#to my child instead of staring at my phone all day and delegating the task to my adolescent nephews/nieces and my mom and her gf

[diobrando]

My mom said my sister in law is going to let us take Dominic out on our own for the first time next Saturday like lmao don't get your hopes up theyre gonna renege on that promise

[teacup-set]

Giants

Summary: 'Thank you for the recipe', her note says, but what she really means is 'thank you for raising me, thank you for making me who I am.' She knows mama will know what she means, she always does. [SSS family]

Read on: AO3, FFN

x

The sun is low on the horizon and the sky looks like it's on fire. The contrast of the world has shifted, and the aged rust-orange of the hokage tower looks burning red like its early days. The villagers often joke that the sun burns brighter these days because there is a flame-fanning uchiwa in the hokage office, that the will-of-fire that was once a flickering flame is now a ferocious katon. 

In her office chamber, Sarada feels much more muted, heaving under the weight of the faith people put in her. This had always been her dream and she harbored no disillusion about how difficult it is to be hokage. And yet, she is crumbling. The kage summit that she is organizing looms on the horizon, and every half hour there seems to be a new logistical difficulty without fail. Just the administrative nightmare that is hosting the world's most powerful dignitaries in an event that is without a doubt a beacon for those with ill-intent has eaten up all her time. She hasn't even gotten to thinking about the delicate issues and negotiations she has to raise at the summit. She is overwhelmed, but people depend on her so she can't let it show. Part of her wants to run to her parents home, because there she is still a child, free from the weight of the world on her shoulders. There is no time for that though. Her parents, along with the Uzumakis, moved out from Konoha some years ago, choosing to spend their retirement away from the shinobi world in a rural part of Fire country. It would take too long to make the trip, and there is still much to do for the summit. 

Sarada eyes the phone on her desk. 'I could call, I suppose.'

Without thinking about it too much, she dials the number. By the second ring, she remembers to cough and clear her throat lest her voice gives away her frustration. By the fourth, her mother picks up. 

"Hello?" 

"Hi, mama!" says Sarada, forcing cheer into her voice. 

"Sarada! How are you sweetie?" Sakura chimes. Already, Sarada feels lighter. 

"I am good, mama. How are you and papa?" asks Sarada, resting her chin on her palm. 

"We are both well sweetheart, though you and the others should drop by once in a while," her mother's voice becomes fainter as she speaks, like she is turning away from the mouthpiece, "Otherwise your father and uncle Naruto will keep trying to fill the void by acting like children themselves." and Sarada imagines her mother is eyeing some mess they have made in the background. She laughs. 

"Okay, okay, I will try to make a trip soon." she concedes. The line is silent for a second. 

"Sarada, is everything okay?" Sakura asks, and immediately Sarada wants to kick herself for thinking she could ever fool her mother. Both her and her papa agree, they could give the whole world the slip, but mama knows them by heart. 

"Yeah, of course." Sarada attempts, and from the silence from the other end she knows she has failed. "It's nothing, mama. Just stressed. The hokage summit is next week and Konoha is hosting." she admits in defeat. 

"Oh darling, that's a lot of work. Are you holding up okay?" 

Sarada wants to refrain from worrying her mother, but it is a chance to finally vent out all that she has been holding in and she is verging on desperate so she bites. 

"I...don't know mama. There is a lot to do." she starts, "I am still trying to take care of all the security measures. There is tension between Kumo and Hoshi, and they will not allow the Raikage delegation to cross into the land of fire." 

"Iwa and Oto have also been bickering. I really hope they will behave at the summit, otherwise I don't know how I'll handle them." she sighs and continues as Sakura patiently listens, "Even beyond the kage summit there is more to do. There have been a few bad harvests near the south east border, and sending provisions from the center's stock takes too long. Most of it rots by the time it gets there. The Fire Daimyo asked the Daimyo of Tea country to help since they are closer, but they refuse. Apparently we have 'a history of not interfering in each other's affairs' and that's how they want to keep it. Can you believe that?" she huffs angrily. 

"Sarada, is this line secure?" Sakura asks, her voice level. 

"Uh, yeah. I am calling from my office." Sarada replies, taken aback by her mother's sudden question. 

"Okay." Sakura begins, "The daimyo is wrong. Fire country and Tea country don't interact because of Tea country's reluctance to interact with nations that have shinobi villages. But during the time Lord Second was Hokage, Tea was experiencing tensions with Sea Country. Something to do with ships from Sea Country intercepting the cargo from Tea, I think? Anyway, they had requested help from Fire country then." 

Sarada sits up straighter, listening attentively. 

"They requested the Leaf to assassinate one of the people involved. They happened to be a higher-up in Sea country's government, and if the responsible party was discovered it would have caused a scandal." Sakura explained, "An ANBU unit was dispatched to take care of it, without any official mission report or paper transaction to make sure it would not be traced. But just in case they were discovered, to ensure that the Leaf would not be held responsible as the perpetrator, the Second kept a signed declaration from the Tea Daimyo sealed away. You should be able to find it in Lord Second's section of the records room. Not only is it proof that Fire and Tea have been involved in each other's affairs, this is information that Tea would very much like to avoid from entering the public domain. It might help you make your case, though I can't imagine how wicked someone would have to be to refuse to feed the hungry." Sakura finishes, sounding angered. 

Sarada is stunned. After quickly jotting down a note to check the records room, she pauses. Then slowly realization dawns. To her, mama is mama. Mama who braids her hair, always overcooks the fish, and doesn't believe in separating laundry by colours. But mama is also Uchiha Sakura. She was trained by two hokage, and was also on the same team as one (-and a half). For the longest time, she was also the director of the hospital and one of Konoha's most prestigious diplomats. There is perhaps no one in the village who has been in and out of the hokage building more than mama has. Of course she would know. Mama always has the answers, after all. 

"I...thank you, mama." Sarada stumbles, still basking in the awe of her belated realization. 

"Shh, sweetheart, don't thank me." from behind her, Sarada hears movement in the background, and then her papa's voice- 

"Who is it?" Sasuke inquires, asking Sakura. 

"It's Sarada, my love." Sarada blushes slightly, still embarrassed by her parents' affections towards each other, as she listens to her mother catch her father up on their conversation. In the next instant, her papa is on the phone. 

"Sarada. There is an alternate route from Kumo to Konoha through a set of islands near Whirlpool. I am sending you a map, await my hawk." her father's steady, reassuring voice carries through the phone. 

Once again, Sarada has to reckon with who her parents really are. Her memories of her father revolve around eating breakfast in the early mornings, packing lunches for mama, and throwing Kunai in the afternoons. But her father has traveled the whole world, and not just this one. He has inherited knowledge from the founder of the shinobi world itself. There is so much in this world that only he knows. 

"I will, papa, thank you." Sarada says, in a daze. 

"Hn." her father replies, satisfied, and then her parents have swapped the phone again. 

"Sweetie, is there anything else we can do?" worry rings in her mother's voice. 

The laundry list of tasks she has to complete is still infinite, but suddenly Sarada's heart is inflated again. She is ready. 

"No, mama, I can handle the rest." she says with confidence. 

She hears the smile in her mama's voice. "Of course you can, love." 

"You're doing a much better job than the idiot." Her father mutters in the background. 

Sarada gazes at her reflection in the window of her office. Staring back at her are her father's eyes, and the purple diamond on her forehead passed down from her mother. Her eyes trail to the hokage regalia hanging next to the door, but instead of feeling daunted, she is reminded of her earliest memory of them. The same cloak and hat, hanging on the back of a dining chair in her childhood home, first when Lord Sixth would come over for dinner, and then Lord Seventh. The same cloak that would hang between her father's dark one and her mother's lab coat, the same place it still belongs. It dawns on her simply. She was born to giants. She was raised by giants. And she is a giant too. 

Her reverie is broken by her mother's voice carrying through the phone. 

"Sarada, have you eaten dinner?" 

Suddenly Sarada wants to burst out laughing. Only her mother could go from delicate, high-risk politics to dinner without a pause. 

"No mama, not yet." she answers, smiling. 

"Sarada!" her mother exclaims, and her father clucks his tongue in disapproval. 

"You must eat, Sarada." her father's stern voice reminds her, and Sarada feels her heart soar. Some things are still simple, and for that she is grateful. 

"Oh, Sarada! Your father and I tried a new silken tofu recipe! You will like it, I am sure. I will send it with your father's hawk!" her mother gushes, then turns to her father, "Darling, do you think we could send some of the cucumbers we harvested, too? They will pair well." 

Her father grunts in approval and already Sarada can hear him walking away, no doubt to ready his bird. 

"We won't keep you anymore sweetie, you have work to do. Just make sure you eat!" her mother chides. 

Sarada wants to tell her, 'You aren't keeping me from anything. I will make time for you always. I love you with all my heart.' Instead she says- 

"Okay, mama. I will see you both soon." because she will, and then she will tell them. 

"Alright then. Bye sweetheart." Sarada savors the cadence of her mother's voice and then the phone disconnects, leaving her in the silence of her office. 

Outside the sun has set, but Sarada's heart is ablaze anew.

x

The hokage summit is completed, treaties are negotiated, the famine is tackled, and just as it always has been, new problems swiftly replace the old ones. Sarada is unflinching, she knows she will solve them, just as she always has. 

She finishes tying an envelope to the messenger hawk she is sending her parents’ way. Inside is a photograph of the silken tofu she made, and a note. 

'Thank you for the recipe', it says, but what she really means is 'thank you for raising me, thank you for making me who I am.' She knows mama will know what she means, she always does.

Fin.

AN: Inspired by the poem “My mother texts me instructions to cook silken tofu” by Sue Zhao, and my general dislike of being grown up. 

[thaonos]

clear the slate and start over

book: foreign affairs

part: 1 of ?

word count: 3372

As the jet flew above the renown Vancross Institute, Joey couldn't help but contemplate the implications of her arrival. Her brain racked over the countless possibilities her new life could bring. Until now, all she had ever known was certainty. As the First Daughter of Rutherland, Joey's days were meticulously planned out from the second the sun rose to the moment whatever photo op she was to attend that night concluded. Every day was micromanaged by her mother, to say the least.

She wasn't ungrateful. She wasn't. There are worse ways to live. It wasn't as if she didn't enjoy the opulence and riches that came with being the president's daughter and a generally well-known public figure. She's had two terms to grow accustomed to her new life in the public eye. Joey would say she's done well for herself thus far.

Are there nights where she lays in bed, replaying lost memories with her friends back in the city? Does it hurt not remembering the person she was before a world full of flashing lights and cameras? Haven't two terms of presidency weathered down whatever relationship she and her mom might have had after her father passed away? Joey tries not to dwell on it.

"Josephine, we'll be landing soon." Winston, her mother's advisor and close friend, strolled down the aisle. He had momentarily cut off his conversation with someone over the phone to address the blonde. "Melissa won't be able to make it, regrettably. She had to schedule a last-minute meeting with an ambassador."

Joey stiffened. Although her mother wasn't winning any Mother of the Year awards any time soon, it always stung whenever she brushed her off. "This master's program was her idea. She couldn't find the time to see her own daughter off?"

For a moment the air between them consisted only of the animated babbling from Winston's phone. The poor assistant—she's assuming, it wasn't in Winston's nature to ignore important calls—hadn't even realized Winston's attentions were elsewhere.

"I could have helped her with the campaign, you know. Prove to her that I'd be a valuable asset outside of just parading around pretending to be some trophy child. She never even considered that," she finished.

The sympathetic look that she was so familiar with now adorned the advisor's features. "Josephine, she'll find a way to repay you. I'm positive she is as unhappy about this as you are. She's your mother, she loves you."

"Correction. She's the president first, my mother second. Maybe not even second."

"It's not that simple, Josephine."

"I never said it was." Joey deadpanned.

With that, she turned away from her mother's advisor and stared back out the window. Always the observant type, Winston took the hint and walked away to attend to his call. Hearing the footsteps fade into silence as he walked towards the cockpit, Joey cast her eyes down towards the school again. Only now were they about to pass by the school completely. Joey had to admit Vancross was impressive. The institute bested every Rutherlandian university in size, no doubt. Its alumni boasted some of the most influential people and leaders in the world. Vancross offered the best education money could afford. Not to mention, its stellar reputation spoke volumes. Her mother had been overjoyed during the phone call the previous night. Supposedly, Joey's rumored enrollment at Vancross boosted her approval rating by a respectable margin.

Joey flinched at the intrusive memory. The campaign and her mother was dead last on the list of things she wanted to think about. She forced her thoughts away from politics and focused on her observations earlier. She had seen many students in the beautiful pavilion outside a large, contemporary structure. There were people playing frisbee, students scattered around making use of the many benches and tables around campus, residents walking to their dorms. There were friends laughing at stupid joke one of them had said. There were couples sitting next to each other, each lost in their own world studying. Grandeur aside, the sight reminded Joey of any other university she had visited. It was hard to believe that half of them were the sons and daughters of some of the most powerful people alive. They were proof that, if she tried hard enough, maybe she could pretend to be normal too.

A wistful glaze overtook Joey's eyes as a ding signaling the plane's landing rang out through the cabin. Vancross was an opportunity to start fresh, away from the prying eyes of the media. She could find or reinvent herself again. Everything was about to change; she could feel it. Her mind strayed back to the conversation she had with Winston.

Well, not everything.

Moments later, the plane touched down. Winston appeared by her side the instant it came to a stop. He wasted no time, already spouting out today's agenda. "Josephine, the car will arrive any second now. Your new head of security is running a bit late, so we've arranged for him to meet us at Vancross instead. Fair warning, the gates are already swarming with paparazzi. Your arrival may be the only thing our people talk about for the next week or so."

That caught Joey's attention. "Why's that? Vancross has no shortage of politicians and monarchs. I heard the Prince of Ulmeria attended only a few years ago. How am I any different from the other students?"

Winston narrowed his eyes. "Josephine, it would do you some good to be more aware sometimes. All eyes are on you right now. The Peace Summit will be here in the blink of an eye, and it doesn't take a genius to piece together why your mother wanted to send you to Vancross in the first place. These are your metaphorical baby steps in the world of politics. Not to mention, your actions at Vancross could make or break the reelection campaign. Before this, only one other president has served more than two terms. Your mother is about to be the first woman to do so." He made a show of mulling over something internally. "Also, there are two princes of Ulmeria."

"No pressure at all. You're really killing it in the motivational speech department, Winston." Joey deadpanned, rolling her blazer on. "I don't understand what me attending Vancross has anything to do with my mother, though. It's not like me failing my World History exam is symbolic of my mother's inability to deliver tax cuts."

The sound of a car horn could be heard from outside. Winston shouldered Joey's backpack, stepping aside so she could move into the aisle. "That may be so, but politics are tricky. People see you as a reflection of your mother. Not to mention, I wouldn't be so hasty to dismiss the notion. You could follow your mother's footsteps one day."

Joey started down the aisle, closely followed by Winston. "That'll be the day, Winston. That'll be the day."

As they reached the steps and walked towards the car waiting outside, Joey let her curiosity get the better of her. "Winston." The gray-haired man hummed, reaching the vehicle first and opening the door for her. Once she and Winston settled into the limousine, she continued. "You mentioned my mother meets with an ambassador today. Do you happen to know which country sent him?"

Confusion etched onto Winston's face from her sudden interest in Rutherland's diplomatic affairs. He quickly schooled his expression. "Truth be told, I'm not too sure. She mentioned the border skirmishes, so my best guess would be an Ardonian representative." Winston nodded affirmatively to himself. "Yes, that sounds about right. She would have been here if she could."

The strawberry blonde shrugged, picking at the hem of her navy-blue skirt. Truth be told, she hated wearing skirts or short dresses. She felt exposed enough in public. "Don't get my hopes up, Winston." Although she had meant it as a joke, this earned another decisive nod from the older man.

Eager to change the subject, Winston whipped out a notepad and flipped to his notes without even fumbling for the correct page. "I strongly advise you brush up on your knowledge of foreign affairs. Several other countries are sending their own delegates this year. We have it on good authority that Drivosa, Esherstein, Ithanstan, Naporvie, Pavadena, and Ulmeria are sending representatives. Your head of security should have more information on each of them."

The younger woman's brows furrowed. "That's every country in western Europe minus Ardona—not that there are any complaints there, of course. That would be a public relations disaster."

"The task may appear daunting, but this does work in our favor. You're already aware that this is a purely diplomatic move. Their support is essential in moving forward with the Ardonian Accords. Most of Western European Alliance—such as Esherstein and Ithanstan—seem to support your mother in welcoming Ardona and their allies into WEA, but there are people out there who would stop at nothing to prevent Ardona and the rest of the Eastern Powers from joining the union," he hesitated, unsure whether or not he should continue. "Especially after..."

"The war?" Joey finished.

"No." The advisor spared a hasty glance up at the partition. His voice dropped slightly. "The nature surrounding your father's death."

A flicker of emotion briefly passed over Joey's features before she adopted a blank expression. "I see. Which countries are not in support of the Ardonian Accords?" She trained her eyes forward, trying to focus on the conversation at hand. After all, it had been years. She had a duty to fulfill right now.

If Winston had noticed her behavior, he didn't let on.

"For starters, Ardona is only begrudgingly entertaining the idea. They're not happy about being practically forced into a peace treaty. This shouldn't be a problem, though. The prime minister knows what's best for Ardona. Drivosa is still upset about the humiliating loss they suffered in the Battle of Trinket Hill. You may have heard that Pavadena isn't a fan of the Ardonian Accords either. King Serrano was fond of Bleu." At the sound of her father's name. Joey's right hand clenched into a fist around the fabric of her skirt. "Luckily, Ulmeria seems to be cooperative. Prince Philip is eager to forge ahead."

The conversation died as the car lurched onto campus grounds. Joey took a glance at the flashing lights outside of the window and exhaled slowly, preparing herself. Her right hand slowly relaxed its grip. Next to her, Winston threw his notepad into his briefcase and shoved outside into the eager crowd. This routine was one of secondhand nature to the both of them at this point. Joey fixed her hair and adjusted her clothing in the few seconds she had before the door opened. She blindly grabs the strap of her backpack and turns towards the door in the same moment Winston pulls it open. Agents Demarco and Pierre are already keeping the photographers at bay.

"Josephine!" An obnoxious reporter jammed a microphone into her face. "Mike Williams with Stalker Media. Any comments on the Peace Summit looming over us? What does the Rutherland presidency think of the Ardona-Esherstein border clashes?"

Josephine rolled her eyes. Stalker Media might be one of the trashiest news outlets out there. At least the piece about Esherstein's First Son drunkenly crashing that gala the other night was interesting to read about. She was in attendance that night and had nearly choked on her drink when Alexei Vukoja drunkenly strolled in, a horde of cows trailing behind him. She'd have to ask Alexei where he found them.

Demarco pushed the microphone away and the two guards started paving the way towards the gates for Josephine. Seconds passed, and the voices began to blend as she tried to focus on the different media outlets vying for her attention.

"Josephine, over here! Smile, honey." Josephine gave the reporter forced grin as a flash went off. She turned away.

"Miss Fils-Aime! Did you see Lewis Wright's new campaign video? It's good stuff, he might just give your mother a run for her money." She shrugged innocently.

"Josephine! Josephine! Does your enrollment have anything to do with your mom's worsening approval ratings?" She avoided eye contact with that particular paparazzo.

She could see the gates by now. A few more steps separated her and freedom. Just as relief began to flood her system, another question rang out.

"Josephine, we were interrupted earlier! Do you have a moment to discuss the implications of the Ardonian Accords? Why is your mother trying to push for an alliance with Ardona given your father's assassination?"

At that, she couldn't help but whirl around, jaw clenched. She found herself face to face with the first reporter. Mark, if she recalled correctly. He had a smug smirk on his face, knowing she had taken his bait. "Why is she welcoming your rival, who your people believe is responsible for her husband's death, with open arms?"

Josephine opened her mouth to respond. Before she could make a fool of herself in front of the cameras, Winston gently turned her around and guided her towards the gates. "Really? Nothing to say, even about Ardona sending a representative this year as well?"

Joey frowned. Still walking, she looked to Winston for answers. "You didn't mention an Ardonian delegate," she whispered.

"Our intelligence indicated they wouldn't be sending anyone this year. Hopefully your new head of security will be more on top of things," He murmured in a clipped tone.

As the group crossed the gates, Joey was taken back by the contrast in atmosphere. Outside, it was suffocating. Between the cameras being shoved into your face and excessive badgering by the press, it was difficult to even hear your own thoughts. Inside, there was none of that. The tranquility made her teary-eyed. She thinks she may even hear birds. Winston quietly excused himself from the group as they reached the quad, leaving Demarco and Pierre to escort her to her room. Shortly after, the three of them reached the doorstep of her new living space for the next few years.

As the door swung open, Joey let out a small whistle. The dorm was spacious. The homey furniture made the room vibrant yet intimate. Vancross was treating her nicely. She walked in, nearly bumping into the luggage her team had dropped off a few minutes prior to her arrival. Joey slowly took in the sight of the dorm, the corner of her mouth quirking up.

With a toothy grin on her face, she triumphantly turned towards her guards. "This place makes the State Manor look quaint! Jealous, are you?"

The agents cracked a smile at her teasing. They'd worked for her family long enough to recognize that Joey struggled to enjoy herself, even in private. The First Daughter of Rutherland could afford many luxuries but being able to have fun wasn't one of them. They've learned to appreciate the young woman's refreshing personality on the rare occasion she permitted herself to be authentic and carefree.

Demarco's mouth moved to retort back, but a silvery voice rang out instead. "Almost makes you feel like royalty, huh?"

All heads turned towards the bedrooms. A young brunette stepped out from one of the rooms, planked by a burly man. "Of course, I actually am royalty, but all the dorms are this nice. I'm trying not to take it as an insult. You must be the roommate." She extended a hand. "Princess Dionne Mariana Regina Dorada de Rothschild Serrano of the Kingdom of Pavadena. This walking protein shake ad is my bodyguard Murphy."

Joey took her newfound acquaintance's hand, her easygoing smile softening into something less genuine. "Josephine Fils-Aime of the... country of Rutherland? I'm afraid those are all the names I have. I prefer Joey, though. Not sure that helps my case."

Dionne gave a dismissive wave. "Names are overrated, anyways. Luckily for you, I only go by Princess Dionne. For my new best friend, I'll accept just Dionne."

Dionne plopped down onto the couch, gesturing for Joey to join her. "Since we'll be spending an insufferable amount of time together, I thought we could get to know each other. Any dirty family secrets? Long lost half-siblings? Oh, I know! Did your first pet goldfish die as a direct consequence of your neglect and you have never been able to love anyone since?"

"As if any family secret could be kept out of the public eye for this long. Don't think I have any half-siblings, but you'll be the first to know if I find out otherwise. His name was Hugo and I took great care of him, thank you very much," Joey smiled as she received rolling eyes in response. "My mom thought it would be a great idea for me to enroll in the master's program here. She hopes I'll have some epiphany and realize I've always wanted to follow in her footsteps one day. At least I have some time away from the public. It's been a while since that was the case."

Dionne gave her a quizzical look. "I'd figure. You really sell the whole 'perfect First Daughter' image, you know. My parents always gush about how great you are with handling your image and reputation. I'd go insane if I attended the number of galas, conferences, or state dinners you do."

"I try," Joey shrugged, sudden insecurity clouding her features. She glanced around, noticing her agents' disappearance. She briefly wondered when they had slipped out without her knowing.

Dionne took note of the shift in the First Daughter's tone, rushing to amend her statement. "Not that it's a bad thing! It's admirable you're so supportive of your mom and her presidency. You hold your own against the press well, too."

Judging by the lack of change in Joey's expression, Dionne was unsuccessful. Seeing as Joey didn't seem like she was going to respond, the princess pursed her lips and continued.

"Have you taken a tour around campus?"

The Rutherlandian shook her head.

Her roommate clapped her hands together and jumped up. "It's decided, then. I'll show you around! Let me go get dressed."

"You weren't already...?" Joey trailed off as Dionne jogged to her bedroom, locking the door behind her. "...Dressed?"

Silence filled the dorm as Joey awkwardly sat there, awaiting the return of her eccentric princess roommate. Then she heard shouting outside. From the volume, she figured it was distant. Near the gates. If she was a betting woman, she'd guess another high-profile student just arrived. Curiosity peaked, she walked towards the window. She had to strain her neck a little to find the entrance, but as soon as she did, a brown-haired girl strutted through the gates.

Without turning back, the newcomer raised a middle finger towards the paparazzi as she walked away. Joey's eyebrows rose as her gaze traveled down to her ripped jeans and solid maroon blouse. As if her behavior wasn't scandalous enough, her casual attire was a bold statement in itself. Something in Joey lurched forward, drawn towards the woman with an attitude.

As the woman drew closer, Joey's breath hitched. From afar, it was easy to mistake her for anyone else. Although it had been a while since she had seen Blaine Hayes, there was no mistaking those striking green eyes up close. The last she's seen a picture of her counterpart was when Blaine was in grade school sporting a dorky haircut and neon pink braces. Time had treated her well, and, Joey had to hand it to her, those braces definitely worked. The woman she was openly gaping at now was refined, beautiful even. As Blaine and her security detail made their way towards a different building, Joey's eyes trailed the group across campus in disbelief. She must be seeing things.

"There's no way that's..." She began, mumbling to herself. She trailed off as the waving of a flag caught her eye. A fleeting glance at the top of the black vehicle pulling out of the lot confirmed her suspicions.

There was no universe in which Joey wouldn't recognize that sea green and gold striped Ardonian flag, floating mockingly around in the air.

[finding--cat]

I hope you are well and had a lovely xmas! xx I’ve been thinking of Farry quite a lot recently, and I’m curious if you thought of anything in each other that Fitz and Harry really struggled with. More than someone forgetting to do the dishes or clip their nails obnoxiously, etc. I’m wondering what trait, behavior, attitude, mindset, etc was absolutely difficult for either one of them to live with in the other. I hope my question makes sense! xx

Oh, lots of things! There are a lot of things that they accept in one another, but that they don’t really understand, because they’re so different. One example is in how they deal with stress–while Harry deals with it internally, blocking out the world by putting in his headphones or shutting people down/snapping at people when they grill him too much, Fitz wants to rope other people into her stress and start delegating responsibilities (not so much to put her problems on other people, but because this gives her a semblance of being in control of things again). I could elaborate on this, but instead I’ll share with you an extra scene I wrote for Isaac’s a Kicker which was not included in the original novella. I think it’s a good example of the tensions that exist between them, particularly concerning the stress of being working parents. 

November 2022

Though she had many adult responsibilities—a child, a mortgage, retirement savings—Fitz didn’t always feel like an adult. Memories of her parents as a child involved almost no mention of their careers. Her father sometimes graded papers after Fitz and her brothers were in bed, but he never sacrificed time with them. But the workplace changed over the years. Entry-level jobs were fewer and fewer, so graduates new to their fields had to work even harder to prove themselves. Fitz often saw herself as the driving force behind her family (though Harry would beg to differ), but as a new professional in the workplace, she often felt behind, overwhelmed, and ill-equipped.

She’d worked in the same office for three years, but still she learned new things every day. She remained keen to prove herself worthy in an environment of seasoned professionals. Which was why, more often than not and against her better judgment, she found herself bringing work home with her at least a couple nights each week. It seemed the only way to stay on top of things even if she’d prefer to spend evenings with her husband and baby.

Harry was even worse than her and did little bits and pieces of work whenever he could fit in the time. Because he ran his own business and was responsible for a couple of employees, he was under even more pressure to succeed than her. Still, it drove Fitz crazy to find him texting while spooning Dex his dinner or plugging numbers into an Excel spreadsheet on his laptop while she was next to him in bed trying to sleep.

They were both young and eager to make an impression in the workforce to establish their careers. As individuals, their full-time jobs and the extra work required after-hours kept them extremely busy. Added to the fact that they were a couple who co-parented a child, their lives were nonstop action. The little time they had to relax late at night after Dex was put to sleep was cherished by both of them, when they could afford it and when they both happened to be free at the same time.

One afternoon in the middle of the week, Fitz already knew there was no chance of free time. She had mountains of paperwork to complete before departing for a project visit and her department’s deadline for next year’s annual plan was the end of the week. Considering Fitz hadn’t begun either of these tasks, she grudgingly recognized she was in for a long night.

They hadn’t been shopping in a while, which neither Fitz nor Harry remembered until they sifted through the fridge after work and realized there was virtually nothing to pull together for a meal. So, while Harry made a few phone calls to suppliers and clients, Fitz made soup with broth, lentils, and a paltry bag of frozen veggies. They finished off a box of crackers whilst feeding Dex some baby mash and writing out a shopping list.

Harry volunteered to go to the market after dinner with the grocery list while Fitz put Dex in the bath. It wasn’t a full shop—he was only purchasing a few food items and nappies to tide them over until the end of the week, so Fitz expected him back in thirty minutes. When forty-five minutes went by, she sent him a text asking his whereabouts. There was no reply, so Fitz stared glumly at her portfolio of work on the kitchen table while she sat with a squeaky-clean Dex on the carpet in the den and they built a tower with his blocks.

Harry returned to the house over an hour after he’d left, armed with a couple of grocery bags and two cans of paint. Fitz lifted Dex onto her hip and went to the kitchen to greet him. Her eyes narrowed at the paint cans.

“What’s that?” she demanded.

Harry removed his coat and threw it over the back of the chair. “I have painters coming onsite tomorrow.”

“I thought you were going to the market and coming straight home.”

He shrugged. “Just made a quick stop on the way back. Didn’t want to waste their time tomorrow.”

“What about my time?”

At Fitz’s tone, Harry knew he was in trouble. On the way to the fridge with a jug of milk in his hands, he paused, eyes darting around the room as if he’d just been spotted. “What about your time?”

“Harry!” Fitz heaved a sigh of exasperation. “I have so much work to do! I could have used your help with the baby. Now I’m gonna be up all night.”

“All right, it’s okay. I’m here now.” Unperturbed, Harry continued to unpack the groceries.

“You got to do your work when you came home and I made dinner. Now it’s my turn—I have stuff to do.”

She knew by the tug of his lips that he was biting back a remark, but Harry merely sighed and said, “Okay.”

“You take Dex,” she said, promptly handing him their son. In his onesie with his hair mostly dried into curls from the bath, Dex smelled fresh and clean and happily sucked on a pacifier. “Can you make him his bottle and everything?”

“Yeah.”

“And his bag for daycare tomorrow—I haven’t gone through and refilled it yet. Can you do that?”

Harry nodded. Hoisting Dex in one arm, he continued to put away the groceries with his remaining hand. Fitz gave them one last glance as she left the kitchen armed with her assignments. Under other circumstances, she would have worked in the kitchen, but she was annoyed with Harry and knew that if she were in the same room as Dex, he would beg for her attention.

So she went upstairs to get started. There was a desk and office chair in the spare room, but since learning they were expecting again, the room had gathered more and more clutter in preparation for the new baby. The desk’s surface couldn’t be seen underneath Dex’s hand-me-downs from infancy.

The only other place to work was on her bed—not the most productive location, but her only remaining option. Fitz set up a work station and sat cross-legged on her side of the bed, trying her best to drown the sounds of the microwave revving and occasional clatters in the kitchen downstairs.

She worked in relative silence for fifteen minutes, making a dent in the stack of forms she had to fill out and signature. She came upon a form that required her work ID and SIN number, so she grudgingly dragged herself from bed to fetch her wallet from the kitchen.

When she got there, she stopped dead in her tracks.

Harry sat at the kitchen table with his back to her. His laptop was in front of him, open to an Excel spreadsheet. Dex’s bottle was abandoned out of reach on the table. As she got closer, she peered over his shoulder to see Dex still sucking on his pacifier, his arm waving wildly as he jingled Harry’s keys to entertain himself. Harry held him on his lap with one hand but used the other to scroll through his computer and update the Excel document.

Fitz felt like screaming, but she managed to rein her anger into a low groan. Surprised, Harry glanced over his shoulder to find her glare boring through him.

“Are you kidding me, Harry?”

“What?”

“I asked you to put him to bed, not to lull him to sleep with the glow of your laptop screen and your filthy keys.”

Harry’s lips parted, his brows converging into a frown. He was affronted and didn’t seem to know why, which only served to further aggravate Fitz. “He wasn’t taking the bottle,” Harry said in his own defense. “I was giving him a couple minutes before we tried again.”

“Where? On your lap, while you did work?”

“What’s wrong with that?” Harry’s frown deepened. “It’s not like we do this with him every day—it’s just one night. I’ve got work to do; I have no time.”  

“For God’s sake,” she muttered under her breath. “You’re a jerk. Just give him to me.”

“What?” Harry’s forehead creased with the weight of his frown. “Fitz, no—come on!”

“What’re you gonna do when there’re two of them? Two babies? One on each knee while you fill out your supply sheet?”

“Fitz—”

“We’re barely managing with one!”

She grabbed Dex from Harry’s lap and rested him on her hip while she gathered his bottle in the other hand.

“Don’t do this,” Harry groaned.

“Well, someone has to,” she argued. “He should be asleep by now, not using your bloody keys as a toy.” With that, she pried Dex’s fingers from Harry’s key ring and let them drop to the tabletop. Then she whipped around and stalked to the den. Harry’s heavy exhale was all she left behind.

Fitz was fuming and more stressed than ever about her workload, but she meant to prove a point. With a huff, she dimmed the lights in the den and brought Dex with her to the olive green chair. She reclined to a nearly horizontal position and then got him comfy on her lap.

“Piece,” Dex said as soon as she removed the pacifier from his mouth.

Fitz wasn’t quite sure what he meant—it sounded like Dex’s version of ‘please’, though the context wasn’t quite right—but she nodded anyway. “Yeah. Piece.”

“Piece,” he repeated intently. He extended his pointer finger as if to prove his argument.

“What piece, sweetheart?” From the other room, Harry chimed in, “He heard sirens a couple minutes ago.”

Fitz clued in immediately. “Police?” she said to Dex, ignoring her husband. “Were the police here?”

“Piece,” Dex said again quite matter-of-factly.

In any other moment, Fitz would have taken a moment to appreciate how adorable she found him, but she was too frustrated. Instead, she said, “How about your bottle, Dex? Do you want some milk to warm your tummy?”

Dex stretched his fingers to accept his bottle. He brought it to his lips and almost immediately fell back into the crook of Fitz’s arm, sensing that the nightly routine had begun. It was bedtime when the lights were dim and everything went quiet, not when he was sitting in front of an illuminated computer screen.

“Hmm, look at that—took to his bottle right away,” Fitz said, loud enough for Harry to hear.

Then she focused on her son, nestling him against her side. Eager to drink, Dex held his bottle with both hands and stared at her while she got them settled. He was perfectly immune to his parents’ bickering.

Fitz couldn’t help the small smile that crossed her lips. “You’re a good boy, Declan,” she said softly. “Should Mumma light a candle? Would that be nice?”

Dex’s gaze shifted from Fitz’s face to the table next to the recliner. Fitz slowly opened the drawer to reveal a lighter and then expertly used it with one hand to produce a flame. She lit the small candle on the side table and put the lighter back in the drawer. Dex was fascinated and calmly stared at the flickering flame.

Fitz loved him more than she could possibly explain. A mother’s love for her child was unlike any love she’d ever known. As she pushed back his curls to soothe him and watched his eyes grow weary, she knew there was nothing she wouldn’t do for him. She was frustrated with Harry for making her do all the work, but in truth, it was far more rewarding to rock her son to sleep than it was to fill out paperwork.

Even so, it worried her. It worried her that she and Harry were this busy and had this much trouble devoting time to their son. How could they manage with two children? They’d set themselves up for failure. It upset her because Dex and the one in her belly deserved better. Perhaps she and Harry had gotten pregnant without thinking. Maybe they weren’t ready for this, and their children would suffer for it.

It wasn’t long before Fitz heard the click of a camera and found Harry standing in the doorway. He’d snapped a photo of her and Dex on his mobile but quickly stuffed it in the pocket of his jeans when she looked up. He gave her a sheepish smile. Fitz could only roll her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Harry murmured from across the room.

Still petting Dex’s hair, Fitz shook her head, unforgiving. “I needed you today,” she replied, careful to keep her voice low so as not to disturb Dex. “You forget you’re not the only one with responsibilities. Sometimes I do need your help, you just don’t ask.”

“Hey.” Harry tilted his head with a frown of offense. “Quit it.”

“What?” Fitz challenged him.

“You ‘need my help’?” he asked, making air quotes with his fingers. “I don’t appreciate being—” he stopped himself mid-sentence and sighed, rubbing the back of his neck in surrender. “I’m in this just as much as you are,” he insisted. “Or is that not how you see it? I’m just some jackass hanging around to offer a bit of help here and there? Dex isn’t my full-time job, too?”

Fitz shot him a bored glare.

“Yeah, whatever,” Harry grumbled. “You’re mad at me, I’m sorry. It just… it sucks, the way you put it.”

“I’m not mad at you.”

“Please.” He quickly raised and lowered his eyebrows, unconvinced.

“I’m mad at us.”

Harry’s brows furrowed once more. He stepped down into the den and began to cross the floor to her. “Why?”

She pressed her lips together and shook her head, returning her gaze to Dex and his soft baby curls. He blinked more frequently than normal as he struggled to stay awake.

“What’s wrong with us?” Harry urged.

Fitz pushed Dex’s golden curls from his forehead and twirled one around her index finger. “Why did we think we could do this?” she whispered. The calm of her voice sent Dex’s eyelids fluttering. Fitz looked to Harry. “Two babies—are we crazy?”

Harry sucked his lower lip between his teeth as he took in air. His eyes cast down to the ground and he shoved his hands into his pockets. His nostrils flared as he took in a calming breath, and then he lifted his eyes to Fitz’s. “Maybe we are.”

Her heart dropped to her gut. It bothered her that she hadn’t predicted his reply. Her Harry was reassuring and optimistic. He was unwavering in his hope and confidence in their family. This response didn’t sit well.

Fitz directed her gaze to the candle’s flicker. “We should have thought more about this,” she said. “Just because we have the financials figured out, doesn’t mean we can do it. There’s more to parenting than a sound budget. I just… I’m scared, Harry.”

Harry wandered to the couch and picked up Dex’s mint green baby blanket, knitted for him by Fitz’s mother. He held it out in front of him to fold it and then brought it to the recliner. He draped it over Dex, whose eyes were nothing more than slits. Fitz knew he wasn’t quite asleep yet—every few moments, he’d remember the bottle between his lips and give the nipple a few sucks before drifting off again.

“Want me to take him up?” Harry offered in dulcet tones.

Fitz shook her head. “You’ll wake him. He’s not asleep yet.”

“Okay.” Fitz thought that was the end of their conversation until he ran his knuckles lightly across her cheek, asking for her attention. When she glanced up, there was a tender fleck in his eyes. “We are good parents, you know?” he murmured. “I think so, anyway. Maybe it’ll be hard with two babies—harder than this—but that’s okay.”

“You say that now,” Fitz warned, though her stomach began to settle. This was the Harry she recognized—the one who steadfastly assured her they were fine not out of blissful ignorance, but because he valued and cherished the simple and important things in life.

“I mean it, though.” Harry was careful not to cause any sudden movements to the chair as he sat down on its arm. He ran his arm along the back of the chair and perched next to Fitz, gazing down at a (nearly) sleeping Dex. “When I was younger, I always wanted a family. I wanted a sibling close in age. I wanted a hectic house when I got home from school—I didn’t want quiet. I wanted life, and people to depend on.”

Fitz nodded.

Harry continued, “And that’s what we’re giving Dex and the little one. Doesn’t mean we’re not all gonna hate each other sometimes. We’re gonna wonder what we’ve done to ourselves and we’re always gonna have our work cut out for us. But we’ll pull through. And I think we’ll be happy—I already am.”

A small smile curled on Fitz’s lips. Harry used momentum to gently rock the chair back and forth ever so slightly. Dex’s eyes widened at the movement and he resumed his fervent sucking on the bottle, eyes trained to Fitz’s face. His long lashes fluttered as she raked her fingers through his hair, savoring the feeling.

“I love the way he looks at you,” Harry murmured.

Fitz gave a soft giggle. “He likes when I play with his hair.”

“Who can blame the man?”

Fitz glanced up at Harry, looming over them with a smirk. “Will you sit with us?”

Harry pursed his lips until his dimples were visible. “You really wanna sit with this jerk?”

Fitz held his gaze with humour before rolling her eyes. “You aggravated me. You know I didn’t mean it.”

“Am I a jerk?”

“Sometimes, yes.” She paused. “But I love you anyway.”

Harry walked around the chair to the other side where there was space for him to sit. He chuckled and shook his head at her. “Not quite the answer I was hoping for, but okay.”

He spent a moment or two determining the best course of action to climb onto the chair with minimal disturbance to its current occupants. He put one knee on the edge of the recliner and leveraged his weight to sink gently into the narrow empty space next to Fitz. No matter how careful he was, he still ended up half on top of her. Dex’s eyes popped open to glare at the lumbering beast intruding on his mother.

“Sorry, buddy boy,” Harry whispered. He got comfortable on his side next to Fitz and reached out to push back Dex’s curls as a peace offering. Dex, once again sucking fervently on his bottle, watched him intently. “How you liking your haircut?”

Dex, of course, did not deign to reply. Fitz pouted as Harry continued to run his hand through Dex’s curls. His first haircut was a traumatic experience for her—Dex was scared and cried through it, but because his curls were getting long and tangling constantly, they had no choice but to trim it back. Fitz still felt guilty.

“I miss the curls,” she said.

“They’ll grow back.”

“He looks more like a boy now, doesn’t he? Not so much like a baby.”

“Yeah. He looks a bit older.”

Their hushed voices triggered Dex once again, causing his eyes to glaze over with sleep.

“I miss my baby.”

Fitz’s brows tugged into a frown as she pushed out her bottom lip. Harry’s thumb gently pushed her lip back in. He gave Dex’s head one last stroke, and at the loss of movement, Dex turned his face toward Harry’s palm like a cat begging to be pet.

Harry chuckled to himself, muttering, “Cutie.” With his head resting on Fitz’s shoulder, he spared her a glance. “There’s gonna be another one soon, you know. You won’t have to miss a baby for long.”

“I’ll miss my Dex baby.”

“But Dex will grow into a toddler,” Harry pointed out, the calm cadence of his voice rocking Dex back to sleep, “and then a boy. We can have proper conversations with him—aren’t you curious to know what he’s thinking?”

“Mm hmm.”

“And this one,” Harry continued, moving his hand to Fitz’s belly, “will still be there for us to cuddle and coo over like crazies.”

“I do intend to cuddle her,” Fitz agreed.

“Me too. Just like this.”

He’d frustrated her earlier in the evening, but Fitz felt more warmly for him now, especially since he’d refrained from correcting her from referring to their unborn child as female. So, with a pleased sound coming from her throat, Fitz curled her arm around Harry’s shoulder and gave his head a little scratch. Almost instantly, he sighed contentedly and melted against her.

“Aren’t you a snuggly bunny?” she whispered.

It wasn’t until he sniffed in agreement that she realized he’d heard.

“You a bit stressed?”

He nodded against her shoulder.

“I know,” she murmured. “I am, too.”

“I know.” He kept his palm flat over her burgeoning stomach but ran his thumb across her in smooth strokes. After a thoughtful pause, he asked, “Do you really see me as the help?”

Knowing he couldn’t see her, Fitz’s lips curled into a smile. “No.”

“What am I?”

Her smile broadened. “Dex’s daddy.”

“And?”

She played with the curls at the nape of his neck, taking her time before responding, “My partner.”

“Mm hmm,” Harry agreed. He groaned in the back of his throat as Fitz caught his hair between her fingers and raked her nails along his scalp.

“But can you try not to forget that I have work to do, too?”

“I won’t, I promise.” His voice descended to a breath as he relished in the feel of her hands in his hair. “We’re not crazy.”

“Hmm?”

“Two babies,” he murmured, referencing her earlier complaint. “We’re not crazy to have two.”

“No,” Fitz said with a chuckle. “I do think we’ll manage, somehow. Sometimes I just get overwhelmed.”

“I’m so excited,” Harry confessed in a relaxed breath. “I want another one with you so much.”

“Mm.” Fitz’s affections grew for him by the second, and she couldn’t stop herself from craning her neck to kiss the top of his head. “My bunny.”

Harry shifted his head on her shoulder so that he could look up at her. “You’re not gonna tell your lady friends I let you do this, are you?”

Fitz frowned. “What about my gentlemen friends?”

Unfazed, Harry corrected himself, “You’re not gonna tell your gentlemen friends about this, are you?”

“What? That you purr like a kitten for me?” Fitz asked. She grinned. “Does that emasculate you?”

“Maybe a bit,” Harry admitted. Then he shut his eyes and breathed through his nose. “Not that I mind.”

With another giggle, Fitz continued to run her fingers through his hair. Harry was soft and warm against her, and even though they both had work to do, she wanted to prolong this quiet moment.

“Some things are meant to just stay between us,” she remarked. “Do you agree?”

Harry nodded, eyes closed. “I like our secrets,” he murmured.

“I love them.”

Fitz watched him for a few more moments, all of her anger for him evaporated. It wasn’t always this easy for Harry to be absolved of his transgressions—nor for Fitz to be absolved of hers—but these were the examples she needed to convince herself they could overcome anything. They were stronger than one argument or one stressful night. Two babies would be even more hectic than one, but she didn’t need convincing that they’d always put their family first, even when times were hard. She and Harry were different people, but at their cores, they were the same in the ferocity with which they loved their family. Their baby. Their babies, from now on.

When Fitz remembered that Dex was pressed against her other side, she flashed him a glance to find that his eyes had already come to a close. The nipple of the bottle popped from his mouth as he entered into dreamland once and for all. She and Harry no longer had an excuse to procrastinate their work.

Harry had the same idea as her and checked on Dex to find him fast asleep. He watched him for a few seconds to delay parting from their cuddle on the recliner, but eventually he sighed and shifted on the couch.

He craned his neck to kiss his wife—tenderly, softly sipping at her lips. Heavy-lidded, he then pressed a kiss of unspoken gratitude to the apple of her cheek. Fitz smiled lazily underneath him.

“I’ll take him up,” he murmured, slowly detangling himself from their entwined position on the recliner.

“Thank you,” Fitz said softly. She helped maneuver Dex into Harry’s arms and then watched from the recliner as Harry left the room cradling Dex’s head to his shoulder. Dex slept through it all.

There was still a lot of work to do, but Fitz took a few extra moments to watch them go.