Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It starts with Les impulsively inviting a stranger to his wedding.

(It started lifetimes ago, with Sarah murmuring, “You shouldn’t stay here much longer.”)

It turns out, for better or worse, that Sarah knows Katherine from school. She’s still a stranger, but a less distant one. Katherine’s already invited to the wedding, anyway. They can hang out.

Spot isn’t working, but he ducked behind the counter anyway when David broke the mug because David’s been having a rough few weeks for immortality and Spot liked Sarah but she’d been David’s sister.

(Spot doesn’t know what he’d do if one of their other sisters tumbled back into their lives.)

So he made Sarah’s drink for her before Katherine – who is working – even realized that something was wrong, and then swept up the broken mug pieces before David’s hands had stopped shaking. David had brushed him off, after, shoved him back toward the others and their little table of chaos, had given him a look that said thanks and sorry and we’ll talk about it later. Spot knows when to pick a fight and when to let things lie, so he’d nodded and settled back in next to Les.

Anyway, again, Sarah knows Katherine. Connections on connections, even when they don’t expect there to be. David is going to be a wreck over this tonight. David is a wreck right now.

Spot isn’t sure how he’s feeling. Wrongfooted, he supposes, but it’s hard to define why. At the end of the day what’s Sarah besides another reincarnated loved one tumbling back into their lives? Why does she feel so different?

“Hey, sweets,” Race says, touching Spot’s shoulder gently as he reaches across him to clear some of the trash and empty mugs from the table. “You good?”

“Fine,” Spot replies.

“If you’re sure,” says Race. He pats Spot’s shoulder again before moving back to the counter. “You and I oughtta talk later, by the by.”

“Sure, sweetness,” says Spot, “whenever you want.”

It won’t happen that day, there’s no way in hell that it will happen that day. Sarah showed up for the first time in three hundred years and the poor girl didn’t even look at them too weirdly for how weirdly the Conlon-Jacobses were looking at her. Today is for Conlon-Jacobs family debrief, and the Race-and-Spot of it all will have to wait until at least Tuesday. Maybe longer, if they have to go to Juniper House about it.

(Spot wonders, idly, whether New Jack and New Race would like to visit Juniper House sometime. The kids are considering it for a wedding venue and failing that they might see if the house the Delacroixes lived in is open on a weekend they like, because it’s close enough they can stay at home without letting other people see the inside and also because they’re sentimental as hell.)

Spot is barely following the conversation anymore, to be honest. The last thing he was expected to weigh in on was what color shoes the bride’s side should wear – and got booed for their totally reasonable plea for black – and the topic has definitely migrated since then. After Les’s spontaneous invitation, Sarah got looped into the debate over –

“I mean, white dresses are so cliché!”

“Traditional, hon, the word you’re looking for is traditional.”

- Hotshot’s dress color, apparently. She’s been flip-flopping. Family debrief feels like it’s still a ways away.

“Anything but white or blush is going to be kind of hard to find,” Spot points out. “Easier now than –“ He carefully sidesteps the phrase last time, in favor of, “historically, or anything, but it’s still going to be hard to find something that screams wedding dress in a nontraditional color.”

“Well maybe I don’t want it to scream wedding dress,” Hotshot says primly. “I’ll be getting married in it, the purpose will be pretty obvious.”

“The rest of the wedding is looking pretty traditional,” Les points out. “Especially if we commit to one of the estates –“

“No strangers in Juniper House!” David chirps from the counter. Albert quirks his head to one side, his ear clearly catching on the familiar name.

“To the Delacroix place,” Les amends, nodding to his brother. “So I’m just saying that it might be nice –“

“What if it were green?” Jack offers.

Les and Hotshot both turn to look at him, considering.

“Like, a nice soft green, obviously,” continues Jack, “but didn’t you wear green for your first – ah, date?”

White hadn’t been in fashion for brides yet the first time Niamh and Les got married, and Niamh had worn her church dress, mint green silk with her own embroidery around the neckline and hem. Jack hadn’t been alive at the time, but had seen the dress later – Niamh had worn it until it was no longer fashionable and then stored it away. Now, it’s safely stowed in an archival box in the museum-worthy storage room at the back of Juniper House. A lot of the things they’re most sentimental about are tucked away there.

 “I did,” says Hotshot. “That’s a sweet idea, Jack, thank you.”

“Why do you know that?” says Charlie, his brow furrowed.

“Oh,” Jack says, floundering.

“They were showing off photos before you got here,” Spot cuts in. He’s better at lying about this than Jack has ever needed to be.

“Right,” says Jack. He looks relieved. “Anyway, I think a pale green probably wouldn’t be too hard to find, and it’d still look pretty bridal.”

“Green would be nice,” Les says. He’s leaning on his elbows and looking gooily at Hotshot, clearly thinking back on their first wedding. God, the kid’s sappy, even after all this time.

“Gross, get a room,” Spot teases, swatting at Les. “That’s my baby sister.”

“The age difference between us might as well be minutes, Seán,” Hotshot says, rolling her eyes. “He can look at me however he likes.”

“Yeah, fine, just not in front of me,” says Spot. He wrinkles his nose. “And don’t – don’t use my name.”

Hotshot quirks her head to one side, considering. One more thing for family debrief, Spot knows. She won’t question him about it here – too many strangers, even if those strangers are echoes of their dearest friends – but she will question it. Spot usually doesn’t mind people using his name, his names, but today it itches. Not just Seán, but Saoirse too.

Les shoots him a look, too. Spot waves them off.

Even if they asked, he doesn’t really have an answer yet, anyway.

“Are you set on the Delacroix house, then?” Spot asks instead. “Because if you were serious about that barn place –“

“You’re not coming,” Les finishes, rolling his eyes. “I think we’re more or less set on it, if Davey doesn’t want us doing it in Juniper House. It’s not the same as it was, obviously, but it’s still nice and we could stay at home.”

“I’m sorry, Lessy, do you want that many people in Juniper House?” David says, leaning over the counter. “Be honest with me.”

“I feel like I’m missing some context here,” Benny cuts in. His eyes dart from David to Les and back again. “What’s Juniper House?”

“It’s where we grew up,” Spot says, soft. “It would be a nice venue for a wedding, but we’ve always – it’s nice to keep it private. The Delacroix estate is just over the hill and it’s familiar but not ours the same way, so it’s easier to let other people in there.”

“Magnolia House,” Albert says, just barely more than a breath.

Jack turns toward him sharply. “Yeah, Magnolia House. You remember it?”

 “Almost,” says Albert. He does not elaborate. Charlie is frowning at him, trying to parse out the interaction, but no one else seems to have heard it.

No one save Race, who is watching with curious interest.

“How do you all know each other?” Sarah says suddenly.

Les tenses up, and Jack makes a funny noise at the back of his throat. Race tilts his head sharply to one side, considering. David turns around, away from their conversation.

Spot is at a loss for the best way to answer, but fortunately Hotshot is not.

“Les and I are getting married, obviously, and it turns out our family and coworkers are all a bit entangled,” she says, waving it off like it’s nothing. “This little meeting sort of just happened by coincidence – we were coming in to meet up with my sibling and his friend and the rest all just sort of appeared.”

“Got it,” says Sarah.

“Les wanted my extremely valuable opinion on weddings and romance,” Benny says, grinning. It’s a little exaggerated and silly, which Spot thinks is on purpose.  In all the years they’d known each other – the first time or when they’d been newsies – Spot had never known the man to pursue any kind of romantic relationship. He catches Spot’s eye and winks.

Spot smiles back. “Obviously, Benny’s got the most experience with these things.”

Sarah glances between the two of them, clearly catching onto the fact that there’s a joke she’s missing but not knowing enough of either of them to parse it out. “Ah.”

“They grow on you, Sar,” Katherine says, “but this group are definitely kind of weirdos.”

“You hired us!” Race calls from the counter. “You like us weirdos! You’re one of us!”

“Like I said,” Katherine says, grinning, “they grow on you.”

Sarah smiles back at her, a little less certain. “Seems like fun.”

Eventually, finally, they disperse. Charlie and Albert have to get going for dinner with Al’s parents. Sarah has to leave in time to get to her shift. Katherine has some administrative work to do and ducks into the back. Benny lingers near the counter, murmuring with David about something Spot can’t hear, then reaches out to squeeze David’s hand before he leaves.

All that’s left are the four immortals, Jack, and Race. David’s shift is almost over.

“That was nice,” David says. He looks exhausted.

“Yeah,” agrees Spot. He feels exhausted.

“Al seems like he remembers, at least a little,” Les says thoughtfully. “That’s interesting.”

“Maybe Charlie will, too,” says Jack. “Maybe Kath or Sarah.”

Spot hums in vague agreement.

Hotshot stands. She offers a hand to Les to pull him to his feet as well. She leans around him, once he’s standing, to fix Spot with a firm gaze. “Ours or yours?”

“Yours, if you’ll cook,” Spot says, glancing back at David, who nods.

Hotshot rolls her eyes. “I always cook. Text us when Davey’s done with work, yeah?”

Spot nods.

She narrows her eyes. Hotshot’s always had this way of seeing right through Spot; it feels like she’s doing it now but he can’t for the life of him figure what she might be seeing.

“Love you,” she says finally, leaning down to peck him on the cheek. “You, too, Davey!”

“Love you,” David and Spot echo in not-quite-unison.

“What was that about?” Jack asks once the kids have fully left the shop.

“Dinner,” Spot says, shrugging. “We always do dinner on, uh –“

“Thursdays,” David supplies.

Jack looks from one to the other of them, brow furrowed. “Right.”

“We might go out of town this weekend,” Spot blurts. Now David is also giving him a curious look. “Neither of us are on the schedule, I just thought you two might want to know. In case you were – I don’t know. In case you were interested in trying to schedule a date or whatever.”

“Thanks for the heads up,” says Jack.

“Are dates on the table?” Race asks, his tone mostly teasing.

Spot rolls his eyes. “If you ask nice enough.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” says Race.

David checks his watch. “That’s my shift. I’ll just go clock out and we can go, babe.”

Spot nods, a little distracted. David ducks into the back.

They hadn’t discussed going to Juniper House over this, obviously, but it feels right. It’s been a few months since they were back last, although Les and Hotshot were there a few weeks ago so they could tour the Delacroix place with their wedding planner. Spot’s just feeling fidgety, off-kilter, and some time at the house would be nice for a reset. All his best tools are there, anyway. Maybe he’ll start working on another instrument for Davey.

David reappears. “I want to swing home before we go to the kids’ place, if that’s alright.”

“Yeah, always,” says Spot, who wants to put off whatever reckoning his sister is going to put him through as long as possible.

“See you around, Jackie,” David says. He gives Jack the very swiftest of kisses on his cheek. “Bye, Racer!”

“Bye!” Race calls back, before immediately launching into making fun of Jack for the bright and vibrant shade of red his face is turning.

“Might be going out of town this weekend?” David says softly as they leave, weaving his arm through Spot’s.

“Juniper House,” Spot says by way of explanation.

David hums. “Oh. Yes, we should.”

Chapter Text

Hotshot has clearly already started dinner by the time they arrive, the smell of probably-soup wafting through the apartment. She loves cooking, she’s by far the best cook out of all of them if only for having the most practice at it, but by God does she have her preferences. She’s always insisted that any even moderately damp weather requires soup, and any even mildly upsetting circumstance also requires soup. So today, rainy and also emotionally draining, is unquestionably a soup day. But if Spot had a problem with that, he wouldn’t have asked her to make dinner.

“What’s for dinner, Hotshot?” David calls as he kicks his shoes off.

“Chili!” she replies from the kitchen.

“Sounds great,” says Spot.

“And honesty!” Les adds. He’s setting the table. “We are all too fucking old for the ‘oh, I’m fine’ bullshit. You two wanna start with Sarah or with whatever was up with Spot today?”

David glances at Spot. “That’s up to you, babe.”

Spot hums, shrugging. There’s a pause, anyway, as they all get food and settle in at the table, Spot and David on one side and Hotshot and Les on the other.

“It’s not a big deal, really,” Spot says finally. “I’ve just been feeling kind of – “ he shrugs again. “It just didn’t quite feel right in the moment, you know? The idea of being called Seán sort of itched. You know?”

Les hums sympathetically. “No.”

“Of course not, because the three of you are –“ Spot waves impatiently across them. “Different. To me. Which isn’t a bad thing, obviously, it just makes explaining it to all of you more complicated.”

“Are you just swinging back toward Saoirse, or –“ Hotshot says, trailing off in an upward tone rather than finishing the question properly.

Spot chews on his lip. “No. Just feeling like Spot for the moment.”

“We can accommodate that,” Les says. Spot snorts.

“You are so fucking weird,” he says, fond. “Anyway. How are we feeling about Sarah?”

“Weird,” says Les.

“Weird, agrees David.

“I think I’m going to go with weird as well,” says Hotshot.

“Good to know we’re all on the same page,” says Spot. “Why, though? Because I don’t know about you guys, but this feels –“

“Different,” David finishes, hoarse.

Spot nods.

“Kitty hasn’t been back until now either,” Les muses, “but it’s Sarah, you know? Our big sister. Sometimes I think there’s still a part of me that’s 35 and shocked that she didn’t come back, too.”

Hotshot sucks in a sharp breath, through her teeth. They’d been younger, of course, when their sisters died, but it was the same. If Seán and Niamh could wake up, why couldn’t Maebh, Fiona, or Aisling?

If Race and Jack could circle in and out of their lives, why couldn’t –

Spot bites down hard on the inside of his cheek and puts a hand on David’s knee under the table.

“Spot and I were thinking about taking a trip out to Juniper House for a long weekend,” David says. It’s an answer, truly, to the question.

Why is Sarah different?

Because Sarah saw her beloved younger brother wake from the dead and uprooted her own life to keep him safe. Because Sarah waited – waited, her own words, because she knew in her bones there was something to wait for – for Les to wake, too. And because Sarah died, and didn’t wake, and David and Les built a life and a family around the lack of her.

Sarah was dead well over a hundred years before David and Spot bought Juniper House.

“That’s a good idea,” says Les.

That’s that.

Juniper House is a few hours away by car, close enough to get to without too much trouble and easy to take impulsive weekend trips home to. The staff – less than they used to have, but someone has to look after the house when they’re not living in it – are all well used to the four of them showing up at random with very little warning.

They’re so used to it, in fact, that one of them is standing on the doorstep as the two cars pull up the drive, despite about five minutes’ warning. Juliet Miller grew up on the estate, her family keeping the Conlon-Jacobses’ secret for decades, and now she runs the house for them in the wake of her father’s retirement. She has a glimmer of familiarity about her similar to the friends they know are reincarnated, but she’s never mentioned anything about it.

Her hands are on her hips, an exasperated frown on her face. “If any of you would call when you leave the city, we could actually get sheets on the beds before you arrive for once.”

“Bold of you to assume we don’t do it on purpose because we can change our own sheets,” Spot says.

Juliet throws her hands into the air. “Why do you bother keeping a staff, Spot?”

“House would get dusty and weird if it were empty all the time,” he replies.

“Also we like your family,” David adds.

“You’re sweet,” Juliet says, rolling her eyes. “Niamh, are you cooking tonight or is Pat allowed to make you folks dinner?”

Hotshot waves vaguely. “Pat can cook. I’ll do tomorrow.”

Juliet whistles. “Wow. You feeling okay?”

“S’been a weird week, Jules,” Les says, patting her on the shoulder as he passes her. “It’s been a weird, weird week.”

“Right,” says Juliet. “Well, like I said there’s no sheets on the beds or anything, but the piano had its annual tune last week and Mom’s vacuuming the workshop as we speak.”

“Thanks,” says David. “We’ll see you at dinner.”

Juliet nods, taking it for the dismissal it is.

The four of them walk, by unspoken agreement, to the music room. It is not the largest room in the house but by no means the smallest either, with plenty of room for one or two people to whirl around in its free space while someone else plays.

(For Les and sometimes Hotshot or Spot to dance while David plays, generally.)

Les drops his bag by the music room door and kicks his shoes off before settling in to stretch, which means that his potential partners are probably off the hook. He usually tells them if he's looking for participation. Hotshot darts to her favorite window seat – bumped out in a little half-hexagon and overlooking the garden, with just enough pillows to be comfortable – and curls up against the glass. It’s starting to rain again.

Spot follows David to the piano. There’s a little loveseat next to it, where Spot usually sits, but today he perches next to David on the bench. He’s allowed to be here provided he doesn’t get in David’s way, but he doesn’t usually take advantage of the invitation. Spot usually likes his space, likes to express himself through words at a careful distance even with his oldest friend, but he feels lately like he’s utterly run out of words. And with nothing else to say, he finds himself drifting a bit closer to David. David doesn’t seem to mind, being nearly as frazzled and scattered as Spot himself and always being more inclined toward tactility than Spot.

David starts to play. Spot doesn’t recognize the piece immediately, but that isn’t really a surprise. He knows all of David’s favorites by name, but anything else is harder to retain. They don’t have a real piano in their current apartment, just a keyboard, so David hasn’t been playing as much lately anyway. He misses this beautiful, well-loved baby grand too much while they’re away.

(Spot has never built David a piano, though he’s tried his hand at a number of other instruments. But he’s learned his share about repairing and rebuilding pianos since David fell in love with this one well over a hundred years ago and keeping it in good shape requires regular work. His ear catches on one of the low notes and he can’t help wondering if the hammer is due for repair.)

He can hear Les moving behind them. From the sound of his feet on the floor alone, Spot can tell that it’s something drawn out and gentle, more turning and sliding across the floor than leaps. He wonders if Les knows the piece David is playing or if this is all improvised. Maybe he’ll ask later.

He can’t bring himself to break the calm of the room just now.

They stay in the music room until the sun starts to dip and they all collectively realize they’ve forgotten to turn on any lights or light any candles. David has shifted to a meandering medley of Disney songs, while his brother lays flat on the ground with his arms and legs outstretched. Hotshot hums along with the end of Feed the Birds and stands, stretching.

“Dinner should be ready soon,” she says softly once David has finished playing. “We should go up and change, get those sheets on and things.”

“Good idea,” says David.

Hotshot helps Les up from the floor. It’s a little awkward given how small she is, but they are well practiced at this. They don’t wait for David and Spot to follow them out of the room.

Spot leans against David, tipping his head against his shoulder. “How are you doing, Davey?”

“Better,” David murmurs. “Being home is good. Grounding.”

“Good.”

“What about you, Spot?” says David.

“Better,” Spot agrees. He pats David’s knee and finally stands up. “C’mon, Niamh will be insufferable if we’re late.”

David laughs. He loops his arm through Spot’s as they walk, an echo of a hundred walks back when this was more fashionable than holding hands.

As they reach their bedrooms – adjacent but not entirely close – and separate, David squeezes Spot’s arm once.

“Are you sure you’re okay, babe?”

Spot smiles up at him, easy and casual. “I’m fine.”

It’s not even a lie, really.

“What was it Les said last night?” David says, rolling his eyes. “Right – we’re all too fucking old for the ‘oh, I’m fine’ bullshit.”

“And what if I am fine, Jacobs?” replies Spot.

“None of us are fine,” says David. “Everyone we loved when we were kids is back all together for the first time in three hundred years, even Sarah and Katherine, and Les and Niamh are getting married again and I went on a date with Jack and you’re – doing whatever it is you do with Race when you think I’m not paying attention.”

Spot snorts. “It varies.”

“Right,” David continues. “So I know you’re not fine. I’m asking if you’re okay.”

“I’m a little scrambled,” Spot admits. “But I’m okay.”

“Right,” David says again.

“I love you,” says Spot. “Thank you for checking in. Now please let me get dressed or I’ll never hear the end of it.”

David smiles at that. “Yeah, yeah. I love you, too.”

Spot’s bedroom at Juniper House is eclectic. It’s larger than the one he uses in their apartment in the city, and full of things he’s collected over the years. Some of it is art and trinkets from their travel, but some are mementos from parts of his life that he’s sentimental over.

(Jack isn’t ever allowed to come into this room, because if he visits he’ll surely notice the painting Francesca Sullivan had done in 1907, hanging over the dresser in pride of place. Spot had never quite wanted to admit that she’d warmed to Chessy, the two of them butting heads more than any other lifetime of Jack’s, but she had and she’s a sentimental at heart whether she likes it or not so now a painting of the Brooklyn Bridge dusted with snow hangs in his bedroom.)

The walls are papered in a muted red floral, though one is lined with large windows and another is so densely covered with framed photos and posters and art that it’s difficult to see the wallpaper underneath. Spot’s bed is large and comfortable, with its silver-white curtains tied up for easier access to the mattress. The mattress itself is – as promised – bare, but there’s a stack of red sheets waiting for him. He’ll manage those later, though.

He digs a soft sweater out of his dresser, one Les made on his last knitting kick, and shimmies it on over his t-shirt. That’ll have to be good enough for dinner, it’s not like this is any kind of formal occasion. He starts making his way down to the dining room.

Spot still isn’t sure what to make of everything going on, but it’s easier to sort through here. The distance helps, but so does wrapping himself up in the one place that really, truly feels like home, surrounded by decades of evidence that they have figured these things out before and they will figure them out again.

Still, he finds that he’s almost hoping that Pat has made soup for dinner.

Chapter Text

The weekend in Juniper House helps.

They leave with hugs for Juliet and her parents and Pat and promises that they’ll give a little more notice next time they decide to come home. They probably won’t, but it’s the thought that counts, right?

“And call once in a while, would you?” Juliet’s father adds. It’s delightfully paternal coming from a man who’s known the four of them since he was a toddler.

“We’ll take it under consideration,” David says, grinning. He’s been smiling brighter after a few days at home.

The four of them drive home in two cars, just as they’d driven up, but they shuffle. David goes with Les in his and Hotshot’s car, and Hotshot comes with Spot in his. David and Les have still got a lot to talk about, so they’d wandered to the same car without much discussion. Hotshot had simply shrugged and trailed Spot back to his car after.

The ride itself is fairly uneventful. The weather seems finally to be clearing, which they comment on back and forth for a few before falling into a comfortable silence. It’s easy to be quiet with Hotshot; neither of them are particularly wordy, and they have 300 years of relationship behind them to help them understand each other’s silence. They don’t even say goodbye out loud when Spot drops her off, just give little half-waves and move on with their days.

Spot works Monday morning.

“How was your trip?” Race says, once the rush has ended.

“Oh, it was alright,” says Spot.

“Go anywhere fun?” prompts Race.

Spot shrugs. “Home. We went home.”

Race tips his head to one side, curious. “To Juniper House?”

“Yeah,” says Spot. “We oughtta bring you and Jack ‘round sometime. Bet you’ll get a kick out of it. It isn’t exactly the same as you’d remember, but it’s not that different either.”

“I’d like that,” Race says, soft. “I loved that house.”

“Us, too,” Spot replies. “If Les and Niamh really do commit to Magnolia House for the wedding we’ll stay at ours, and we’ve got guest rooms. You and the others would be welcome to stay with us.”

“I thought Davey didn’t want strangers in the house,” says Race. He’s smiling softly, amused.

“You aren’t strangers,” says Spot. “It’s all’a the kids’ friends we don’t know he doesn’t want in our space, you know?”

“I can imagine,” says Race. “You never liked hosting even before Juniper House had been your home base for a hundred and ninety years.”

“Shit, Racer, you make us sound so old,” says Spot.

Race snorts. “Sweets, you don’t need my help with that.”

“You’re pretty damn old yourself, when you think about it,” says Spot. “Five lifetimes deep and all.”

“Still younger than you, even cumulatively, ya cradle robber,” Race teases. He elbows Spot’s arm. “Hey, speakin’ of, I was thinking. We’ve been doing –“ he waves his hand between them vaguely, “whatever this is for an awful long while now, but I don’t think I’ve ever taken you out on a date.”

Spot wiggles his hand in a so-so gesture. “We snuck into Steeplechase Park together, remember? Couple times.”

“That barely counts,” says Race.

“Well, I had fun.”

“I did too, sweets, it’s just –“ Race sighs, looking away. His cheeks are flushed. “Jack’s been in love with Davey for ever, yeah? Three hundred years. And Dave’s come around to that, much as he will, and I was just – I just –“

Spot catches Race’s hand in his own. “Racer. Whatever it is, it’s alright.”

Race sucks in a sharp breath, his gaze meeting Spot’s again.

“I love you,” he says. It’s very quiet. “I’ve loved you. Seán, Saoirse, Spot – whoever you are, wherever we are. And I know that I don’t always say it, and I know that it doesn’t always look quite the same, but I – I do. I have. Even that time I also had a strong but very ill-advised crush on David.”

Spot can’t help smiling at that. Edie had been the hardest version of Race to read by far, partially because she had been somewhat caught between Anthony and Angie’s ongoing flirtation with Spot and her own initial interest in David. David, not being overly prone to romantic attraction, had hardly noticed.

(Jack is another matter; the man has been looking at David like he hung the moon and stars since they first met in the late seventeenth century. Even David would be hard pressed not to notice that eventually, it’s just that it took him almost two hundred years to even start looking back.)

“I want to take you on a date,” Race continues, holding Spot’s gaze steadily even though his cheeks are still very red. “I want to – to make something of the time we have, for once. Not that we haven’t made anything of it before, I just – shit. Shit! This sounded so much better in my head!”

Spot squeezes his hand. “Race.”

“What?” Race says shakily.

“Yes.”

“What?”

“You want to take me on a date,” says Spot. “Yes. You want to make something of the time we have, yes. You love me –“

“Yes?” Race finishes, smiling fondly.

“I love you, too,” says Spot. “I don’t know this you very well yet, to be fair, but as you’ve said. I love you. I have loved you. Anthony and Angelica and Edith and Ernest and Anthony all over again.”

Race makes a funny little choked noise at the back of his throat. “I can’t believe – Ernest?”

“Did you think I didn’t know it?” says Spot, tipping his head curiously.

“I don’t know,” says Race. “I never thought about it. I certainly didn’t tell it to you.”

“You didn’t,” Spot agrees.

The bell rings, and they break off to help the customer. Spot can’t speak for Race, but he feels a bit off balance. Fortunately, it’s a to-go order and not a particularly complicated one, and then they’re alone again.

“You didn’t tell me,” Spot repeats, combing his fingers through his hair. That’s a gesture he shares with David, he knows, but at this point it’s hard to remember who picked it up from who. “Les found it, actually. Kid’s got contacts everywhere. You have a very nice headstone by the by, engraved Ernest “Racetrack” Holloway.”

Race’s eyes go wide. “Oh my god. Is that romantic? Why is that romantic?”

“Because I love you,” Spot says, shrugging. “And sometimes that means taking care of you even when you aren’t around to notice.”

Race bounces on his toes a bit, shifting his weight from one side to the other.

“Oh my god,” he says again. “Is Davey expecting you home right after work or can I take you out, like, immediately after we clock out?”

“David has the afternoon shift here,” Spot replies with a laugh. “He wouldn’t miss me for hours.”

“Great, because genuinely if I can’t, like, hold your hand and shit today I might fucking lose it,” says Race.

Spot laughs again, reaching over to take Race’s hand for a moment. “We can hold hands here if you’re that worked up about it.”

“Shut up,” Race replies, flushing. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah,” Spot says, fond. “I think I do.”

They get a bit of a midday rush, and David and Katherine come in to take over for them (Katherine, a self-proclaimed “daytime person,” refuses to open the coffee shop she owns, generally insisting that this is why she hires other people to work for her). Suddenly Race and Spot’s morning shift is over and Race is leaning over to whisper something in David’s ear as he passes by toward the back room that makes David laugh out loud.

“What?” Spot says, a bit self-conscious.

“Enjoy your date,” says David. “I’ll see you at home.”

“Yeah, yeah,” says Spot, his cheeks pink. “See you.”

Spot doesn’t have any idea what Race is planning if, in fact, he has a plan at all. But he lets himself be dragged along to wherever it is that Race is trying to go.

“You know Coney’s not actually an island anymore?” Race says. He has, as promised, tangled his fingers with Spot’s to swing between them as they walk. “It’s still called Coney Island, because that’s its name, but it’s actually a peninsula now. They did a bunch of land fill in like the thirties or something.”

“Yeah, I remember,” says Spot. “David and I weren’t living in the city at the time, but I remember hearing about it.”

“So are you guys just always alternating between Juniper House and the city nowadays, or?”

“Before this we were actually in Toronto for about a year and a half.” Spot looks up at the cloudy – though fortunately not threatening rain – sky, thinking. “And we moved to New Mexico for a decade or so after Francesca died. We hop around here and there, but it is nice to be close enough to home that we can get there easily on short notice. Sometimes we live near the kids and sometimes we don’t, but we all go home to Juniper House in between.”

“I can’t imagine,” Race says. “Really, I can’t. I don’t remember if I’ve said so before, but you’re different to how you were when we were kids. You’re different every time, even though you’re still – well. Maybe because you’re living through it all continuously. I feel like I’m always fundamentally the same, because every time I’m starting over. You’ve been growing the whole time.”

“If you say so,” says Spot. “Sometimes I feel like I’m very stuck in my ways.”

Race laughs. “Trust me, sweets, you’ve changed. Not for worse or better, necessarily, just… changed.”

It seems that Race doesn’t have a plan – they wander somewhat aimlessly for a while, learning bits and pieces of the parts of each other’s lives they’ve missed. Eventually they find their way to Race’s apartment.

“You could come up,” he offers. “For dinner. For – yeah. For dinner.”

“Sure,” says Spot.

“Ben probably isn’t home,” Race says as he unlocks the front door. “I think he had a thing today.”

“You know what I’ve always loved about you, Racer?” Spot teases.

“What?”

“Your specificity.”

“Fuck you.”

Spot laughs.

“Okay, it’s kind of a mess, but –“ Race says, opening the door, “it’s home.”

Spot has never once been to this apartment in the handful of months that they’ve known New Race. It feels, however, incredibly familiar.

The apartment is small, or at least the kitchen/living space seems to be, and a bit cramped in a lived-in way that tracks for what Spot knows of both of its residents. There’s a basket of yarn with a few half-finished projects on top that could belong to either of them, there’s a dozen little fidgety trinkets on the coffee table that are definitely Race’s. The furniture is soft and comfortable looking, if a bit mismatched. The couch is an atrocious plaid that Spot feels pretty confident wasn’t a pick of Benny’s, covered in more pillows than could possibly be practical, and the armchair next to it is a sad sort of green color that clashes delightfully with the couch and every pillow on it. Spot can see, from the door, no less than six books with bookmarks halfway through them.

“C’mon,” says Race. “Kick your shoes off, make yourself at home, please, please don’t just lurk in the doorway like you’re not allowed to be here.”

Spot laughs and does as he’s told, letting Race guide him into the kitchen. “I was just taking it all in.”

“Look, I would’ve cleaned if I’d known last night that I was going to babble a confession at you at work, let alone that you’d agree to come over,” Race says, flushing. “Stress cleaned, sure, but it would’ve all been –“

“Race,” Spot cuts in, “love. It’s fine. It’s you. Don’t think I don’t remember every other place of yours I’ve visited. You had the hammock above mine aboard the World for eight months!”

“Oh,” says Race.

“Oh,” agrees Spot.

“It’s a good thing you never saw my bedroom in Magnolia House,” Race says after a long moment. “It was a whirlwind at the best of times, and someone else was paid to manage it! I think Edie was the worst of me for –“ he waves around his head a bit, “the, like, wildly unmanaged ADHD of it all. I’ve never been more scattered than when I was her.”

“Is that what it was?” Spot can’t help asking. He’s curious, knowing how the world has changed since the last time Race was in it, to know that there are words that fit the troubles that follow him from life to life, as deeply woven into him as his clever mind or his blinding smile.

“Yeah,” Race says, shrugging. “Is this time, at least, and knowing that really puts the other times into perspective.”

“I’m glad you’ve got the perspective, then,” says Spot.

“Me, too.”

“Was your Magnolia room really so bad?”

Race laughs. “Oh, like you wouldn’t believe.”

“We could sneak up before the wedding, if you want, see if it’s been left intact for historic reasons,” teases Spot. “Who knows what treasures historians would find in your chaos.”

“Oh, god, don’t even joke,” says Race. He pauses, his whole body going still for a moment. “Actually, speaking of history. I found something kind of cool a while back, c’mere.”

He takes Spot’s hand again, since he’s clearly just decided that the only way to get Spot anywhere is to physically drag him there. He leads Spot to a door off of the main room, which is partially ajar.

“Your room?” Spot asks.

“Yeah,” Race replies, not looking back at him. He waves at something on the far wall. “Check it out.”

There’s a relatively small, framed painting on the wall above a well-worn desk, and Spot knows it instantly.

The painting’s subject is a handful of figures viewed from the wings of a theatre stage. The central ones are facing away from the viewer, four people of varying height back lit by the stage lighting. The one at the center is tallest, with golden light shining through his curls, and next to him are a pair of slightly shorter boys on one side and a much shorter girl on the other. There’s the suggestion of a very full crowd in the audience beyond them.

At the edge, not the focus, is a younger teen looking directly toward the wings and the viewer.

(And the artist.)

“Oh,” says Spot. He’s drawn much closer to the painting without really realizing. “Stars, Racer, where did you find this?”

“An estate sale,” Race answers softly. “It was before I really had any clear memories, too, but I saw it and I knew I had to have it. Have you seen it before?”

“No,” Spot replies, just as soft. “I never knew she’d done anything like this.”

“I’m surprised it wasn’t a gift for you two, to be honest,” says Race. “Given the Davey of it all. Not that you don’t look great in it, but David is definitely the star here.”

“I don’t know,” says Spot. “I think it might actually be Les.”

Les, watching Francesca before she’d run out and thrown the rally into chaos.

Race hums. “Yeah, you might be right. I didn’t realize he’d seen her before she came out.”

“He never said anything about it to me,” says Spot. “Wow. I can’t believe you found this. Does Jack know you have it?”

“Yeah, he’s seen it a few times,” Race says. “I offered it to him when we started getting our memories back proper, but he went a little green at the idea. She did what she thought she had to do, but I guess the rally still doesn’t really sit well with him.”

“Guess not,” Spot says. “David would love to see this, do you mind if I send him a photo?”

“You can if you want to, but I was thinking we might throw a party sometime soon with the reincarnated crowd, if you want to wait to let him wait to see it in person.”

Spot finally tears his eyes away from the painted Les to look at Race again. Race isn’t looking back, his own gaze still fixed on the painting. “That might be a good idea, actually.”

Race sits on the edge of his bed, his eyes closed and his face tipped upwards.

“Reincarnation is weird,” he says. It’s hard to tell if it’s an inside thought that slipped out of his mouth or if he meant it for Spot. “God, it’s so fucking weird sometimes. Is immortality also weird as shit?”

Spot laughs, carefully sitting down next to Race. “Yeah. It’s really weird.”

“Like, this is a hundred-and-ten-year-old painting, yeah?” says Race. “It’s a hundred and ten years old, and I’m in it. And you’re in it, and your partner and my roommate and Les. It’s a hundred and ten years old and it was painted after I died.”

“Yeah,” Spot agrees. “I’ve got one of Francesca’s paintings in my room at Juniper House too, you know, but it’s not – this is different. That one’s a landscape.”

“This one’s us.”

“This one’s us.”

Race sighs. “There’s one upside to the weirdness, though.”

“That so?” says Spot.

“Sure,” says Race. He reaches over to thread his fingers through Spot’s again, turning his head just enough to glance over as well. “You and David. And Jack, too. I don’t know what I’d do if I was circling around and around by myself, but knowing. Remembering. Instead, I get to know the three of you in every life. I get to love you in every life.”

Chapter Text

The kids do commit to Magnolia House for the wedding, finally, even though it should probably be too close to the date for it to be available. They’ve been cutting it kind of close.

Once the venue is booked everything else seems to speed up. Lots of their decisions are already made, but the date feels close and there are suddenly a million tiny choices to make. Every time Spot sees Hotshot she looks more and more frazzled, which feels odd on her especially after all this time. She finally found a dress, in a floaty green fabric with appliqué flowers around the bodice that give the impression of a fairy or an elf.

“Are you planning to wear shoes with that?” Spot asks. She isn’t wearing any for the fitting.

Hotshot shrugs. “Depends on whether we’re inside or outside. Weather permitting we’ll be in the garden and I definitely will, but if it rains and we’re inside absolutely not.”

“Don’t trust the ground in the garden?” says Spot.

“Correct,” Hotshot replies. She narrows her eyes at him. “Are you wearing a suit for this or a dress, love?”

Spot wiggles his hand noncommittally. “Probably a suit? I have a backup if I change my mind last minute, but Davey and I are probably going to coordinate similar to your last wedding.”

“Aw,” Hotshot says. “Make it something snazzy, alright? You two always look so nice in actual colors, and that’s on trend right now.”

Last time had been coordinating ties and vests, but colored or patterned suits could be nice. Spot hadn’t given it much consideration before, but now that Hotshot mentioned it he won’t be able to get it out of his head. He hums, thoughtful.

“Oh, I like that.”

“And there’s more room in that for your –“ Hotshot waves vaguely, “gender situation. Maybe lean a little more androgynous, if you were feeling it.”

Spot laughs. “Calling it that for the rest of forever, thank you.”

“Oh, no,” Hotshot says, rightfully understanding that she’s created a monster.

“No, no take-backs,” says Spot. “I’m putting that on forms now. What’s your gender? Oh, other: a situation.”

Hotshot grins, rolling her eyes. “Sure, why not? It isn’t as if every form you fill out isn’t at least fifty percent made up already.”

“No, see, this is different, because it would not be made up,” Spot replies, delighted. “Only my birthday.”

“Are you two conspiring about something?” David says, coming around the partition into the fitting area. “Oh – Niamh, that’s lovely.”

“Thank you, Davey,” Hotshot says, smiling. “And only over what you two will wear to the wedding.”

“Right,” says David, amused, “well, try not to frighten the staff with your antics, would you? You still have to get the dress back from alterations.”

The single staff member in the room, diligently pinning the hem of Hotshot’s dress as she stands on a box to make it easier, snorts. “I’ve heard weirder.”

“See?” says Spot, waving toward her.

“Lots of people have huge fights with their moms while getting their wedding dress fitted,” she says. “You two are just goofing off. It’s sweet, honestly.”

“Yeah, Davey, we’re sweet,” Hotshot singsongs.

“That isn’t the word I’d usually choose to describe you, but if the bar is the kind of fights people have with their mothers over their wedding I can see its application,” David says diplomatically, a glint of mischief in his eye. “Anyway – Spot, could you trade siblings with me for a few minutes? Les needs your help with something, since apparently I’m not good enough for him anymore.”

Hotshot laughs. “It’s okay, Davey. I appreciate you.”

“Thank you, Hotshot,” says David. He takes a seat on the bench next to Spot.

Spot bumps their shoulders together before standing in turn. “Better go see what Les wants – is he still just outside or did he end up wandering further?”

“He’s right out there, but he’ll want to wander with you, I imagine,” says David.

“We’ll catch you two up when we’re done here,” Hotshot adds.

“Right,” says Spot. “Love you.”

“Love you,” David and Hotshot both reply, a little out of sync.

Spot leaves them on a hunt for Les, who is fortunately still almost immediately outside of the store with his phone tucked between his cheek and shoulder and a pinched expression on his face.

He covers the mouthpiece with his hand, lifting his head. “Oh thank heavens. I’m on with the planner, and we are going in circles. I’m at my wit’s end, could you – oh, no, I’m still here. Look, I’m just going to put you on with my sibling –“ Les looks at Spot with big, pleading eyes. He nods, amused. Les mouths thank you, before continuing aloud, “and he can help you sort it out. No, not David, Seán.”

There’s a long pause, wherein Les rolls his eyes and Spot remembers that their wedding planner seems to be slightly afraid of him. As she damn well should be, after the day she’d accidentally made Niamh actually cry over their lost family for the first time in two centuries and Spot had given her what for.

(It wasn’t entirely Hannah’s fault. The question of whether their parents would be attending just fell a little too close to the emotional upheaval of Sarah’s arrival for comfort.)

“Well, he’s the one who’s here,” Les says. “And he’s the one in charge of helping us figure out the food, so –“

Spot snags the phone out of his hand and puts it to his own ear then. “Hi, Hannah, this is Seán. Les tells me that you’re having an issue with the caterer?”

And they’re off – Spot isn’t rude to Hannah by any means, he knows that she’s just trying to do her job and seems to be kind of bad at reading the room sometimes, but he also doesn’t let her get away with anything. He knows the kids’ plans well enough by now, after months of talking about it over family dinners, to be confidently firm on the things they feel strongly about and to know where the room for flexibility lies.

Spot can see David and Hotshot winding their way out of the store, so he wraps things up with Hannah.

“And thank you for getting this sorted out, Hannah,” he adds mostly sincerely. “Having a decent vegetarian option is really important to the kids, and I wouldn’t want something this small and solvable to ruin their day.”

“It was no trouble,” says Hannah, who was not acting that way ten minutes ago. “Solving problems like that is my job after all!”

“Right,” says Spot. “Well, I’m going to let you go. Feel free to reach out to me directly if you have any other issues with the catering.”

“I will,” Hannah replies. “You kids take care.”

Spot suppresses a snort. “You too.”

“You’re my hero,” Les says as he takes his phone back. “I swear, sometimes she’s a godsend and sometimes she condescends to me for fifteen whole minutes because she thinks it’s her job to tell me when I’m blowing something out of proportion – and maybe it is, but I don’t think it’s asking too much that Albert gets to eat something at my wedding!”

“Well, you know I’ve always got your back,” says Spot.

Les tugs him closer by his elbow and pulls him into a half-hug. “Of course. You always have.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t get sappy on me,” Spot says.

“Nope, I’m going full sap,” says Les. He squeezes Spot again before letting him go. “I love you and I appreciate you and I’m glad to have had you in my life for the last three hundred years.”

“Ugh, I love you too,” replies Spot.

Les laughs.

“Are you torturing Spot?” Hotshot says as she and David step outside. “Why is he making that face?”

“I reminded him that he’s wonderful and I love him,” Les says, amused.

Spot scrunches his face reflexively again. It isn’t that he doesn’t love Les and the others or anything, he does, it’s just a lot of direct attention. Hotshot laughs, and even David looks quietly amused. He offers Spot a hand, though, a little bit of gentle support.

“Look, I know,” Spot says, letting David thread their fingers together. “I’m amazing and protect you from scary things like the wedding planner that you picked out. Can we move on?”

“Of course,” says Les. He’s still smiling. “Well, Spot sorted the catering issue for us – or at least, Spot guilted Hannah into solving the catering issue? One way or another, we’re going to have a veg option for dinner and it is not going to be fake meat.”

“Oh, thank heavens,” Hotshot says. She tucks herself against Les’s side, letting him wrap an arm tightly around her shoulders. “I’m glad that Al won’t think we hate him.”

“Al wouldn’t have thought you hated him,” David offers gently.

Les wiggles his hand in a so-so gesture. “Who’s to say? Anyway, the problem is solved and now we don’t have to wonder! Niamhín has a dress to wear, I’ve got a suit, I generally trust the two of you to dress yourselves, so I think the next major concern is the seating arrangements but that shouldn’t be too bad.”

“And thank every star for that, because this wedding feels terribly close,” Hotshot adds.

“Are you going to have anyone stand with you besides us?” David asks. “I can’t remember either of you mentioning any bridal party.”

“That’s because you don’t listen,” Les says, teasing. David splutters in offense before Les takes pity. “Nah, just you two. We’ve done the other way, but at the end of the day, well – this is our family. It’s hard to put anyone else up there to stand next to the people who have stuck with us for three centuries.”

“Wow. Well, when you put it like that it sounds obvious,” say David.

“Do you want Sarah at your table, by the way?” Hotshot asks as they start to walk toward the car. “It’s looking like team there and back again is going to be spread across two, so you can choose.”

“Can we think about it?” Spot says when David doesn’t reply right away. “How soon do you need to have your assignments set?”

“We’ve got time,” Les says, waving it off. “It’s going to take a bit of time to get everybody else sorted out, but we don’t actually have to commit to anything final until we drop the place cards off at Magnolia House the day before the event, so. Take as long as you need.”

“Thanks,” murmurs David.

“But not too long, because the wedding is only two months away,” Hotshot adds.

“I don’t think I’m going to waffle about it for that long,” David says, startled into laughter.

“I’m only saying it because I know you, baby doll,” says Hotshot, grinning. “You’ve got that immortal time blindness sometimes.”

“Can I call that for a band name? Immortal Time Blindness?” Spot says. “You’re really on a roll today, Niamh.”

Hotshot laughs. “Sure, if you say so.”

The conversation moves on, still mostly wedding related because it’s all any of them seem to be able to talk about but mostly frivolous details. What are the flowers going to look like, how does Magnolia House look after all this time, and who’s officiating this time, anyway? It carries them all the way to the car and then all the way home, David and Spot peppering their siblings with questions and enjoying half an hour of being totally normal twenty-somethings with nothing but normal worries.

“Think about Sarah,” Les says as David and Spot leave the car, twisting to look at his brother over the back of his seat.

“Right,” says David, as if he could have forgotten.

Which leaves David and Spot perched on opposite ends of their couch a few minutes later, Spot watching David carefully while David looks at his entangled hands in his lap.

“Have you talked to her much more?”

“Here and there,” David says to his hands. “She doesn’t remember yet, really, but a few times she’s looked at me like – like she might. Have you seen her at all?”

“Only when she comes in for coffee,” says Spot. “I always get that squinty I-should-remember-this look she used to do, but it’s hard to tell if that’s because she remembers or if she just met me so quickly that first time that I didn’t fully retain.”

“Is it stupid for me to say that I’m a little bit afraid to talk to her?” David asks softly.

Spot laughs, he can’t stop himself. “No? Stars and planets, David, I’m afraid too. How could you not be? This isn’t like Juliet and Paddy – she was important to you, personally. To us. And it still feels wrong, even after all this time, that she hasn’t been here all along.”

“What if she’s different to how we remember?” says David. “What if she’s the same?”

“We’ll never know unless we reach out,” says Spot.

“I just wish it were easier to have it happen organically,” David says. “I don’t want to call her up and say ‘hey, I think you were my sister in a past life’ because that is an objectively insane thing to say. I think it’s insane, and I know that it’s true.”

“How’s this,” Spot says slowly, a plan forming. “I’ll call Racer tonight, see if he and Benny wanna host something for the reincarnated crowd. Get Kathy to bring Sarah along, and see how things go from there?”

“Could work,” says David. “Could be nice even if it doesn’t.”

“I’ll do that, then,” says Spot.

David reaches over and taps the top of Spot’s foot. “How are things? With Race, I mean? It feels different this time.”

“Good,” says Spot. It comes out soft, softer than he means it to. “Really good. I’m – I don’t know exactly what it’ll end up being, but it’ll be something. It feels different to me, too.”

“And you’re happy?”

“Are you?”

David runs his fingers through his hair, twisting his curls around his fingers. “Yes. I think so.”

“I think I am, too,” Spot replies.

“I don’t think I noticed how much I’d been drifting until I started feeling grounded again,” David says quietly. “It’s easy to lose track of things when the only real connections I have are with you and the kids.”

Spot sighs. “I know what you mean. Immortal time blindness, I guess, but also immortal inability to behave entirely normally in social situations with normal humans?”

“That could just be us,” says David. “Stars know Les and Niamh seem to have less trouble with it than you and I.”

“It could just be us,” Spot agrees. “It’s easier with the reincarnates.”

“Well yes. We already loved them.”

“I can’t believe they’re all back like this,” says Spot. “I’m glad, though. Especially since none of them have ever made it to one of the weddings before, and now they’ll all be there.”

“I think I want her at our table,” David says after a long pause. “Maybe that’ll change, after whatever you get Race to host, but – I think I want to be close to her for Les’s wedding. She might not know us yet, but she’s still Sarah. What do you think?”

Spot slides across the couch to nestle closer to David. “I think I’ve got your back, whatever we do. You want Sarah at our table, we’ll sit with Sarah. You wanna run back to Juniper House and hide for another decade, we’ll do it.”

David laughs. “Why are you like this?”

“Three hundred years of practice,” says Spot. “I’m serious though, babe. I’ve got your back, whatever happens.”

David nudges him with his shoulder. “I know. And I’ve got yours, too.”

Chapter Text

“Have I met you before?”

“Few times, yeah,” Spot says, brow furrowed. “I work at Kathy’s coffee shop –“

“No, not at the shop,” Sarah says. She waves her hand like she’s batting the idea away. “I know you work at the shop. You just feel – I don’t know, familiar. Like I’m supposed to remember you from somewhere. Like maybe you used to be important.”

Spot barely has time to raise his eyebrows, stunned, before Sarah barrels on.

“Oh, God, not that you aren’t important.” She drags her fingers through her hair, twisting the ends around her fingers the same way David and Les both do. “Important to me, I mean, or maybe important to someone who was important to me? Did we go to, like, summer camp together or something?”

“Or something,” Spot says, shrugging.

Sarah lets a slow hiss of air out through her teeth. “And you’re not going to tell me what that or something is? Not even a hint? It’s been driving me up the wall – not just you, but your boyfriend and his brother, too.” She looks over her shoulder, toward where the others are sprawled over Benny and Race’s mismatched couch and chairs. “Everyone here a bit, I guess.”

“I’ve been explicitly told not to explain it to anyone,” Spot says, which is a bit of an explanation anyway. “You’ve all got to figure it out for yourselves.”

“So it’s not just me?”

“No.”

“But there is something.”

“Yes.”

“With you and your boyfriend and your siblings?”

“He really doesn’t like being called my boyfriend,” Spot says, rather than repeating an answer he knows Sarah already has. “He’s not really a boy, and it also tends to suggest a romantic connection that we don’t have or want. David is my partner.”

“Sorry,” Sarah says sincerely. “I didn’t realize.”

“We never told you,” says Spot. “Hey, you’re coming to Niamh and Les’s wedding, right?”

Spot knows the answer to this question, since she RSVPed already. He’s trying to be normal and casual, though, and this is an easy transition.

“Uh, yeah,” replies Sarah. “With Katherine, kind of.”

“Of course,” Spot says. “Do you mind if I ask why? I mean, you don’t know any of us well, and you definitely didn’t when Les first invited you.”

“Weddings are fun,” Sarah says, “and, I mean, like I said: I feel like I should know you guys. I think I want to.”

Spot smiles at her. He can’t help it. New Sarah is less tense than Spot ever knew First Sarah, quicker to smile and laugh and talk to strange teenagers who invite her to their weddings.

(Spot isn’t sure he’d ever really registered how tense Sarah always was, not until long after she’d died. She had already been carrying a lot of weight before Seán and Niamh walked into her family’s life, so Spot really hadn’t ever known her another way. It’s nice to see her – this mirror-version of her, looking almost like herself but for the way she carries herself, the shade of her eyes, the shape of her face – look so light, so at ease, now.)

“We’re glad to get to know you, too,” Spot says. “I think you’re sitting at our table at the wedding, by the way. Not to, like, spoil the seating arrangements or anything.”

Sarah laughs. “Ooh, you gonna get in trouble for that?”

“Look, if Les and Niamh wanted it secret they could’ve put the table together themselves,” says Spot.

“It’s nice you and David are so involved with their planning,” Sarah says, almost wistful. “I have siblings, but we aren’t close at all.”

“We don’t have anyone else,” Spot tells her. It isn’t what he means to say – it sort of tumbles out of his mouth without his permission. “People sometimes give the kids shit for – for how young they seem? And we’ve got a grand total of zero parents between us, so David and I are the ones who have their backs. We always have been.”

Sarah is watching him with a sort of distant look in her eye. “You’re, what? Twenty?”

“I’m older than I look.” He doesn’t quite look at her. “It’s complicated.”

“What, aging?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.”

“I can’t tell if you’re being cryptic and mysterious on purpose to mess with me or if you’re just genuinely weird,” Sarah says mildly.

Spot chuckles. “And you’ll just have to figure it out for yourself.”

“Spot, can I borrow you?” Benny says, appearing out of nowhere over Sarah’s shoulder. “Albert doesn’t believe me that there were were electric toasters before the end of the nineteenth century.”

“So naturally you’re appealing to Spot, known expert on the late Victorian era?” Sarah says in a light, joking tone.

“Yes,” Benny replies, dead serious. Sarah doesn’t seem to know what to do with that.

“Sorry, Sarah, duty calls,” says Spot.  

Sarah’s laughter follows Spot to the corner of the room where Albert is determinedly tapping away on his phone. Benny walks close next to Spot but doesn’t throw an arm over his shoulders the way he might David’s.

“1893,” Spot says, dropping onto the floor next to Albert.

“There’s no way that’s true,” says Albert.

“I’m telling you, man,” Benny insists. He does drape himself across Albert as he takes his own seat. “Spot and the internet agree.”

“Why should I believe Spot more than I believe you?”

“You know why,” Benny says.

“I’m not sure I believe you about that, either,” Albert replies, quieter.

Spot tips his head curiously. “When you all come up for the wedding, I’ll see if we can’t dig our first toaster out from storage. It’s not quite that old, but it’s just after the turn of the century.”

“Early adopters of the toaster, were we?” says Benny, amused.

“Wouldn’t you be?” Spot replies.

Benny laughs. “If I’d had that kind of money I would have been.”

“Hey, uh, Spot,” Albert says, his brow furrowed. “You’re serious?”

Spot studies him for a moment. Albert looks far away, one knee pulled to his chest. “Yeah, bud. Dead serious.”

“And Les and Niamh’s wedding, that’s at – that’s at my house,” Albert says, even softer. “Magnolia House, I lived there, didn’t I?”

Benny reaches over to pat the leg that isn’t pulled up to his chest.

“Yeah, you did,” Spot replies. “How’re you feeling about that?”

“Weird,” says Albert.

“How much do you remember?”

“Bits and pieces?” Albert meets Spot’s eye, chewing on his lower lip. “I had – sisters?”

“Janey and Edie,” Spot supplies. He nods in Race and Jack’s direction. “Those two.”

“Right,” Albert breathes. “And a friend, best friend. Finch.”

“We’re pretty sure he got reincarnated into our staff at Juniper House,” says Spot. To Benny, he adds, “Romeo, too.”

“Cool,” Albert says, in that way that people who are very overwhelmed are known to talk. “Right. Okay. Um. Toasters?”

“Toasters,” Spot says, nodding. “They’re handy. Invented early in the home electricity craze.”

“Very early,” agrees Benny.

“Reincarnation?” Albert says, hoarse.

“Twice,” says Benny.

“Right.”

Spot hums. “You okay, Al?”

“I’m – I think I’m going to go find my husband and try not to have an existential crisis,” Albert says.

“Well, you know where we are if you do,” Spot says mildly. “Or if he starts to remember.”

“Him, too?”

“Everyone here,” Spot says. “Well – almost everyone.”

Albert narrows his eyes, fixing Spot with a difficult to read expression. “You and Davey and the kids. You’re – you’re –“

Spot nods.

“Right, okay, well I’m just going to –“

Albert stands up and takes a stumbling step in the direction of Charlie and the others on the couch. It’s hard to tell if the unsteadiness is because of the information he’s trying to integrate into his worldview or from being curled into a tiny ball on the floor for so long.

“Were you actually arguing about toasters, or was he just – remembering, but not believing it?”

Benny hums, tilting his head to one side and wiggling his hand back and forth. “Bit of both. He’s been picking up bits and pieces for a while now, I think. I can tell you firsthand that it’s hard to sort through.”

“I can’t imagine,” Spot replies, quiet. “Jack and Race don’t usually talk much about it, and – stars, this will sound awful, but I’ve never really thought to ask anyone else.”

“They’re your fixed points,” says Benny, “it’s understandable that you’d focus on them. I’d also hazard that they handle things a little differently to the rest of us, though. Racer says this is his fifth time around. That’s a lot of memories, but also they’ve probably got a rhythm they fall into as it starts filtering back now. Poor Al’s only done this one other time.”

“What about you?” says Spot. “You’ve only been around one other time, but you seem remarkably well-adjusted.”

“I’ve had longer to adjust to it,” Benny points out. “I started getting memories back ages ago. ‘Round the time I met Racer again, actually. And last time I – I had much bigger problems to worry about when I first started remembering.”

“Which was –“

“Smack in the middle of the strike, obviously.”

“Apologies.”

Benny shrugs. “It was a nice distraction. Made it easier to not lose it on Franny when she ditched us.”

“Didn’t stop Race,” says Spot.

“Yeah, well, he’s a special case,” Benny says.

“Things are looking serious over here, what are you two talking about?” Race says, flopping to the floor between them.

“You, actually,” says Benny. “Specifically the way you tore into Fran after that stunt at the rally in ’99.”

“God, why?” Race says. He bumps his shoulder against Spot’s, then rocks back out of his space. “That was not my best day.”

“Believe me, sweetheart, it was nobody’s best day,” says Spot.

“I was telling Spot about how remembering feels,” Benny offers.

Race whistles. “That was the worst I ever handled it, you know? We were in the middle of the strike and Jack kept disappearing and we’d just been sisters, and then she shows up at the rally and pulls that? God, I was so pissed.”

“I don’t blame you,” says Benny. “Hey, speaking of you and Jack being sisters, though – you should make a point of catching up with Al soon. He’s remembering, but he’s not doing so hot with it.”

“Right,” says Race. “Great. Awesome. I’ll do that. God, reincarnation is so fucking weird.”

Spot chuckles. “Immortality isn’t any better.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Race replies, rolling his eyes. “But hey, I – I think I’ve said this before, but it’s worth it for this. For you guys.”

Spot bumps their shoulders together again. “Yeah, I think it’s worth it for you guys, too.”

“If you two are going to be mushy I can go,” Benny says, light and half-joking. “I’m sure I –“

He cuts off in a startled shout as Race tackles him.

“You’re part of you guys, dumbass!”

“God, okay, fine!” Benny is laughing, trying to roll Race off of him mostly unsuccessfully. “I’m glad we’re in our third life together, now get off!”

“What are you three doing over there?” Charlie calls from the couch.

“Having a reincarnation moment, obviously,” Race yells back, like this is something they talk about.

It clearly is something Race and Benny talk about, to be fair, but everyone else falls still and quiet.

“Reincarnation?” Sarah is the one to break the silence, leaning over the back of the couch between Katherine and David, fixing Spot with a serious look. “It’s fucking reincarnation?"

Spot can’t help but laugh. “Surprise?”