Chapter Text
Someone is in our house.
Alex jolts when the fact registers to him. His heart hammers in his chest and muscle memory from years ago has him groggily fumbling the bedside drawer open in search for a gun. Then, he remembers that it’s not an option anymore.
Since Asher.
Asher.
That’s Asher’s voice… And…
Alex turns his head, frowning, hand hovering over the open drawer. Michael is sleeping next to him, curls strewn wildly on the pillow, lips parted as he slumbers. Alex relaxes; if Asher were in danger, his distress would’ve reached Michael, who would be up and wreaking havoc.
His eyes flick next to the doorway. Light seeps into the room from under the door. He can hear echoes of music, someone walking around, then a muffled female voice being answered by Asher’s excited chirp.
He suspects Isobel. Alex sighs deeply and peeks at the time – a little past seven a.m. It’s late for him. He presses a kiss into Michael’s hairline – how could he resist? – and smiles when Michael mutters something incomprehensible in his sleep. Grabbing his crutches, Alex ventures out of their bedroom to see what his son is up to with their guest.
It’s not Isobel he finds, however. To his surprise, Celia Vanderwal stands in his kitchen, searching the cabinets while singing along to the music coming from the nearby Bluetooth speaker. She’s dyed her hair again, this time blue, white roots coming through, and she appears to have more tattoos than last time – ink covers her arms and the backs of her hands almost entirely. She stands on her tiptoes as she strains to pick something from the top cabinet, singing barely in tune, “It’s me, hi, I’m the problem is me. At tea time, everybody agrees. I stare directly-“ She stops when she spots Alex and narrows her eyes, pulling baking powder from the cabinet. Alex raises his brows at her. He feels self-conscious in front of her without his prosthetic, but she pays no attention to his residual limb.
Instead, she glances at Asher, who’s focused on a coloring book at the dining table, oblivious to everything else. “This never happened,” she says. “You didn’t witness this, didn’t hear me sing.”
“Whatever you say,” Alex agrees. “Um – what are you doing here?”
“You said I was welcome?” Celia says. Her body tenses and her movements stutter as she adds baking powder to the batter she’s mixing. “Isobel dropped by to let me in.” She eyes Alex warily.
“Of course she did. Hey – don’t worry, you can come over any time. What’s the occasion?”
“It’s Father’s Day. Ash wants to make you breakfast. He’s been conspiring.”
“Has he?” Alex drawls. Asher has yet to notice him. He’s entirely focused on his coloring, which is nothing new.
“Correction: Asher has been conspiring with Isobel. And I got pulled into the mix.”
“What are you making?” Alex asks.
“Pancakes. Certain someone should be helping me. Or that’s what we agreed. Ash?”
Finally, Asher lifts his head. A smile blooms on his face when he notices Alex. He dashes into the kitchen. “Daddy!”
“Morning, Ash,” Alex says. “What you got there?”
“Look!” Asher says and opens the coloring book. “Cece gave me this. It has different countries. This is-“ Asher frowns, looking at the page. “Ch- Cs- Zhhh-“
“Czech Republic, honey,” Celia helps. She reaches to flip the pages. “What did you do to poor Switzerland, Ash? It’s just a black void?” She plucks the book from Asher’s hands, continuing to look through the pictures Asher has colored. “My friend got him this,” she explains to Alex. “Insisted she buy something for my ‘secret nephew,’ before I dipped. Well, I did tell Michael I’d quiz Ash’s geography. ‘European Countries’ more like ‘European Stereotypes.’ Windmills and tulips next to the Netherlands? Groundbreaking. I don’t know who made this, but I think this could cause several geopolitical crises and Asher has added some more. Oh, look – he drew Denmark more islands.”
“Cece?” Asher asks. He insistently yanks the hem of Celia’s t-shirt that has a picture of a comic strip in a foreign language.
“Yes?”
“Give it back? Please?”
“Of course. I’m sorry. I was just showing your daddy what you’d done. You know what-“ She backtracks, holding the book out of Asher’s reach. Asher whines and pouts. The book vibrates in Celia’s hand until she lets go and allows it to fly to Asher. “I see how it is. Are you gonna help me with breakfast or not?”
“I want to color Chess Republic,” Asher states. Celia turns her head, hiding her amusement. Chess Republic, she mouths at Alex.
“Me and Dad would love to have some breakfast, Ash,” Alex chimes in.
“Cece is making,” Asher mutters.
“Oi!” Celia exclaims, arching her carefully drawn brows. “I’m not a maidservant. These are your dads, not mine.”
“Word of advice: don’t give him shiny new things to play with if you want him to do something,” Alex mutters to Celia. She just clicks her tongue.
“This is France,” Asher declares, showing Alex another page. “Cece saw the Eiffel Tower.”
“I saw the Eiffel Tower,” Celia repeats, like it’s some achievement. “Fantastic way to learn you have a fear of heights.” She grimaces. “Now, Asher, why don’t you come here and see how to make pancakes? And you-“ She points at Alex. “-shoo.”
“This is my house, Celia,” Alex says dryly.
“Excellent observation, are these the skills they taught you in the U.S. Army? Don’t you have a husband to get back to? I’ll bring Ash with you shortly. Hey-“ She steps forward, lowering her voice. “-I can keep him occupied, if you want to…” She makes a vague gesture with her hands.
“Want to what?”
“Get it on with your husband,” she says like it’s obvious Alex should’ve gotten the hint from her flailing.
“Ah. Thank you,” Alex replies, slightly abashed. “I don’t think that’s needed.”
“Your loss.”
When he returns to the bedroom, Alex leans his crutches against the bedside drawer and crawls back into bed next to Michael. He lies on his side and listens to noise coming from the kitchen while he watches his sleeping husband.
“We have a guest?” Michael suddenly mutters, speech slurred and drowsy. He yawns and stretches like a cat in a spot of sunlight, then peeks his eyes open, smiling at Alex. Alex takes a moment to admire his lean body, eyes following the trail of hair the ridden-up t-shirt reveals.
“Yeah. Celia,” Alex replies, reaching to pull on one of Michael’s stray curls. Michael smacks his lips absently and Alex shifts his body closer, slotting his leg between Michael’s before kissing him on the lips in lieu of ‘good morning.’
Michael hums into the kiss. When he pulls back, his eyes are confused. “Wait – did you say Celia?”
“Uh – yeah. She’s helping Ash make us breakfast.”
“Ash? Breakfast?”
“It’s Father’s Day.”
“Oh,” Michael says softly. “It is.” His hand lands on Alex’s cheek. Gently, he runs his thumb over the stubble there. “Happy Father’s Day.”
“Thanks. You too,” Alex whispers and leans his face into Michael’s palm. “It’s been great five years, hasn’t it?” Michael nods, twice, serene smile taking over his face. “Can’t wait for more,” Alex adds, meeting Michael’s eyes in unspoken agreement. Michael’s smile widens and he drags Alex’s face closer to clash their lips together again.
“God, Alex,” Michael sighs in between deep kisses that leave Alex’s lips tingling for more. But when Michael’s broad hands start wandering, slipping underneath Alex’s shirt to tease his skin, leaving it on goosebumps, Alex has to – regrettably – put a stop to it.
“Michael-“ he groans, gripping Michael’s wrist to prevent his fingers from diving under his waistband. “Our kid,” he reminds.
“Is with his aunt, I believe you told me?” Michael replies.
“They could barge in any moment,” Alex says. Michael flashes him a self-satisfied, almost complacent smirk. Pressing a couple of kisses to Michael’s fingertips, Alex pulls both hands against his chest. “Although,” he adds, “Celia did offer to keep Asher occupied if we wanted to… you know…”
“You know?” Michael parrots teasingly. “What are you, a middle schooler? She offered to distract our son so you and I could screw.” Alex laughs, muting the sound of it against Michael’s shoulder. Michael’s arms close firmly around him. There’s not an inch between them anymore. “Generous of her. And you didn’t take up the offer?” Michael tuts.
Alex has to admit, trapped in Michael’s warm embrace, he regrets it a little. Well, maybe even more than a little. Instead saying it aloud, however, he just sighs and shakes his head. He feels Michael’s lips on his forehead and closes his eyes, thinking lying in his husband’s arms for a while, somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, wouldn’t be so bad-
The door opens, followed by Celia’s loud voice, “I sure hope you’re decent.” Alex rolls to lie on his back despite the protesting sound from Michael, whose hands scramble after him. Celia doesn’t even look at them as she struts through the room with sure steps, the chunky heels of her boots thudding mutedly against the floor. After her comes Asher, watching something on Celia’s phone. Celia sets the tray she’s carrying down on the bedside table and turns to Asher. “Ash?” she says, snapping her fingers. Asher gives no reaction, completely engrossed in the phone.
“He’s not a dog,” Michael comments, leaning his chin on Alex’s chest.
Celia’s head whips up. She narrows her eyes – perhaps in challenge – and snaps her fingers again. “Ash? Hey, Ash? Darn-“ She huffs. “Always got Ella’s attention like this.”
“Well, he’s also not his mother,” Michael comments, amused. Then, eyeing Celia, he adds, “You changed your hair again.”
“Is there a law against it? Clay’s kid said it looks like I have mold in my hair.”
“Hmm…” Michael tilts his head and pretends to be thinking very hard. “It would look better if it matched your eyes.”
“Matched my eyes?” Celia repeats, incredulous.
“I’m just saying you have really blue eyes,” Michael continues. “But your hair is different shade. It clashes.”
“Are you hearing this?” Celia says to Alex, who only laughs. “Is your sister possessing you? Sounds like something Isobel would say,” Celia hums. Michael only sniffs. Alex pulls him closer and pinches his side, making him yelp quietly.
“Your hair is Smurf blue,” Asher suddenly interjects.
“I see,” Celia chortles. “Is it?” she asks Alex and Michael. Michael nods – Alex suspects just to take the piss. Celia holds up a tuft of her hair to inspect it. “Oh – I can see it. Maybe this color is a flop.”
“Mm… Pink looked better,” Asher states, nodding almost sagely.
“Pink looked better?” Celia echoes. “Alright-y.”
“Pink is better than blue.”
“Well, pink, to quote your Aunt Isobel, made me look like a teen pop star.”
Now that he’s distracted enough, Celia hoists Asher up, who only squeals and doesn’t lift his eyes from the phone screen. She circles around the bed and places Asher on top of Michael. Then, she reaches for the phone, but Asher’s hold of it tightens. He looks at Celia, confused. “I don’t understand?”
“I said: please give my phone back,” Celia tells him.
“Did you-“ Michael taps his temple.
“Yeah,” Celia confirms. “I guess he doesn’t know Oasian?”
“No. He doesn’t,” Michael says.
“Do it again?” Asher asks, looking at Celia. Couple of seconds later, he giggles, touching his head.
“Phone, please,” Celia demands again. “Please, please, please, Asher, nice nephew.”
“Ash,” Michael coaxes, caressing Asher’s back.
Today, Asher appears to be embracing his mischievous streak. “No!” he says, “No, I need it.”
“No, you don’t,” Alex intervenes.
“Ash,” Michael repeats, drawing the name out. He wiggles his fingers. “Give the phone to Celia or you will get tickles.”
“No,” Asher says, this time a little cautiously.
“Oh is that so?” Michael hums. “I did warn you.”
Asher tries to squirm away, but Michael is quicker, running his fingers up and down Asher’s sides. Asher howls with laughter and half-heartedly tries to push Michael’s hands away. Finally, between peals of giggles, he manages to get out, “Stop! I’ll give it to her.”
Michael holds his hands up, raising his brows expectantly. “Well?”
Mirth fills Asher’s eyes as he just keeps the phone in a tighter hold against his chest. Michael’s hand jerks towards him, but Asher screeches, “No!”
“Okay, no more tickles. I promise,” Michael assures.
“Asher,” Celia says. She’s now crouched next to the bed, chin resting atop her hands. She speaks very slowly, lowering her voice like she’s discussing a secret, “I heard that you’re getting really good at moving things with your mind?”
“Yeah?” Asher replies quietly. He looks at Michael, smiling almost smugly. Dimples carve into his cheeks.
“Aren’t you gonna show off to her?” Michael asks, stroking Asher’s face. “Hm? You’ve learned a lot since she’s been gone.”
Asher looks down shyly, tracing the band logo on Michael’s (well, Alex’s) old worn shirt. Alex shifts closer to tap Asher’s wrist. “I know you want to,” he says, trying to persuade Asher into ceding the phone.
Asher doesn’t have many people to whom he can show off his powers. Additionally, those people – their inner circle – are very used to Asher’s budding powers and rarely give him the satisfaction of a genuine surprised and proud reaction. The arisen problem is that Asher enjoys the attention his powers earn him. He wants to show off to everyone – and he can’t. It has been vital to make him understand that. Alex and Michael had wanted to raise Asher without hiding any part of his heritage from him. It definitely hasn’t made things easier or reduced their stress, but they still wouldn’t change a thing.
Celia – the only remaining biological link to his original family – has spent only transient moments with Asher so far. She’s a great opportunity for him to put on a show – and Asher knows this, his bashful demeanor mostly pretense.
Celia makes a beckoning gesture with her hand. Asher looks at the phone. Then, he starts to float it.
“Careful,” Michael whispers. “Carefully push it towards her.”
Asher’s brow creases in concentration and his tongue peeks out between his lips. Slowly, the phone stutters forward in the air. Alex can’t help but smile: it’s always amazing to him to see his son do these otherworldly things. Celia, too, smiles widely, encouraging Asher. Alex thinks he hasn’t seen her truly smile before, not a smile like this that reaches her eyes. He takes notice she doesn’t have dimples like Asher.
The phone makes it halfway to her before it flies full speed over Celia’s head and drops onto the floor with a loud clash.
“Oh,” Asher says, disappointed. “Oops.”
“Sorry, Celia,” Michael says, wincing. Alex cranes his neck, watching Celia assess the damage.
“It’s fine. It was my idea.” She holds up the phone, showing it to Asher, who looks rather upset, crawling on the bed towards Celia. “Looks like I’ll just need a new case. Well, there’s a tiny scratch on the screen, too. It’s been through worse, honestly. Fell into an icy ravine for starters. See that dent – one hell of a skiing trip. Hey-“ Celia pats Asher’s face gently. ”You will be a powerhouse once you get older.” To Alex and Michael, she adds, “Good luck. Anyway… Your pancakes are getting cold as we speak. I should leave you to it.”
“Where are you going?” Asher asks in alarm.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be out there. Come find me when you’re done, okay?”
“Thank you, Celia,” Alex calls out after her as she slips through the door. He pushes himself up, takes the tray from the table and places it on the bed. Then, he cuts a piece of pancake and offers it to Michael, who leans forward to allow Alex to feed him.
“Oh, that’s really good,” Michael mutters. “What did she put in these, crack cocaine?”
Alex hands Asher a plate, before stealing a piece for himself. The texture is really fluffy and the taste just the right amount of sweet. Alex hums and nods. “Well, yours are still my favorite,” he says sweetly.
“Aw,” Michael smiles and plants a kiss to Alex’s cheek. “Thank you, babe.”
“I made these,” Asher declares. Alex has to stop him from pouring the entire bottle of maple syrup on his stack of pancakes.
“Sure, kid,” Michael nearly laughs. He shakes his head at Alex.
“I wanted waffles,” Asher continues, mouth full of pancake.
“We don’t have a waffle iron,” Alex points out.
“You should get one. For Dad,” says Asher. “Heart shaped. Next Father’s Day we’re gonna have waffles. With whipped cream.”
“I guess it’s decided,” Alex accedes.
“Asher is the chef,” Michael points out. “He should plan the menu.”
“Yes,” Asher says, simply.
Between the three of them, they devour the pancakes fast. After that, Alex is still reluctant to move from the bed. They’re in a hurry to nowhere and merely enjoying his family’s company is one of Alex’s favorite things – so that’s what he does, sinking back to Michael’s embrace. Asher lies diagonally at the foot of the bed, playing on Michael’s phone for change.
“She’s different,” Michael says, running his fingertips back and forth on Alex’s forearm.
“Who?” Alex replies.
“Celia. She’s changed. She’s more… relaxed. Not so skittish anymore.”
Alex remembers that fearful young woman who constantly looked like a deer caught in headlights. Her presence in Asher’s life had been even smaller back then. She’d only appeared occasionally, worried Bonnie or Isobel tailing her, making frantic demands, Show me the baby. I don’t know if all of it really happened. Show him to me. I need to know he’s real. Then I’ll be gone.
“Yeah,” Alex agrees. “It’s good. For her and for Asher.”
“You think so?” Michael hums quietly, arms tensing a little. His fingers stop drawing patterns.
Alex twists his neck, looking at Michael, who’s observing Asher play a match-three game. “Hey – she’s not a threat,” Alex reminds him.
“I know,” Michael sighs. “I know. I just-“ Michael groans, leaning his head back. It bumps against the bedframe. “God, I’m an asshole.”
“Hey, no. Do not talk about my husband like that,” Alex says, tangling himself from Michael’s hold so that he can sit side by side with him. He rubs Michael’s arm and waits for him to elaborate.
“I like her. Sure, she’s a bit unpredictable, but look who’s talking. She’s great. I don’t know why I have this nagging doubt.”
“It’s because you love Ash so much. I get it. I wasn’t certain about her at the start, either.”
“She loves him too.”
“She loves him differently. Michael, Ash is our kid. He’s been our kid for five years. He’s not going anywhere. We know Ella wanted Asher to be happy and that Celia wants what Ella wanted. Do you think Ash would be happy if he were taken from us?”
“No. God, no.”
“Exactly. Celia’s not one to disrespect her sister’s wishes, I think.”
“I think I’m jealous,” Michael huffs. When Alex looks at him in confusion, he adds, “She’s the first person he knew and who knew him. After Ella. I don’t know – it shouldn’t matter, but… It’s kinda wild to think that he lived with Izzy and Kyle before we took him home with us. We met him so much later.”
“Michael.” Alex sighs, slipping his fingers into Michael’s hair to caress the curls. “It was two weeks. For what it’s worth, I’m jealous too. Not of her – of you.” Michael parts his lips to speak, but Alex presses his finger against them, silencing him. “Remember, you’re the first person who made him stop crying.”
Michael’s face quickly stutters through a series of expressions. He looks down – ridiculously long eyelashes casting shadows on his cheeks in the morning light – and traces where the collar of Alex’s shirt meets skin. His touch is feather-light, but so warm and familiar. “Well,” Michael says, clearing his throat. “If Izzy had handed him to you that day, it would’ve been the same.” He meets Alex’s eyes. “I’m sure of that.”
“Maybe,” Alex mutters. Apparently, Michael doesn’t like the sound of that, judging by the way he purses his lips.
“Ash?” Michael calls out. When Asher looks up, he continues, “It’s Father’s Day. Come give your daddy a hug.”
Asher drops the phone and crawls to them. “You wanna hug?” He smiles – it’s impossible not to return that smile – and flings himself on Alex, who manages to brace for impact and prevent air from escaping his lungs. His arms automatically wrap around his son. Asher’s hair tickles his chin when he settles against Alex.
Michael looks at them with soft eyes. He leans to kiss Alex’s cheek, but Asher’s hand slams onto his face. “What?” Michael laughs, rubbing his nose. “Ouch,” he adds quietly. “Can I not give him a kiss?”
“You said he needs a hug,” Asher says.
“Hug?” Michael scoots closer. “Alex, you want a hug or a kiss?”
“Come here,” Alex says, pulling Michael towards him by his shirt. Michael comes a little too eagerly, nearly making their teeth collide when he kisses Alex. Asher makes a dismayed noise of complaint.
Michael pulls back and pokes Asher’s cheek. “Can I have a hug, too, Ash?”
“Say please,” Asher demands.
“Please?” Michael obeys. Asher darts out to give Michael the quickest of hugs before receding back into Alex’s arms. “Picking favorites today?” Michael huffs and pouts. “On Father’s Day?”
Asher ducks his head. He pulls on the blanket until it’s covering him and wraps it around himself. Only his face peeks out. Michael’s smile widens.
“Hi there, E.T.,” Alex says.
“I’m your favorite,” Asher says.
“Yes, you are,” Alex admits. “And Dad’s.”
“And Cece’s,” Asher continues, convinced. Then, out of nowhere, he asks, “Can I have a bath today?”
“You took a bath yesterday,” Michael reminds. “Do you need a bath?” It’s impossible to get Asher out of the bath. He could play there forever until the water’s gone tepid, then freezing, and all his fingers and toes are pruned.
“It’s Father’s Day,” Asher states.
“Mmm… I’m not following, Ash,” Michael replies.
“It’s like birthday?”
“How so?”
“I get to do what I want.”
“It’s not like that,” Michael laughs. “It’s about us.” He gestures between him and Alex. “Not you.”
“But… You wouldn’t be fathers without me,” Asher argues.
“Checkmate,” Alex says, grinning at Michael. Michael looks like he might burst into tears soon, so Alex reaches over to rub his neck, sinking his fingers into silky curls.
“I’m telling Cece you’re not letting me have a bath,” Asher decides, detangling himself from the blanket. He hops off the bed and skitters out of the room. Michael sighs deeply and slumps against the pillows.
“We should go out there and save Celia from him,” Alex says in the silence.
“In a minute,” Michael groans.
--
In the end, Alex leaves Michael to rummage through the drawers for suitable clothes and makes his way to the kitchen alone. He doesn’t bother with the prosthetic; his leg needs the rest after a strenuous week and besides, Celia did already see him without it.
He doesn’t expect Celia to be in the middle of baking… something, while Asher bounces around her, explaining about Pokémon. Baking supplies are spread all over the counters and she’s also prepared a whole pot of coffee.
“Hey,” Celia greets him. “Sorry about the mess. I have no idea how your dishwasher works.”
“Cece is making scones,” Asher declares.
“I don’t have a kitchen. Technically,” Celia explains.
“Still staying in the Airstream?” Alex asks, sitting on one of the barstools. Usually, the old trailer sits vacant in the junkyard, neither Michael nor Dallas having a need for it these days. Out of sentimentality, Michael refuses to get rid of it. Lately, Celia’s been staying in it whenever she happens to be in Roswell.
“Yup,” Celia confirms. “Can’t do much baking there.”
“You bake?” asks Michael as he appears, walking around her to place the dirty plates he’s carrying in the sink.
“Old hobby I’m trying to resuscitate,” Celia says. “Uh – hope you don’t mind me taking over your kitchen, actually.” She shoves a baking tray into the oven and then picks up her phone to set the timer.
“Yeah, it’s fine. How’s it feel to be back in Roswell?” Michael asks Celia as he pours himself a cup of coffee.
Celia’s reply is an ineloquent, awkward, “Hmph?”
“I see,” Michael laughs.
“No, it’s not that… I didn’t miss the place, per se, but I missed the people. My mind’s like a pendulum. Sometimes I like being with the rare people who know where I come from and what I am. And sometimes I want to be somewhere where no one is aware of my – uh – tragic backstory. Preferably out of this country.”
“Missed the people?” Michael asks. “Or just Asher?”
“Missed Ash the most,” Celia says, running her fingers through Asher’s hair. “But also other little things. Movie nights with Bonnie and back-and-forth with Isobel and the sunsets – they’re gorgeous here. And also, making that butch who works at Whole Foods blush.” She adds the last sentence with a smirk.
Michael clicks his fingers like he’s trying to remember something. “Brianne?”
“Yeah, her.”
“What about your Norwegian fling I spoke with on the phone?” Michael asks.
Asher is staring at Celia with curious eyes like he wants his deal of the gossip, as well. Celia checks the timer. “Actually, she’s Finnish.”
“You have a girl in every port?”
“Maybe.”
“No one for keeps?”
“Florence Pugh won’t reply to my DMs,” Celia says with a fake pout.
“Michael, leave the poor woman alone,” Alex finally intervenes.
Asher, however, shows no mercy. “You don’t have a girlfriend?” he asks. Celia shakes her head. “You should ask Rosa.”
“Ah – I see,” Celia hums. “Playing matchmaker. Don’t know about that, honey.”
“It’d be cool,” he adds with a shrug. Then, he switches the topic, “Are the scones for us?”
“Yes. I’m taking some to Bonnie, though. We’re having a movie night. Can’t still watch anything with violence, so Mamma Mia it is.”
“Mamma Mia is a classic, though,” Michael points out. His hands move to hold Asher – who’s ambled over to him and plastered himself against Michael’s legs – by the shoulders. He tickles Asher’s cheek briefly, making him giggle.
“Yeah. I love it,” Celia says shamelessly. “I’m a sucker for ABBA. Those Swedes sure know how to make catchy pop.”
“What’s ABBA?” Asher asks.
“Have you listened to them? Your mom loved that one song of theirs. Dancing Queen.”
Asher stares.
“Sing it,” Alex suggests, suppressing a grin.
Celia shoots him a glare but to Alex’s surprise, she clears her throat and sings shakily, “You can dance, you can jive, having the time of your life…”
“Oh that song,” Asher says, shrugging. “It’s okay.” He takes Celia’s hand and starts tracing the tattoo of a flower on her wrist. “Dad, can I have tattoos?”
“When you’re older,” Michael promises.
“Ugh – fine. I’m gonna play piano now.”
“You do that,” Michael replies.
“Brutal,” Celia mutters, watching Asher go sit in front of the keyboard. He doesn’t attempt to play a song, just starts messing around with the funny sound mode. “Kid decides ABBA is merely ‘okay’.”
“Well, nothing can beat Taylor for him,” Alex comments. “If he ends up getting a tattoo, I bet it’s her lyrics.”
Michael groans.
“Reminds me…” Celia says. “I once found that Ella had written the entirety of ‘Vigilante Shit’ on her arm. Because it was her ‘power song.’ It took over a week to fade. Keep that boy away from permanent markers.”
“I’m just glad he likes Fall Out Boy,” Alex adds.
“Didn’t put you down as a Fall Out Boy enjoyer,” Celia hums, peering into the oven to check on the scones.
“Oh, you should’ve seen him in high school. He was full emo,” Michael announces, eyes gleaming like they do every time he gets to bring up that particular bit of information.
“Worked on you?” Celia says.
“Like a charm,” Michael replies.
“So you really have been together since high school?” Celia asks. She sits on the barstool next to Alex, eyeing them with open curiosity.
“No,” Alex and Michael laugh in unison. Michael continues, “It’s… Well, we had a thing in high school. Then over a decade of hooking up from time to time until we worked it out. Got married pretty quickly after that. Things… progressed. But we’ve been in love since high school, yes.”
Michael says the last sentence with such confidence Alex’s heart skips a beat.
“How long had you been married when a crazy woman appeared with a baby?” Celia asks dryly, face dead serious.
“Two years,” Alex replies.
“Good or bad timing?”
“Perfect,” Michael says, smiling softly.
“And did you always want children?”
Michael looks at Alex and Alex knows their thoughts are the same. He thinks back to that one night, month or so after they’d gotten officially together, when they’d talked for the first time about what their future might contain. They’d had that tentative conversation in the dark in Alex’s bedroom with sweat cooling on their skins after a very satisfactory round of sex. Alex doesn’t remember the whole of it, doesn’t remember what they’d talked about first – something light and trivial that had escalated into something massive and vulnerable and suddenly they were talking about children.
Are children a dealbreaker for you? Alex had asked, purely out of curiosity, yet the weight of the question had been heavy on his tongue. And then Michael had tensed in Alex’s arms and a silence that seemed to last for eons had followed.
What if they are? Michael had replied. Alex had been able to sense the trepidation oozing from the question.
Children. Alex had never imagined himself as a father. He’d never been in a point in his life that could’ve given room for the possibility but in that moment, it was as if a light shined on some hidden corner of his soul. Of course he wanted children with Michael. It was Michael. He wanted everything with Michael; mortgage and marriage and babies and – in all its morbidity – a shared grave.
Doesn’t matter because you and I want the same.
Don’t… Just because of me…
I mean it, Michael. With you, I want it all.
Maybe children hadn’t been a staple of Alex’s dreams. Dreams changed, modified, evolved. In Michael’s dreams, children had been essential. Alex had barely been able to wait to make those dreams a reality with him.
“We’d talked about it,” Michael says, snapping Alex back into the present. He takes Alex’s hand. “It had always been in the cards.”
“I feel like everyone got lucky in this situation. Except my sister,” Celia says quietly. “I got lucky because I didn’t have to find a way to raise Asher. Asher got lucky because he got loving parents and didn’t have to be raised by a fucked-up aunt. You got lucky because you got the baby you wanted. And Ella got a grave.”
Celia takes a shuddering breath, clearly blinking back tears. Alex is just about to ask her if she needs a minute when the timer goes off. She collects herself quickly and goes over to the oven to take the baking tray out. She lays it on top of the stove and puts another tray in the oven, almost mechanically. Then, she restarts the timer and turns to Alex and Michael, offering them a painful smile.
“My life revolved around her for years. When she was born, I hated the idea of a sister. But my family doted on her and soon I was doting on her. And when everyone died and it was just the two of us, I packed myself into a little box and put it away. I became whatever she needed. Six years and then she was gone.” Celia fiddles with her fingers, eyes vacant – so huge and blue. Alex throws a glance at Michael, who looks concerned, eyeing her up and down. But they let her speak. “I really couldn’t do it again,” she says, fixing her glassy stare on them. “All the way from the start. With a baby. With Asher. I knew I’d fail even more spectacularly.”
“What do you mean?” Michael asks quietly.
“I was supposed to look after my sister-“ She wipes her eyes with her sleeve, smudging her makeup. It’s painful to watch how she tries contain her sobs, be quiet so that Asher playing in the living room doesn’t notice. “She was a kid and she had no one else. Yes, it was her choice to go a high school party behind my back and hook up with some guy. She thought humans and Oasians couldn’t conceive, you see. I should’ve told her to be more careful. And whoever that guy was is as much to blame as Ella.” Celia rolls her eyes.
“So you don’t know-“ Michael asks, trailing off.
“Who Mystery Guy is? I have no clue. She said she wanted it. That it was consensual. I knew she wasn’t lying to me, so I didn’t go on a witch hunt. She refused to talk about it further. And I had no idea how to proceed. If she were human-“ Celia shakes her head and continues with an undercurrent of anger. “Actually, that wouldn’t have changed a thing. We were in Missouri at the time. No choice for girls like her.
“I knew we needed help. I knew I was cracking. I used my powers pretty much 24/7 and if you stand on your feet long enough without sitting down, you’ll eventually collapse. I was a ticking timebomb and Ella was seventeen, for fuck’s sake… She adjusted to the situation much better than I did, even if it was worse for her. Named the baby. Started getting used to the idea of being a mother. I still didn’t know what to do. Even when she went into labor, she had to be the one to tell me how to act. Tell me to give her acetone. Hold her hand. Tell her everything will work out. She realized she would die long before it dawned on me. And she said to me either she dies, and Asher lives, or they both die. That I had to get a grip and help – not her. Asher. In the end, she had to push him out with her powers.”
“Jesus Christ,” Michael mutters, turning away from her, covering his mouth. Alex has to reach to grasp his wrist and give it squeeze.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to- I’ve never talked about this anyone. I should’ve asked if you-”
“It’s fine,” Alex says, rubbing Michael’s hand with his thumb.
“You haven’t talked about this?” Michael asks. “You’ve carried this with you for five years?”
“For years I wasn’t sure it happened. I’d wake up thinking she was fine. That she was alive.” Celia shakes her head. She looks towards the living room where Asher now sits by the coffee table with his coloring book, miraculously unaware of the story Celia is recounting. “Ten minutes. All the time he spent with her – it was only ten minutes. I wanted those ten minutes for myself. I wanted to say goodbye, but I couldn’t because that was all the time she had left, and I gave it to Asher. I put the baby on her chest. I watched her cradle him with shaking hands. She whispered something to him. I don’t know what. And when her eyes started drooping, I took the baby. I couldn’t let him be touching her as she died. And when she died, he started screaming. And he didn’t stop.” Celia closes her eyes, shivering.
Alex’s eyes sting. He realizes the three of them are bawling their eyes out in the middle of the kitchen. Michael’s fingers are gripping Alex’s so tightly he’s probably cutting the circulation. The sleeves of Celia’s gray hoodie are stained with mascara.
“Ten minutes,” Michael repeats hoarsely.
The timer goes off again. Celia starts at the sudden sound, then laughs. “Happy Father’s Day to you. Sorry I came over to annihilate the mood.” She takes out the rest of the scones and puts them on the kitchen isle. “No!” she says to Michael when Michael’s hand inches towards them. “Start with those.” She points at the scones on the stovetop. “These are still too hot.”
Michael follows Celia’s command. “You’re really good at this,” he muses after taking a bite. “Maybe you should start a bakery? Or Arturo should at least hire you at the Crashdown. He will if you ask.”
“Ooh – nepotism!” Celia says. She tries her best to smile but her eyes still remain somewhat despondent. “I’ll think about it. I’ve never had a job.”
“How did you get all the money to… you know?” Michael squints at her.
“Travel? Eat? Buy shitty hair dye?” Celia piles scones into a Tupperware box and sets it aside. “Fraud.”
“Fraud?”
“Humans are so easy to scam,” Celia explains. “Also, Ella was excellent at shoplifting,” she adds almost proudly.
“Was she,” Alex hums, reaching for a scone himself.
“Yeah. Probably not genetic, don’t worry. How’s the scone?”
“Good. Opening a bakery wouldn’t be a bad idea,” Alex admits.
“Thanks. Scones were my dad’s favorite.”
“Edward?” Alex hums, licking crumbs off his fingers.
“Yeah. Though everyone called him Eddy.” Celia looks down wistfully. “I’d sell my soul to the Devil to talk with him again.”
“Would advise against it,” Michael chimes in.
“Gotta lot of experience with the Devil, Michael?”
“No – but I kinda picture him as my father.”
“Hm. The famed dictator.” The look on Celia’s face is indecipherable.
“Yeah, the reason we’re all here.”
“Don’t you start.” Celia huffs out an exasperated sigh. “Do you work in shifts? First Alex will feel guilty about his family’s involvement in the deaths of mine. Then you will start with your father being the ultimate reason my family ended on this planet only to be captured, tortured, and killed. And at some point, in the middle, you’ll take Asher to soccer practice.”
Michael stares at Celia blankly, clearly not able to collect his thoughts about Celia’s outburst. “Asher doesn’t play soccer.”
“Besides the point. Come to think of this entire mess-“ She gestures at each of them. “It’s a deliciously fucked up domino effect. Too bad I don’t have any daddy issues to bring to the table. The worst thing my father ever did was occasionally forget the laundry outside.”
“Oof. Sounds irredeemable.” Michael grins at Celia. Hesitantly, she smiles back.
“It’s Father’s Day. Which is why I should get out of your hair and let you do something fun with Asher.”
“Celia-“ Alex interrupts.
“Hey-“ She holds a finger up at Alex. “Let me go. I’m not up for adoption. And I’ve got shit to do before I go meet Bonnie. I’ve been up since five a.m. I need a power nap so that I don’t fall asleep in the middle of Mamma Mia. Asher!” She calls out into the living room. “Ash, could you come here for second, honey?”
Asher skitters to them. “Why you look like a panda bear, Cece?” he asks.
“I had a little cry is all.”
“About what?”
“I was talking with your dads about your mommy.”
“It made you sad?”
“Yes. I miss her very much. Ash, I need to go now, will you give me a hug?”
“Go?” Asher repeats. One of his least favorite words. Alex braces himself. Maybe the scones will help as a distraction.
“Yeah.”
“Back to Norway?”
“No, no, I’m staying here for a while.”
“Good. Come read me a story?”
“Now?”
Asher shakes his head. “When I go to sleep?”
“Honey, I don’t think I can. I promised to meet Bonnie. Watch a movie with her. Girls’ night.”
“Please?” Asher wraps his arms around Celia’s legs and looks up at her pleadingly.
Almost alarmed, Celia glances at Alex. “Who taught him to use that face?”
“Oh, Michael,” Alex says, glad he’s not the only one who’s picked up on the similarity of their puppy eyes. Michael huffs, crossing his arms.
“How do you survive around here,” Celia mutters to Alex. She redirects her attention to Asher. “How about I call you around your bedtime? Bonnie probably wants to say hi, too.”
“But I want-“
“Listen-“ Celia crouches in front of him, holding him by the arms. She shows him her phone with the broken case. “Why don’t you and I meet some time next week? You can help me pick out a new phone case. How’s that sound?”
“Okay,” Asher agrees. “But you will call later too?”
“I promise. Hug?” Enthusiastically, Asher throws himself against Celia. Celia squeezes him for a long time before finally kissing his forehead and letting go. “You be nice to your dads, okay? It’s Father’s Day.”
Asher follows Celia outside, Alex and Michael trailing after him. They watch Celia drive away, Asher never ceasing his frantic little waves.
“So – what now?” Alex asks Michael.
“How about I call Sanders and see if he’s up for any visitors,” Michael says.
“Sounds like a plan,” Alex replies and leans in to kiss Michael’s temple.