would be livable right when he got out, before he got around to picking up his stuff (he keeps meaning to do that). Moving in, all Dick cared about was getting a burrito the size of his face and sleeping on sheets that didn't smell faintly of industrial bleach masked poorly by something artificial, vaguely floral, and marketed as *Mountain Breeze.* In the grey haze it hadn't occurred to him to wonder if maybe the decor was itself a little too grey.

"Or whatever color they call this," Dick says to himself, staring down an oversized decorative vase with a few sticks poking out that you'd think would be silk flowers or something, but instead have these fuzzy little puffballs attached for some reason. "Gray-beige? Taupe? Greige? Why do I even have you." He tilts it to one side. It's shockingly heavy. "Why do I have *six of you.*"

Looking down the hallway it's obvious that the interior design team had a vision, and that vision was "innoffensive, featureless neutrality." There are just enough wall hangings to qualify as "minimalist" over "austere," black and white photographs of bland still lifes in featureless frames. Some kind of hanging tapestry except it's solid white with hanging tassels. Grey-toned floor, lighter grey-toned floor runner. The end result sails right past "boring" into "escaped psych ward patient" territory. Which Dick resents. He did his time, thank you very much, and waited until his official discharge like a good boy. That's probably why he didn't notice until now, psych ward home away from psych ward home.

Yeah. Let's blame that. The fact that he spent his first year out of the hospital doing nothing but trying to beat his Tetris high score in his underwear and scouring the internet trying to find the tragically discontinued Triple Xtreme Face Pucker Nuclear Warheads had nothing to do with it.

"He's going to think I'm a serial killer," Dick realizes.

He's most of the way through Tetrising the unwieldy, surpringly heavy vases into the tiny cubicle the guest bathroom calls a shower—and he'd like to know whose idea *that* was when anyone with a lick of sense would have just made it a half-bath—when the buzzer for the lobby goes off.

"Crap," Dick mutters, taking half a step away from the tower, which wobbles ominously. He lunges to steady it. "Crap!"

He casts around for a surface and sets the last two vases on the toilet lid and the sink respectively, the stupid little Q-tip stick things rattling mockingly inside, then dashes out to tell the doorman that no, Roy's not a stalker, yes really, yes Dick wants you to let him up please, yes he is serious, yes he is sure. He has enough time to sprint back to the bathroom and make sure his hair is okay and confirm that at least he doesn't *look* as sweaty and disheveled as he *feels,* but thankfully not enough time to start worrying if he might be due early for another round of fillers or if his hairline might be receding or if the skin under his jaw might be sagging. He looks fine. Everything's fine.

When the doorbell rings, Dick has to pretend he doesn't know who's on the other side to get himself to finally open the door. His breath still catches when he sees him.

Roy, casual as ever, pushing a pair of Ray-Bans he told Dick he shoplifted as a teenager up his forehead. His crow's feet, because he stopped getting fillers at twenty-five, except *his* are laugh lines, not stress wrinkles, less those *Where Are They Now?* specials they used to do on VH1, more Paul Newman aging like fine wine. His crooked smile, and he doesn't whiten his teeth anymore either, teased Dick when he drove him for his root canal that he was destroying his enamel and then held his hand when they put him under. His scuffed bomber jacket, older than either of them, which sparked half a dozen anecdotes about an Uncle Hal when Dick brushed his fingers against a faded patch on the sleeve. His henley with three buttons undone, straining over the curve of his chest. His jeans tight around the thighs, a little threadbare in places after over a decade of wear. The whole of him, broad and easy in the doorway, unapologetically imperfect, smiling.

Dick just wants this to go well so *badly.* "Hi."

"Hi yourself," Roy says, shifting a little. "Can I come in?"

"Please."

Roy closes the door behind him, bending to unlace his boots. Dick's eyes catch for a second on the strain of his thighs against denim, and the nervous inane smalltalk on its way out of Dick's mouth dies on his lips.

Roy kicks the second boot off and straightens up, dusting his palms off on his thighs, which probably shouldn't make Dick's mouth fill with saliva the way it does. He's looking around the entryway, curious. "Nice place."

*Don't mention the vases.* "You think so? I keep meaning to update a little."

"Yeah, man, it's nice," Roy says easily, and he's lying but Dick can barely tell, which is kind of him. "You want to show me around?"

No, Dick does not want to show him around. No, he does not want to discover alongside Roy what other modern minimalist nightmares the interior design team saw fit to install in case Dick got too overstimulated by non-neutral colors and tried to kill himself again.

"I want to show you the media room," Dick says, which at least has the benefit of actually being true.

The "whoa" Roy lets out when they enter the media room is gratifying. It's most people's reaction when they see it. It's always gratifying.

"Is that a pinball machine?" Roy asks.

Dick grins. "You wanna play?"

"Hell yeah, just. Later. You have so much cool shit here, show me all of it—"

Maybe the other reason Dick barely knows what the rest of his apartment looks like is because this is where he spends most of his time. Freshly discharged from the hospital, Dick had scarfed down his face-sized burrito, faceplanted on the bed, slept like a log for about two days straight and woken up not entirely sure what year it was or why. He looked around the room, remembered it was his, flicked on the lamp on his bedside table and didn't like it any better in the light. It was the smooth plasticine decor that Dick's belatedly come to realize populated the entire apartment, featureless, meaningless, trying desperately to be mature by being entirely devoid of interest. *My bedroom pays taxes,* Dick remembers thinking. *My bedroom has a 401k.* He grabbed his meds from his bedside table and stuffed them in his sweatpants pocket before wrapping himself in the big gray down comforter and dragging it to what he supposed was the den, flopping on the couch and sleeping for another six hours, eventually waking with the cap of PRAZOSIN - 10MG - GRAYSON, RICHARD J digging into his hip.

Time was sort of soupy a lot of the time back before he got his ADHD diagnosis, because of the brain fog. For the longest time his psychiatrists kept adjusting his Wellbutrin dose pretending they thought that had a chance in hell of working while Dick sat listlessly in their offices, missing meth. It wasn't until later when Jason Todd of all people dragged him to a specialist (because "if I have it, you definitely have it" successfully nettled Dick into going just to prove him wrong, except of course it turned out the bastard was right) and Dick found a new psychiatrist who was halfway competent and put him on Adderall that he really felt at all present again. The psychiatrist he has now, who is from hell and who doesn't let him get away with lying and who is incredibly good at her job, was the one who told him how much meth and ADHD stimulants have in common chemically.

Dick sat very still. Then he pointed to the throw cushion on the couch. "Can I borrow that for just a sec?"

"Take as long as you need."

Dick grabbed the pillow, buried his face in it, and screamed at the top of his lungs.

But for a while, yeah. Time was soup Dick was mostly afloat in. He spent it floating here.

Now that Dick is looking for it, he notices the gray in the floor and the walls, the aggressive featurelessness of even the window frames, but he likes the rest of the room enough not to mind. At one point he'd been irrationally angry at the pile of mail he'd put off opening for over a month, and he'd been going through a minor fixation with auction websites at the time, and there was an old, probably busted Ms Pac Man arcade machine up for sale and for some reason Dick latched onto it. For some reason winning the auction of the stupid Ms Pac Man machine was very briefly the most important thing in the world. And he did win the auction, because nobody else wanted the janky old thing, and to Dick's shock and delight it actually *worked*, and suddenly he had a project.

At first he bought and fixed up old arcade fixtures, classic games and pinball machines mostly but he dabbled in anything; he'd even gotten his hands on an air hockey table once. Then he'd get bored or run out of space, sell a bunch of things or even give them away if he was too sick of looking at them, and before terribly long he drifted away from arcades specifically. That part he credits to a film projector he ran into at a flea market and fell in love with, which prompted him to spend possibly obscene amounts of money on the sound system and improving the acoustics. He fell in love with a lot of objects, those days, maybe because he wasn't talking to *people* much. Not people who knew him well, anyway. He was on first name terms with his favorite antique dealers, one of whom inexplicably set aside an old Gibson electric guitar he found, a gorgeous machine in a charmingly 60s shade of Robin's egg blue, because he said it reminded him of Dick. Either because he somehow knew Dick would love it, or else because he knew Dick was a sucker with way too much money.

It didn't matter. Dick *did* love it, and he *is* a sucker with way too much money, and he *did* go straight home to almost give himself tinnitus playing every three-chord classic he knew at a truly unwise volume.

(Dick even replaced the original couch in this room because he kept falling asleep on it and his physical therapist threatened to quit over the havoc he was wreaking on his back. He's still not thrilled that he doesn't really sleep in bed ever, but the new couch isn't threatening to do permanent damage to his spine. Win/win in Dick's book.)

So. Not a home arcade, not a home theater, not a home studio. Scavenged bits and salvaged pieces, nostalgia probably in excess, anchors in time. Whatever magic they put in the air at antique stores and estate sales and really good museum exhibits, Dick managed to bottle a breath of it and take it home with him. When he finally started letting people into his life again, the unabashed delight often on their faces, walking into this room full of outdated obsolete frivolous things, sharing it with them… it's good. It feels good.

"Does that ancient popcorn machine actually work?" Roy asks, bouncing on the balls of his feet, grinning.

Dick matches it. "Yeah, and it's gonna knock your socks off."

So Dick gets the popcorn going and shows Roy around and silently laments that there was no way he could get his hands on film reels of The Muppet Show. Roy was almost as much of a geek about some of these machines as Dick was, and Dick had made it his whole personality for a while.

"It's just that there are some antique collectors that really don't mess around," Dick explained to Donna the week before, twisting and untwisting his napkin in his hands. "And I'm a competitive guy but some of the markets are totally cutthroat, and film people and puppet people are both intense. So this was better."

"Yeah, *and* it'd be insane to drop that kind of money on a first date," said Jason through a mouthful of bacon cheeseburger, Mister *we're not brothers we just played them on TV.* Dick had invited Donna to lunch, Jason had loudly said he was too busy to come, Dick said he wasn't invited, and Jason's schedule suddenly cleared up, *viola,* miracles do happen.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," Dick told him.

"Die," Jason suggested pleasantly.

'Just played it on TV.' Sure.

"And it's not a date," Dick added belatedly, stomach swooping.

Jason had opened his mouth to probably say something horrible, as is his way, and instead let out a hilarious squeak, turning to Donna next to him in the booth with massive betrayed Bambi eyes.

She ignored him, continuing to pour Sweet-N-Low packets into her half-empty coffee as if she didn't just stomp on his foot under the table. She didn't really like coffee until it got to the consistency of artificially sweetened sludge. When they were young Donna was always on top of what was *in*, considering it part of her full-time job to appear effortlessly sophisticated; she skipped the teen-preteen fashion beat and shot straight to the big leagues by fifteen. They were putting the equivalent of a *sophomore in high school* on best dressed lists alongside grown-ass women. It should never have happened. No one should have *let* it happen. One time even before all that, Dick and Jason stole a box of Krispy Kreme donuts from catering and absconded to her trailer to share and she had a panic attack. Years later she described her youth as being in a room full of invisible mirrors at all times. Those days she wouldn't be caught dead with anything less chic than an espresso from whatever new *it* cafe just opened. And there she was, two decades later, blithely desecrating two-dollar-fifty diner coffee with enough aspartame to kill a cart horse in front of god and everyone. She was probably Dick's favorite person in the entire world, and he went into a little trance for a moment, watching her graceful hands with horrified fascination.

Finally satisfied, she took a sip of her monstrosity and hummed, satisfied with that which she hath wrought. "Wait and see," she suggested. "If it goes well, it can be a date."

"And everyone says *I'm* the crazy one," Jason griped, rubbing the prison stick-n-poke tattoo on one thumb with the other.

"Well, if everyone says it, it must be true," Donna said warmly, knocking her shoulder against Jason's.

#dc #roydick #dick and jason #dick and donna #ex child star au #dick grayson

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wardenparker · 2 years ago

Text

Starting Over - Chapter 12

Marcus Pike x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Recently arrived in Texas and only slightly removed from his divorce, Marcus finds himself smitten with the women at the housewares store that is helping him furnish his new Austin condo. It becomes a more complicated situation than he could have expected, but Marcus has never been one to shy away from a challenge when love is on the line. ✨This fic takes place *before* the events of The Mentalist.✨

Rating: Teen Word Count: 10.1k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this fic will include divorce, past abusive relationships, deceased mothers, father issues/family trauma, unplanned pregnancy.* Cursing and food mentions, unplanned pregnancy, pregnant reader, Marcus being shamelessly flirted with, *Lisbon Alert*, fluff everywhere, Summary: Everything’s coming up roses in the wake of Amanda’s departure from your lives, and a trip to the farm comes with a sweet surprise. Notes: We’ve finally caught up with the plot of the Mentalist in the very last chapter! Marcus deserved better than the way Teresa Lisbon treated him, and hopefully the epilogue will show that he’s gotten it. 💗✨🥰

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10 ~ Ch 11

“Pike!” Section Chief Russell is a generally upbeat man, or at least relatively upbeat for a lifetime member of the law enforcement occupation, and when Special Agent Marcus Pike walks into his office on Monday morning his expression is downright jovial. “Sit down, son. I’m glad to see you.”

“Sir.” Marcus nods respectfully, nervous even though he knows he’s innocent. The accusations have been withdrawn but it could still leave a mark on his service record. Sometimes people were nicest before they delivered a crushing blow.

“I’m sure you’ve had a hell of a week, so I won’t poke the bear, but is everything all right at home now?” Russell’s own office is probably not far off from what Pike’s will look like in thirty years: photos of his family set in frames given to him by his wife and pieces of art by his grandkids displayed with honor. If he’s honest, that’s probably where his soft spot for Marcus Pike comes from. The younger agent is like a glimpse into his own past. Although Pike might have more good sense about him, which is one of the reasons that this whole domestic violence nonsense had seemed to come from so far out in left field.

There’s a small sigh of relief, shifting in the fore-mentioned chair to get comfortable. “Yes sir, fortunately, after retracting her slanderous allegations, my soon to be ex-wife signed the divorce papers and there will be no mistakes by the lawyers this time.”

“Good.” Russell picks up his coffee mug, draining the last of his second morning cup. “The new Mrs. Pike is well? Baby’s good?” The full explanation of everything that was going on at home was something Pike had given privately when news of the pregnancy came down the pipe, and Russell had been a little gobsmacked but shrugged his shoulders. To each their own, he always says. And Pike had plenty of his own.

“Very good.” Marcus nods, unable to stop himself from giving a soft smile. Even though Andrew had stayed until this morning, the spare room was officially starting to look like a nursery. No traces of Amanda were left anywhere in sight.

“Good.” Leaning back in his chair, Russell surveys his young agent with an appraising eye, seeming to take one last look before he decides to go ahead and say what he planned on saying this morning. “I’m sorry you were out of the office for a few days, but a few people wanted to nose through your business, and I wanted to make sure that there wasn’t a drop of ink out of place while they did.” The older man’s face betrays a wider smile, and an unmistakable expression of pride. “You’ve been on a short list in Washington for a few months now, and as of this morning, you’re at the top of it.”

He knows the shock on his face is clear, eyes widening, as he takes in the older man’s words. He’s looked up to him as a mentor over the short time he’s been here. “Sir— I, thank you for the consideration.” He gushes slightly. “It’s an honor.”

“Marcus,” Russell chuckles, a little charmed by the earnestness on Pike’s face. “I haven’t even told you what the short list is for. It could be Archives for all you know.” Not that it ever would be. Pike has an excellent arrest record and a high conviction rate. He’s as good in court as he is on the street.

He flushes slightly, aware that he might have jumped the gun. “I would take it if that was what was offered.” He tells him honestly. “My fiancée would love nothing more than to move back to D.C. She attended college there and it’s where we are planning to get married there.”

“You would hate the Archives.” Russell’s amusement turns into a full laugh, and he nods as he leans forward in his chair again. “There’s a task force being assembled to have our Art Crimes division collaborate with Interpol and Scotland Yard. It would be a lot of desk work and a lot of travel. But?” He waves one hand as though indicating a world of possibilities. “Do well and it becomes a promotional fast track.”

Marcus’s brows raise and he nods, aware that it’s essentially being groomed for a Director role. “I understand.” He tells him. “A task force could revitalize the close of Art Crimes cases.”

“I’ve already put in my recommendation.” And he stands by it, using the time that Pike was out of the office on the outlandish domestic charges to pull up the young agent’s record and make sure everything is spotless. “I don’t know what role you might be offered, or how soon, but I’ll let you know as soon as I hear something.”

Understanding that he’s being dismissed, Marcus stands and holds his hand out to his boss. “Thank you for your guidance and leadership.” He tells him. “I have learned a great deal about being an agent from you during this time.”

“It’s been my pleasure.” Russell isn’t looking forward to losing his best agent, but he is proud to see Pike doing well and stands to shake his hand. “One more thing,” he remembers, wondering how this was a thing he forgot. “They’re doing a little renovation on our bullpen for the next week or two, so we’re sharing office downstairs. We’ll be using the conference room for interviews, so you can set up in there.”

“Yes sir.” Marcus nods and turns to walk out of the office, nearly floating on air he’s so excited. The idea of going back to D.C. had been a distant dream and he’s thrilled he can possibly make it a reality sooner than he ever believed possible.

******

The kitchenette downstairs is full to bursting, four other agents all bustling around making coffee and grabbing muffins including another member of his team. Isabel Cortez is making small talk with three women Marcus barely recognizes when he walks in. “Pike!” She calls his name, relieved to see him after a couple of days of no word from Russell’s office. “You came back to us!”

“I’m back!” He grins at her, always happy to see the cheerful agent. “What’s been going on?”

“We’ve got the interview for the gallery shooting in a half hour.” That’s not the good news, but it’s the work news, so Cortez makes sure she mentions it first. “And we have lovely new floor mates.” This is the good news, and she introduces the other agents easily. “Fisher, Wylie, and Lisbon. They have accepted our peace offering of muffins this morning, so now we’re all friends.”

“Nice to meet you.” Marcus smiles at each one. “Marcus Pike.”

“Nice to meet you.” The agent named Fisher puts her hand out to shake Marcus’s, and Lisbon gives him an extremely unsubtle once over before stepping forward to shake his hand as well. “I don’t recall having run into you before.” She says, offering him a small, flirtatious smile.

“I’ve been out of the office on personal business.” He offers, not elaborating on things beyond that. “But I’m here now.”

“You certainly are.”

“Ladies,” Cortez laughs, barely managing not to roll her eyes. “He’s engaged with a baby on the way, let’s let the man get back to work, huh?”

Marcus bites his lip to keep from chuckling at the disappointed expressions on their faces while the agent called Wylie looks oblivious. You would find that funny, although you will also tell him that they have every reason to be disappointed. “Speaking of working….” He glances around. “Where are we setting up?”

“Grab your coffee,” Cortez nods to the counter behind agents Fisher and Lisbon. “And I’ll show you the conference room.”

“Ladies. Gentleman.” Marcus nods and skirts around them to get to the coffee pot. He’s stopped making coffee at the house out of consideration for you.

“That’s a damn shame.” Lisbon mutters to her colleague on their way down the hall to the bullpen a few minutes later. “I’d climb that tree in a heartbeat.”

Fisher chuckles, agreeing with her. “He’s attractive and he seems nice.”

“You’re so polite about it.” Teresa laughs it off as they walk down the hall together, putting Agent Pike on the unattainable but fun to look at shelf in her mind and moving on.

******

Greater Rochester International Airport is just big enough to feel busy, but as you and Marcus step out into the sunlight of the parking lot of the car rental company to get into the little Ford Focus that you’ll be using for the weekend, it is abundantly obvious that the folks around here move at about the third of the pace of Austin. The twenty-year old snapping her bubble gum at your hands the keys to Marcus with a smile even though the reservation was under your name, and you roll your eyes in amusement as he hands them directly over to you. “It’s not too far,” you tell him as you climb behind the wheel. “Twenty-five minutes of country roads and we’ll be right as rain.” The visit to see your father is fast on the heels of Amanda’s departure from your lives and you honestly can’t remember the last time you felt so relaxed. The only worry is how your father will react to you already being pregnant, but since the ring is already on your finger you figure even a traditionalist like him will have to concede.

Marcus nods and shuffles the bags in his hand. “Are you happy or nervous to see your dad?” Marcus has his own reservations about meeting the man who he had both asked to marry him without getting permission and knocked up. Your father might have some strong feelings about it. “Hopefully he likes the gifts we’ve brought.”

“He’ll love them.” The collection of barbecue dry rubs and packets of various pickling spices that you and Marcus had put together will be right up his alley. You just wish you could have brought him a bottle of Texas whiskey as well. “I have to admit, I’m happy to be home for a couple of days. I know but the time we’re ready to leave I’ll be more than happy to retire from farm life again, but this will be nice.”

Laughing, he opens the trunk of the car and starts loading bags in. The two of you hadn’t traveled heavy, but there was plenty between you. “I’m interested in seeing home.”

“The cute little farmhouse that begot your cute little fiancée?” You joke, once he’s situated in the passenger seat beside you. “The best part of the whole place is my mother’s garden.”

“I take it your father cares for it religiously?” Marcus had a house plant once. It died a pitiful death, and he’s never tried again so he has no clue how to care for a garden.

"He does his best, and I check in on it whenever I'm home." You nod, turning over the rental car's engine and heading for the highway. "I always...I put out a vase of flowers every morning while I'm there. Like Mom used to."

“That’s good.” Marcus smiles and reaches over to rest his hand on your thigh. “I can’t wait to see that.”

The drive is quick, passing easily as you point out various landmarks or the sites of old memories to him along the way. Twenty-five minutes later exactly, you're pulling up in front of an old-fashioned farmhouse at the end of a long gravel driveway. Its white paint is chipped and worn but the shutters are the same warm red as the roof and door making the whole place look picturesque and inviting. "Home sweet home," you grin at Marcus when you park the car.

Marcus frowns at the two trucks in the yard. “Eric?” He asks, nodding towards them. “You said he still works for your dad?”

"Yeah." The bumper sticker of an angry red-and-blue-striped cartoon bee emblazoned with an M on its chest is faded but proud in the back window beside a sticker for the Buffalo Bills and one that reads Support Your Local Farmer in bold white lettering. "James Monroe High Redjackets." You explain, pointing out the first sticker. "I don't know who made that up but it's the weirdest fuckin' mascot."

“I’ve heard of Yellowjackets, but never a Redjacket.” He jokes, feeling a little nervous about meeting the dad and the ex in one go, but he owes you after the shit you put up with from Amanda. “I love you.” He murmurs suddenly, reaching for your hand to squeeze. “Your dad is going to love me by the end of this visit. I promise.”

"I have absolutely no doubts about that." And you don't, really. Your father may be a little bristly with new people but the only people he actually actively dislikes are the rude and ignorant. Marcus is neither of those things. Slipping your hand into his, you bring his knuckles up to your lips and dust a few kisses across them. "You ready to do this?"

“Of course.” Scoffing, Marcus shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly. “I’ve been in a standoff with a murderer, how hard can meeting your dad be?” He asks and then widens his eyes dramatically. “Shit, but I had a gun then.” He jokes.

"Yeaaah," you pat Marcus's leg with your other hand, smirking until it turns into an all-out laugh. "This time Dad has a gun, but you have the ultimate shield. You're giving him grandbabies."

“Very true.” Marcus concedes. “Plus…maybe the fact that I’m rich will help?” He is still getting used to that fact, the idea of using the trust fund, but it doesn’t bother him like it used to. He will use it to make sure that he gives you the best life possible. “Maybe I’ll buy him a tractor. Farmers love tractors.”

"I have a feeling that that factoid might piss off Eric more than it would help with my Dad." The two of you climb out of the car and you huff slightly, soothing your belly automatically with one hand as you straight up. "Just be yourself, baby. That's all you need to do and I promise everything will be fine."

“I just don’t want your relationship with him to suffer.” That’s what Marcus worries about the most. If his father-in-law didn’t care for him, he could live with that. He’s a grown man and knows sometimes people just don’t like each other. But the last thing he wants is to affect your relationship.

"I think you're worrying more than you need to." You try to reach for your own bag but get a dirty look from Marcus for the brazen audacity of thinking he would ever let you handle your own carryon. "Come on," you laugh, shaking your head at him. "We should be just in time for lunch."

“Okay.” Marcus makes sure the only bag you are holding is the one containing the gifts. That is fine. “You should be hungry. You haven’t eaten in two whole hours.”

"Har har har." Rolling your eyes at him as you climb the two steps to the porch, you stick out your tongue like the very mature adult that you are. "Go ahead and tease the pregnant lady about her snacking habits and then see if you get any tonight. I dare you."

“Wait.” Marcus comes to a dead stop. “You mean that’s on the table here?” He asks in wide eyed wonder. He had expected to be told hands off under your dad’s roof.

"I mean we should probably keep the volume down to be respectful, but yeah. I don't see why not." It's not like you and Eric hadn't lived technically in sin in this house for almost an entire year. There isn't any reason you can think of why you shouldn't be able to indulge with your fiancé over the weekend.

“Shit.” Marcus shakes his head. “I’m sorry baby. I know I’m starving.” He shoots you a grin and a wink.

"Well I can't have you starving for affection." You pull him close for a quick kiss - alright, two - before knocking loudly on the front door and barging directly inside. "Dad! We're home!"

Marcus follows you inside, shuffling bags and setting them out of the way as he hears footsteps coming from the kitchen. Wanting this to go as well as he possibly can, he turns towards the sounds and watches as your father moves into view.

“Sunny?” You hear him before you see him, your father’s deep voice ringing through the house easily, and grin when he strides through the kitchen doorway. “Well I’ll be damned girl, look at you.” He huffs, and anyone who didn’t know him would think he was annoyed. But that’s just how he sounds. “You look happy, Sunshine. Give your old man a hug.” It’s about the easiest request you can think of, even if your father is a full foot taller than you and it still makes you feel like a little kid to have to reach up to him in tip toes. At least, for now, you chose loose enough clothes that your belly isn’t immediately on display. He would have said something. “Dad,” you pull back from your father and turn to smile at your fiancé. “This is Marcus.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.” Marcus offers his hand, immediately taken in a very firm grip. Part of him thinks that it might be a test of strength but another part of him thinks that it’s just your father’s handshake. “She has been looking forward to this trip.”

“She doesn’t get home often enough.” Your father contends, surveying Marcus carefully before letting his hand go. “I guess I have you to thank for getting her back. Come on in, kids, we were just making lunch.”

Deciding that leaving the luggage in the entryway is the best course of action, Marcus follows you as you follow your father through the hall. Glancing at pictures on the wall that he will want to study when he has the chance. It’s obvious that they are pictures from when you are younger and he can’t wait to see them.

“Look at what the cat dragged in.” There is a younger man standing in the kitchen, tan and blonde with bright blue eyes and broad shoulders, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel. There is a pot of soup on the stove and a cutting board laden with the ingredients for grilled cheese on the counter behind him, as he is obviously ensconced in everyday life here. “Hi Eric.” You’ll be civil, friendly even, because if what your ex means to your father in terms of the family farm - but any feelings you had for this man beyond passing cordiality have long since dried up. “Um— Eric, this is Marcus. My fiancé.”

Eric's eyes widen slightly in surprise. He hadn't actually expected the fiancé to be real if he was honest with himself. Your father had said something about a man, but he hadn't thought it was as serious as you had said. Recovering, he wipes his hand on his jeans and holds his hand out to Marcus. "Eric. Ex-fiancé." He chuckles.

"Except this time there's a date and a venue that doesn't involve milking cows between the ceremony and reception." You mumble, shaking your head. "So what is it that you do, son?" Your father has gone to retrieve a pitcher of iced tea from the refrigerator and two more glasses. "Sunny here didn't give out too many details. Was it...law enforcement?"

Marcus lets go of Eric's hand and nods, shuffling slightly. "Yes sir, I'm with the FBI." He explains, wondering if they will be uncomfortable at the mention of federal law enforcement. Sometimes people are wary of any of the alphabet agencies.

"FBI?" Handing off two glasses of tea to you and Marcus, your father raises an eyebrow at you. "You really couldn't stand small-time anything, could you, Sunny?" "It was a coincidence," you take the glass easily, nudging Marcus toward the kitchen table so you're not all just standing around awkwardly. "He came into my store to buy furniture after he moved to the city, and I helped him pick some things out."

"She was a lifesaver." Marcus corrects with a small laugh. "Everything in my condo she helped pick out, beyond a few paintings."

"I'm kinda wishing I had talked you out of the leather sectional now that I'm living there," you joke, poking at Marcus a little as you sit down at the table. "I end up sticking to it whenever I fall asleep in the living room."

"We will be glad we can just wipe it off." He reminds you, smiling slightly at the upcoming mess and destruction of furniture that all kids seem to bring with them.

"She's a fairly tidy girl, I think you'll be alright." Eric is back to the business of making sandwiches, adding then one by one to a large pan. "No...uh..." Shaking your head, you reach over to thread your fingers through Marcus's and sit back in your chair. You definitely hadn't planned on doing this in front of Eric, but maybe it's worth it to get around what would otherwise be a gossip storm. "We have, uh...we have one more thing we wanted to announce. And then you can resume the interrogation."

Marcus squeezes your hand in reassurance. He had told you that he would tell your father, but you had insisted you wanted to be the one. “We are really excited.” He adds, wanting him to know that he is happy for the baby.

“More announcement than that you’re getting married?” Your father raises an eyebrow as he sets bowls of soup down at the table. “You kids running off to Vegas for this wedding or something? You can’t be in any kind of trouble with an FBI fiancé, right?” “Nobody’s in trouble, Dad.” You hang on to Marcus’s hand to steady yourself, but the fact is you’re so happy about everything finally going well that you know you’re beaming. “I’m pregnant.”

Marcus watches at Eric’s interested face falls -obviously not happy with the the news - turning to watch the cogs in your father’s head turn as his frown furrows his brow. Not the most enthusiastic response, but he knows it’s a surprise to him.

“But you said that you got engaged two weeks ago, Sunshine.” Watching your father put the pieces together is making your stomach flip - and it’s not the baby moving around that making you green around the gills. His frown is fully formed as he eyes your oversized shirt, and his gaze is disapproving where you were so sure he would be excited. “H-how…how far along are you?” “Twenty-two weeks. I’m due in December.” Gently smoothing one hand over your loose clothing reveals your noticeable bump, and the smile on your face is watery with happy tears. “We—we just found out last week. We’re having a boy.”

"I am fully aware that this is a shock and seemingly sudden." Marcus adds. "But I want to assure you that we have been nothing but thrilled to be preparing for the baby and expanding our family." He levels a look at your father - man to man. "I understand that you might be upset at me, and I deserve it. But I love your daughter and I want nothing more than to provide for and spoil her and our coming children."

“Sudden’s sort of an understatement.” Rubbing at the back of his neck, your father leans forward in his chair and surveys the pair of you carefully. “You know you don’t have to marry this man just because he gave you a baby, Sunny,” he reminds you slowly. “You can come home and I’ll take care of you and my grandson myself. Things ain’t like they used to be.” “Daddy.” It’s your turn to frown, but you understand that it’s coming from a place of care and concern even though it might not sound like it. “I love Marcus so much. I would have said yes to marrying him even without the baby, and we’re excited to be parents. We’re going to have a big family and bring your grandbabies up to visit as much as we possibly can. This is a good thing. All of it. I promise.”

This isn't going so hot. Marcus squirms, only comforted by the fact that this is what you want. "If she had chosen to not be with me, I still would have made sure that both your daughter and my child never wanted for anything." He promises, knowing that it would have broken his heart, but he would have done it.

That seems to mollify the older man slightly, and your father looks back at you with a slightly softened expression. “You’re happy?”

“Yes.”

“Excited?”

“Yes.”

“You love this man and you trust him?”

“More than anything.”

“Well shit.” One fist pounds the kitchen table exuberantly as your father leans back on his chair with a wide smile on his face. “I guess we’re having a party then.”

Thank God. Marcus blows out a silent breath of relief. Eric is still frowning, and he knows the man had hopes that you would come to your senses and come back home - to him. Marcus had just ruined that plan for him. He hates it for him, but you weren't going to ever give him that fantasy anyway.

“Barn party?” You grin at your father, knowing exactly what he’s thinking and he nods. “Mom used to throw barn parties with her friends.” Squeezing Marcus’s hand, you can give him sort of a quick outline of the kind of thing your father is talking about. “It kind of became town tradition. Anytime somebody has some good news they want to share, they call around and invite everybody over to eat and drink all night in whoever’s barn is hosting. We play music and the kids bring games. Everybody brings food. They’re a very casual way to have a lot of fun.”

A potluck in a barn." His brow raises, but he's not judging it. "I think that would be fun." He offers, smiling at you. I'll help in whatever way you need me to."

“You want to show him around town, Sunny?” Now that you’re father has decided that he accepts the situation, he’s all in - only regretting the fact that your mother isn’t here to celebrate with you, too. “I’ll make you a list of things to pick up for tonight and you can spread the word?” Of course he’ll make some calls as well and start setting up, but he needs to be at the farm to do the work in between chatting. “Congratulations.” Eric murmurs, not meaning it for a second as he puts the plate of sandwiches down in the middle of the table. “Jim, I’m gonna go and check on that bit of fencing in the east end of the pasture. I’ll meet you for the afternoon milking.”

Marcus frowns slightly at the man quickly walks to the door and opens it. Turning to you and sighing softly. He wonders if he should go talk to the man, or if it would make things even more difficult.

“Let him adjust.” You squeeze Marcus’s hand gently before turning to the food in front of you. The baby is basically keeping you in a constant of hunger lately and you’re not going to lie - your dad’s vegetable soup is comfort food. “He’s had a bomb dropped on him…I’ll go and talk to him before the party tonight.”

"Okay." Marcus doesn't like it, but there is nothing he can do. You and Eric have history and he respects that. "Your soup smells wonderful." He compliments your father. "She's been looking forward to some comfort food. The baby's been giving her a bit of a time with foods that don't agree with her."

“Her mother had a world of trouble.” It had been a part of her decision to only have one child, ultimately. That your mother’s pregnancy had been so difficult. “I swear by the time she was six months along there were only about five things she could eat without having trouble.”

“Oh good, so this is hereditary.” Despite rolling your eyes, you shoot Marcus a grin. Any difficulties you might be having are well worth it as long as the baby is healthy.

“As hereditary as your hair and eyes and smile.” Your father nods. He always liked to point out how much like your mother you look and since her passing it’s made you feel just a little bit closer to her memory. “So Marcus,” he doles out sandwiches and takes a sip of his tea. “What sort of work do you do for the FBI?”

Marcus sets the sandwich down and gives his full attention to his future father-in-law. “I work in Art Crimes.” He explains. “Stolen, copied or plagiarized famous works. Mainly working with museums to recover works from the black market.”

“So no drug dealers or gun runners or anything that’s going to make my daughter a young widow.” Jim nods his head. “Good. Not that I don’t have respect for those people, but my concern is for Sunny.”

“I won’t lie and tell you that there is no danger with my job.” Marcus tells him honestly. “But I will do everything in my power to come home to her everyday.” He promises. “And, while it’s a small consolation, if something happens to me, she will not be a bereft widow.” Before his father had left, he had the attorney’s draw up a will that would be iron clad and provided for you and any and all future Pike-ettes. Everything he had would go to you and there was no way anyone could contest it. Not even his father.

“Planning for the future important.” Jim nods solemnly, face momentarily drawn. “Everyday I had with her mother was precious. Lizzie was barely ever sick a day in her life besides being pregnant and getting cancer. You just…you never know what can happen.”

“I am very sorry that I never got a chance to meet her.” Marcus murmurs softly. “My own mother died when I was 17 from cancer and it was the hardest thing I’ve ever gone through in my life, I can’t imagine if it was the woman I love.” His hand grips yours tightly wanting to suddenly demand that you go to every doctor’s screening available without fail.

“And we’re not imagining that now.” Holding onto Marcus, you squeeze his hand back reassuringly. “I’m fine, the baby is fine, everybody is good and we’re not worried.” In fact, since Amanda left, the only dark spot in your days has really been work. Even your morning sickness is starting to let up a little.

He smiles, picking up your joined hands and kissing the back of it softly. “All I want.” He promises you, not worried about showing affection around your father. He won’t grope you in front of the man who had helped create you, but he wasn’t going to hide his feelings for you.

“So,” he smiles, glad to see a bit of natural affection between you. There should be, between spouses. “When’s the wedding?”

“October 11th.” You brighten at what is easily one of your two favourite topics of conversation. “It’s a Saturday, and a long weekend, and Marcus and I will make sure that you have your own room at the hotel for as long as you want to stay. I know you don’t like to be away from the farm for too long, but we’ll take care of everything. All you have to do is show up and walk me down the aisle.”

He knows you will be heartbroken if your father claims that he can’t leave. He hopes that he won’t, but he also wants to make sure it doesn’t happen. “If necessary, I’ll be happy to hire workers to make sure that everything is running smoothly while you are gone.” He offers.

“Eric can mind the place for a few days. He and Ginny can hold down the fort.” He looks to you with a tilt of his head. “Long as you don’t mind your cousin missing your wedding in favor of your old man being there?”

“Ginny? Seriously?” Though you sound incredulous, you do nod. “I didn’t think any of Aunt Corinne’s kids ever went in for the farm life. That’s great, though. I’m glad you have good hands to help out and not just the seasonal guys.” Soup spoon back in hand, you lend your bewildered fiancé a grin. “Aunt Corinne is my mom’s sister. She and Uncle Rob own a cheese shop in town, and I thought all of their kids worked there too, but I guess not.”

Marcus hums, intrigued by the idea of a cheese shop. “I can see not wanting to work for the family business.” He quips, thinking about himself.

Your father catches Marcus’s tone and looks over at him. “What business did you leave behind to fight crime, then?”

“My father runs a technology company.” He tells your dad nonchalantly, as if it’s not a big deal.

“Hmm.” Though he doesn’t know why, that wasn’t the answer Jim was expecting, so he just nods. “Not everybody’s cut out for the same things are their parents,” he acknowledges, pointing at you. “My girl did everything we asked of her, but she just wasn’t happy on the farm.”

“I completely understand.” Marcus nods, not going into why he didn’t want to follow in his father’s footsteps. “Running HP wasn’t my idea of a future. So I made my own path.”

The company name doesn’t register in your father’s mind, and he nods as he pushes his clean plate away on the table. “And the two of you together?” He asks instead. “You have a path together?”

“I think we do.” Marcus smiles and kisses your hand again. “I have told your Sunny that I will fully support anything she wishes to do, even if she would like to be a stay-at-home mom. Or become a powerhouse in the hospitality business.”

“Good.” When Jim nods this time, he pushes back from the table and picks up a notebook and pen from the sideboard nearby. A few moments of silence gives him a chance to jot a few things down, and after briefly reviewing the items he hands it over to you. “You kids head into town and pick up some supplies,” he tells you, digging into his back pocket for his wallet to get you a credit card which you immediately refuse to take. “Invite whoever you want while you’re in town, I’ll make a few phone calls myself. Tell ‘em 6:30.”

Marcus watches as your father kisses your cheek and then heads out the same door that Eric had left through. “Well that went okay, I think this means that he approves?” He asks, gesturing to the list of items to get for the barn party.

“I thought he’d be thrilled immediately and even I didn’t expect a party.” You haul yourself up from the table and give Marcus a kiss before you start to gather empty plates and glasses from the table. “Want to help me load the dishwasher before we go? Downtown isn’t big but I’ll get to show you all my old haunts.”

“Baby, you sit down.” He huffs. “You can point to where things go.” He knows you can do things for yourself, but he also knows you might get a little sick after eating so he wants you to let your food settle.

With Marcus following your direction, the kitchen is quickly cleaned up and you’re grabbing your purse from the entryway where you left it before you head back out to the rental car. “So, is it as quaint as you were expecting, so far?”

“I think that it’s charming.” Marcus looks over at you and grins. “I can see our kids running around out here.”

“Soon enough.” One hand on your belly makes you hum and return his smile. “First stop is Aunt Corinne and Uncle Rob’s shop. She’ll riot if she’s not the first to know about the party.”

“I can understand that.” Marcus grins at you and reaches over to cover your hand with his. “Family needs to be told first. And I’m curious about this cheese shop.”

******

“You looked at me like I was crazy when I went off on cheese knives and graters the day we met, but I come by it honestly.” The drive into town isn’t too bad, just average country roads that you’ve seen a million times but Marcus can’t enough of. The hand-painted East Rochester Cheese Co. sign above the retro-looking shop front on the corner of Main and Elm is an East Rochester institution since Uncle Rob’s father opened the place in the early 60s. Now they proudly sell cheeses made on your family’s dairy farm from freshly milked cows that get pampered more than any pageant queen. Aunt Corinne works the front counter while Uncle Rob handles the deliveries and stock, and puts his accounting degree to work on the books, and their sons do every job in between. It’s a full family operation, right down to your cousin’s kids colouring at a table in the corner when you walk in.

“Wow.” Marcus whispers as he walks into what he can only describe as a cheese haven. Every kind of tool and cheese board is stocked on the shelves and there are cheeses he’s never even heard of written on a board as a specialty.

“Saying the cheese course of our wedding dinner will be the most important plate was not an exaggeration.” Being back in such a familiar space with Marcus by your side is so relaxing that you actually sigh happily, right before a screech of “Sunny!” goes up from the doorway behind the counter and the blur of a short woman all in blue and white bolts out from around the counter to squeeze you in a crushing hug. “Careful!” You laugh, prying your aunt off you. “You can’t squeeze as hard as you want to right now.” With a grin at Marcus, you add: “Baby on board.”

To say that Corinne’s mouth drops open would be an understatement. Pulling back quickly and glancing from your stomach to your face and then finally over at Marcus. “Oh my God, what did your father say?” She breathes out in shock.

“He said ‘party at 6:30’.” You grin, reaching for Marcus’s hand. “Aunty, this is my fiancé, Marcus.”

"Fiancé." She hums in approval, looking Marcus up and down and the small grin grows wider. "You landed yourself a good looking man, Sunny." She tells you with glee. "You look natural together, unlike the last one you were with." She's not certain if you've told Marcus who you were with and she won't try to rock the boat by speaking out of turn.

“Aunt Corinne was never a fan of Eric’s.” You explain, offering Marcus a shrug that barely contains an accompanying smirk. “Clearly.”

She huffs and rolls her eyes. "Yeah and I hope to hell he doesn't turn his eyes on Ginny."

“Just because he wasn’t right for me doesn’t mean he can’t be right for someone else.” Pulling your father’s list from your purse gives you a little bit of focus and you squeeze Marcus’s hand again reassuringly. “We wanted to tell dad about the baby in person, and it was a good excuse to show Marcus where I grew up.”

“Of course.” She smiles at Marcus. “He should know where you get your crazy from.” She winks with her joke and looks over the list. “I’ll bring the cheese board of course.” She insists. “No need to put in an order. We will make sure it’s spectacular. A welcome to the family thing.”

“Can I talk you into putting an extra block of dill Havarti in with whatever you bring over?” You’re practically salivating looking through the case and Marcus grins at your enthusiasm. “It’s Marcus’s favourite and the baby is very into herbs.”

“I was actually thinking about bringing a fondue fountain.” Corinne shoots you a grin. “I have a new model I want to test out. How does that in dill Havarti sound?”

You nearly groan, realizing you’re salivating at the thought only a second later. “You’re a genius, aunty,” you promise her, with all the sincerity you can possibly muster.

“Anything for my favorite niece.” She gives you another wink, not mentioning that you are her only niece, and her eyes slide down to your stomach again. “How far along are you, hun?”

“Twenty-two weeks. Due in December.” With Marcus beside you at the counter, you’re suddenly wishing you had blocked out an entire day of this trip just to sit and eat cheese and see your family. It’s so much nicer to visit when there’s something happy to celebrate and right now you have double the happiness. “I’m just hoping he’s not late, so he doesn’t lose his birthday to the holiday season, ya know?”

"I'm sure you would never let that happen, even if he was a holiday baby." She doesn't miss the reference to it being a boy and she's practically shaking in giddy happiness. "You let me know what you are doing for a baby shower and I'll either be there or we will throw you one here."

“We’re not planning on doing anything big.” Having talked it over, you and Marcus had decided that getting everyone together for the wedding was more important than trying to do an additional shower, especially with that being busy time for you at work and everything. “But the wedding is going to be in October, and that’s really what’s more important to us.”

“You’re going to be a beautiful bride.” Corinne suddenly gets a little watery eyed and leans in for another hug. “I wish your mother could have seen it. Happy looks good on you.”

“Thanks, aunty.” You squeeze her shoulders tight, appreciating how easy it is for your family to see that you truly are happy. The ease with which they’re accepting Marcus makes everything more exciting on a level you hadn’t anticipated. “I’m, um…I’m going to wear her jewelry in the day. There are a few things in my jewelry box that were hers and I thought it would be a nice way to have her there.”

“I have her veil.” Corinne announces. “She - it had a small rip in it, from when you used to play with it as a little girl. Then she got sick and it became unimportant.” Her sigh is heavy and laced with the sorrow of a sister who had lost her best friend. “But I did fix it and packed it away for you. If you want it.”

“Hmm.” Your lips twist and you raise an eyebrow at your aunt in amusement. “Weird how that offer never happened when I was engaged to Eric.” Even Marcus has to laugh at that, although he politely stifles his while you and Aunt Corinne have an all-out giggle. “I would love that, aunty. Thank you. Any way we can have our mothers with us, we want to. That is, um…Marcus lost his mother as well. Younger than I did. So we’re trying to find ways to carry them with us that day.”

“I’m so sorry.” Corinne turns to Marcus and reaches out to hug him fiercely. “I know that there is nothing I can say, but I am sorry.”

“Aunty, we should get going on this list.” More hugs all around, and you reach for Marcus’s hand again. “We’ll see you tonight?”

“Of course.” She laughs and shakes her head. “I don’t want an angry pregnant lady because I didn’t bring the fondue.”

******

Nothing is forgotten that night, and it seems like the entire town has turned up to meet the man who managed to tie down the wandering farmer’s daughter and see if the rumoured baby bump is for real. Gossip spreads fast in small towns and everybody on Main Street today caught at least a glimpse of you and Marcus walking hand in hand between stores. The barn has overflowed out into the nearest pasture and every table has been piled up with food and drink. A few people came with gifts or morsels of long-standing family advice, and your cousins even showed up with sound equipment to be able to play music that’s far better than what happens when Stuart and Eddie from the hardware store have one too many and decide to reminisce about their high school band. Citronella torches keep the bugs at bay and the kids have been playing games for hours while their parents and older siblings dance and eat. It’s…well, it’s the most perfect engagement party you could ever ask for.

“Wow.” Marcus can’t believe this is the same barn he had walked into hours ago. “They manage to put together a party quickly.”

“It helps when everybody is allowed to pitch in,” you tease, seeing as Marcus hadn’t wanted you to overdue anything and wanted you to take it easy during setup. You had compromised by staying just in the barn while he brought you everything that needed to be set up on the tables.

“This is what you wanted.” He realizes this now that he sees how much you love it. You hadn’t wanted to be married here, but you wanted this. Your community celebrating your happiness.

“I feel like we’ve been haunted for months.” It’s silly to admit, and probably sounds stupid to have it said out loud, but as you sway with Marcus on the makeshift dance floor it makes perfect sense. “We can finally breathe. Breathe and laugh and be excited about the future without having to look over our shoulders. And that is cause for celebration.”

“Yes it is.” Marcus decides that right now is the perfect moment to tell you. “The lawyers called while you were in the house peeing.” He grins at the fact that you go to the bathroom every twenty minutes like clockwork now and strokes your back to soothe you when you tense up at the mention of the lawyers. “The court date has been moved up to next week. So the divorce will be final sooner than we hoped.”

“Oh, thank god.” The sigh that escapes you is audible, like air leaving a balloon. “It’ll all be over…”

“I know.” His lips brush over your cheek and find your lips. “I can’t wait to marry you.” He promises.

"It feels like it's taken forever to get here even though it's only been a few months." You don't let him get far, stealing another kiss before he straightens his back again. "Bet you weren't expecting to be married again and be a father within a year of moving to Texas."

“Not at all.” He shakes his head and gives you a smile while reaching up to cup your cheek. “I came to Texas believing I was starting over.” He murmurs softly. “But what I really did was find the life I am supposed to have, the woman I’m to spend the rest of my life with.”

"I love you, Marcus Pike." Turning your head ever so slightly lets you kiss his palm, and you smile again the warmth of his skin. "And I can't wait to spend the rest of my life with you."

******

You may have gone a little overboard. A lot overboard. In the weeks since Amanda had invaded your workplace, even Marcus’s reinstatement, the trip to the farm, and the divorce and haven’t been able to smooth over the cracks in the rose-tinted glow of how you used to look at your job. Maybe it’s your second trimester talking, but long days standing on cement floors getting yelled at by entitled people who no sense of humanity or manners just isn’t something you can take anymore. It used to be something you took with a grain of salt, but the fact is – you never intended to be in retail for the rest of your life, and working for a corporation that gives you no room to accommodate or stand up to customers as the situation calls for it has finally run its toll on you.

Which is why, as you hustle around the kitchen at the end of Marcus’s workday, the entire place smells like Thanksgiving. It’s Marcus’s favourite meal in the whole world and since you’re basically going to tell him tonight that you want to quit your job, you thought he deserved his favourite foods. Hopefully you won’t be unemployed for long, but for now? For now, this is sort of your peace offering for telling him you might be a housewife for a while.

Marcus pulls up at the house, grinning to himself when he sees your car. Reaching over into the passenger seat to pick up the flower bouquet he had stopped to pick up on the way home from work. “Babe...” Marcus groans when he opens the door and smells the mouthwatering scent of dinner. “I’m home and it smells delicious in here.” He drops his keys on the table in the entry way and shuts the door behind him.

“Turkey, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, cornbread and sausage stuffing, green bean casserole, and Brussels sprouts with bacon and pearl onions.” When you pop out from around the corner wearing an apron over your oversized t-shirt and leggings, you offer him a proud smile. “Everything is homemade except the apple pie. I suck at baking pies.”

“You didn’t have to do that.” Marcus protests because he feels like he should, not because he’s not appreciative. “But I am going to make sure that I rub your feet tonight longer than normal.” He walks over and drops a kiss on your lips before he offers you the flowers. “These are for you.”

“I wanted to. And they’re beautiful,” you hum, barely letting him pull away before you’re stealing another kiss. “What’s the occasion?” There are decorative vases in certain favourite spots in the house, but only recently have you actually been able to put flowers in them. You never did before for certainty that Amanda would destroy any buds outside your bedroom.

“Well, we closed our case today and I also have some other news that we need to celebrate.” Marcus murmurs, not wanting to give it away too quickly. “We can talk about it during dinner.”

“Everything’s pretty much ready, I just have to get the sprouts out of the pan.” Nodding toward the kitchen, Marcus followers you and – as you expected – immediately starts bringing things to the table. “We’re going to be eating leftovers for days, but I didn’t think you would mind.”

“My favorite kind of meal.” He loves when you can make enough to have leftovers for a few days. Some of them had made him extremely popular in the break room when he heats them up.

“There might be more of it to come soon.” There’s just no way to know, and you hope that he really meant those times when he assured you that he wouldn’t mind if you wanted to stay home with the kids.

“That sounds great, babe.” He murmurs, reaching into the fridges to grab the bottle of sparkling water so he can mix it with the raspberry lemonade. “But don’t overwork yourself.”

“I won’t.” That, you can promise him. In just a minute more you’ve fully loaded the dining room table with the traditional feast and you’re handing Marcus a plate to load up while you pour drinks. “So. Case closed?”

“Case closed.” Marcus shakes his head. “Jane was right, as much as I hate to admit it.” He hadn’t particularly cared for the consultant, even though everyone had sung his praises. He seemed like he would be a good con man - which he apparently was for years.

“Do you have to work with them again?” You don’t so much mind that apparently some of the female agents thought Marcus was attractive – because obviously you agree – but you know he didn’t care much for their consultant.

“I can tell you with certainty that I’ve worked my only case with them.” Marcus hums happily, a little pleased smirk on his face.

“Is your floor done already? That was fast.” It’s only been a bit over two weeks – you expected it to take a lot longer than that with how long he says the government contractors always take. “That’s exciting. You get your desk back.”

“Actually….” Reaching over, Marcus takes your hand. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

“You look excited.” Carefully putting down your fork, you reach over and close your other hand over his. “Did you get something big? I mean I’m not hoping somebody got hurt or anything, but you’ve had a couple of long cases. Did you get a break in something?”

“I found out today that I’ve been selected to lead a task force that will work with Interpol and Scotland Yard on Art Crimes.” Marcus tells you. “In D.C.”

“No!!” Squeezing his hand in excitement, you’re practically propelled out of your chair and throwing your arms around him, babbling incessantly in between kisses to his cheeks and lips. “Baby, that’s— that’s amazing! That’s huge, and it’s so fast! I’m so, so so proud of you, Marcus. You work so hard, baby.”

He soaks up your affection like a sponge, happy that this has happened. Kissing you back and caressing the now very obvious baby belly that has grown over the past few months. “The only thing is…they need me there in a month. Five weeks at most.” He sighs and looks up at you. “If you want to take your time, I can go out there ahead of you.”

“No way in hell.” The proud tears in your eyes are threatening to spill over, and you sniffle them back with one more kiss before pulling back a little to look him in the eyes. “Work never got better even after the Wicked Witch left, honey. I’m still dreading every shift and coming home in tears, and it’s not because of the hormones. I— um, honestly? I was going to talk to you about wanting to give notice. I want to get back into hotels. So…this is actually perfect timing for a move.”

“Quit.” Marcus tells you immediately. “Give notice, walk out, whatever you need to do baby.” He reaches out to take your hand. “You know I will support whatever you want to do however I can.”

“I have the perfect excuse without needing to get into things now.” More than anything, you had dreaded knowing you would feel compelled to explain yourself. To give a reason why you no longer enjoyed your job. “But my amazing fiancé getting a huge promotion is all the reason in the world. I’m so proud of you, baby. Your own task force? That’s enormous.”

“I know.” He blows out a breath and looks nervous for the first time since he’s been given the news. “It will be a lot of work, especially at the beginning.”

“And you’re going to be incredible.” You have nothing but the utmost faith in him and you know it’s well founded. “I’ll tell them two weeks when I go in tomorrow and then we can be in DC as soon as you need.” The idea of that far-off, theoretical DC move suddenly being imminent is nothing but exciting for you.

“I’ll need to call my father so he can give the tenants notice.” Marcus tells you, before he gives a grin. “He showed me the house. You’re going to love it.”

“What’s it like?” So far all you knew was that it was a Victorian, but past that it could be absolutely anything.

“Dad sent me a link.” He pulls out his phone. “Apparently the trust has a page dedicated to the contents of the trust. They updated photos after doing some minor repairs.”

You scoot your chair closer to his at the table as Marcus punches in a password, so the two of you can look together. “Oh wow…” As soon as you look at the view from the front gate, it’s like it was built just for the two of you. The all-brick construction was probably intended to keep the house cooler in DC’s warm weather, but now it combines with the shoulder-height wrought iron gate surrounding the property to create an impressive historical facade. The garden seems to extend all the way around the sides, too, and includes a few fruit trees from the look of it. But it’s the dogwoods framing the entrance to the driveway that you really love. “I don’t even care what the inside looks like,” you joke as Marcus scrolls through the pictures. “It’s gorgeous.”

“I don’t think my father has ever owned an ugly house.” He admits, remembering how nice his house with his mom had been. He had wondered for years why he had obviously spent so much money, but had always written it off as guilt. “It will be modernized as much as design will allow too.”

“Holy crap, it has six bedrooms?” Glancing through the facts listed alongside the photos, you see a construction date of 1893, six beds, eight baths, and that central air was somehow installed in the historical home in the time since that became possible. “If it has a library I’m going to cry,” you tell him, starting in on your dinner with a laugh.

“Baby….” Marcus shakes his head and looks at you in delightful exasperation. “There’s a study – which is basically a library.” He flicks his thumb and takes the photos to the large study with build in bookshelves.

“If you ever can’t find me,” you look him in the eye very seriously. “I am either in the garden, or in my library. Goddamn, it’s sexy just saying it.”

“We will have to get very comfortable lounge chairs for you to curl up in.” Marcus muses with a grin. “And make sure we’ve got plenty of books to read on those rainy or snowy days.”

“I hope the fireplace is functional.” The ornate fireplace built into one wall of the study just cries out for a snowy day family cuddle pile featuring all four Pike-ettes. “Six bedrooms means each of the kids has their own room and we still have a guest room for when one of their grandfathers comes to visit.”

“That works even better than I ever could have imagined.” Marcus admits, knowing housing prices are outrageous for larger homes. He had anticipated children sharing a room at the least.

“We got lucky.” And you know exactly who to thank for it, considering Andrew explicitly put his childhood home aside for Marcus years ago. “I just hope the tenants that are there now are really okay with us moving in. I know Andrew said they had been looking for someplace smaller now that their kids are moved out, but this is short notice.”

“If they need longer, we can always stay in a hotel until they are ready.” Marcus smirks at you. “I don’t mind having you pampered for a little bit with room service and maybe spa treatments.”

“I guess we won’t have to worry about flying to DC for anything before the wedding.” Dinner is great, but now everything is great along with it and you feel like you’re buzzing in your seat. “But I think we should scale back the honeymoon. I doubt you’ll be able to get two whole weeks off with a brand-new task force.”

Marcus shakes his head. “I’ve already been assured that all my leave that already has been approved is rolling over.” He assures you. “I asked when I was told.”

“Well damn.” The smile on your face couldn’t possibly get any bigger, or it would just split you in two. “Got any other good news for me, while you’re at it? Did you go out and get a puppy on the way home and you’re just hiding it in your jacket?”

“No, I thought we would pick out a puppy when we get to D.C.” Marcus winks at you. “After the honeymoon so we don’t give the pup separation anxiety.”

“I’m never going to sleep again.” And yet? That doesn’t sound bad at all. Not when it comes on the heels of a happy family and a brand-new life that’s everything you ever wanted.

______

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