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The perfect limbo. Not quite anything but not nothing. The soothing feeling of waves rocking a boat on a calm spring day. The vessel comfortably rocked back and forth, balanced and stable as its craftsmanship created it to be. A cool breeze runs over the water and fills the sails, a perfect day for a memory. The finished wood feels like sand under his feet, the water is an inky darkness, shimmering brighter as the sun peaks from behind the clouds. A blanket of warmth covers him as the sun gets brighter, slowly engulfing everything until it’s all a field of white.
Then, John wakes up.
He slowly cracks an eye open, disappointment and annoyance fills his chest as he was pulled away from the dream. His eyes traced the bed frame to the clock on the bedside table. 5:46 AM. It was early, at least to his more recent standards after becoming a father. He gave the clock a soft glare, mildly annoyed that time was in fact a concept hindering him. Letting out a weak groan, he squeezed his eyes shut, resting his head on Simon’s collar, wondering how much more time he had to rest before the munchkin woke up. It didn’t really matter though did it? Sometimes he forgot that. After seeing the horrors the world and its inhabitants had to offer, it had been a difficult transition to the peaceful life he lived now. It was a miracle he was even alive, that they were alive after all that happened. John could hear Simon’s heart beating away, the sound thumping against his temple.
He remembered what happened. Remembered the blinding pain bursting through the side of his head that only lasted for a second before nothing. He remembered the ringing in his ears from the gunshot and the thumpthumpthump of his rapid heartbeat, only to be left in silence moments later. Sometimes his temple pulsed with discomfort whenever a storm drew nearer. The months after he woke up felt like his own personal hell, crafted by the blood he’d spilled. Sometimes blinding headaches overwhelmed him, sending him to his knees as if an altar were before him.
But…in this moment, all was right in his world. Death was busy, and would hopefully not come knocking at his door anytime soon. So he would savor everything up until the very end. Furthermore, John MacTavish had more pressing matters to attend to, such as the troubles of the morning sun. It was rising at such an angle that rendered the curtains useless, and in turn, laid a ray of sunlight right over his eyes.
With a disheartened grumble, John shifted down, pancaking himself on top of Simon. His head found a resting place atop his husband’s heart, his arm wrapped under Simon’s waist, and his legs wrapped around one of his much like a koala. With one problem gone, he breathed out a deep and heavy sigh, a smile playing at the ends of his lips as he breathed in.
The tangy scent of gunpowder and the musk of browned blood had long since disappeared, replaced by the subtle sweetness of daily showers and yesterday’s cologne. Pushing his face closer he took a slow, deep breath in, feeling his body relax deeper into the duvet. His mind was close to being a puddle of melted nothingness, sinking deeper into what he thought could only exist as a dream. But there he was, resting peacefully in the arms of his husband, or maybe an angel. The way Simon’s hair glowed a golden halo by the sun’s light peeking through the curtains made him appear to be more than just a mortal man. Years ago, he would have argued against that, saying he was no angel nor man. The old rumors supported that statement, citing the shadows that followed his steps, the sounds of screams that echoed in his voice, the blood of hundreds behind his eyes. But as John looked up, he only saw the sleeping face of his husband.
It wasn’t long before Simon stirred, his arm adjusting to John’s new position, pulling him closer and back into the line of sunlight. Did the sun have nothing better to do than to ruin his morning? The man let out a mutter of annoyance as he thought of what to do. He had two choices, either to move to avoid the sunshine and disturb his and Simon’s blissful comfort, or, stay cuddled where he was and accept the ray of light over his eyes. He pondered for a moment, a choice all too difficult to make on a whim. Waking up was not a choice for he was far too comfortable in the limbo he found himself floating in.
Glancing back over at the clock it was a quarter past 6. It was a Saturday. Nothing worth waking up for he thought. Simon however thought differently as John watched his eyes flutter open, lazily staring up at the ceiling before meeting his gaze.
“Good morning handsome.” He muttered out, his words vibrating through Simon’s sternum. The man under him grunted back a good morning while blindly reaching over to grab his phone.
“It’s a quarter past 6. Little one won’t be up for another hour at least.” Neither of them heard the quiet pitter patter of feet passing by their bedroom door.
Simon sighed, dropping his arm on the mattress as he stared up at the ceiling trying to collect his thoughts. Probably planning the plans they didn’t have. John flicked Simon’s nose, grabbing his attention.
“Stop thinking and go back to bed. ‘Tis too early.”
“It’s past 6…”
“Don’t gotta be up for nothing.”
“Get an early start on the day.” He started, stretching his arms above his head and groaning in relief. The pains of the past would haunt their bones forever. But a good pop or two would settle it. “Make breakfast and coffee. Throw on a movie. Go out.”
“You are a terrible, terrible man for even suggesting we get out of bed at this hour,” John moaned. “Just another hour.”
“It’s never just another hour with you.”
“I have needs, Simon.”
“I’m not denying them, John.”
John sent him a weak glare, pouting.
“Johnny…” That made him deflate a little.
“How about we stay in bed while I check the morning news?”
John thought for a moment before giving into the agreement, adding “Check in on Laswell, the Captain, and Gaz. Make sure they made it home alright.”
Simon hummed, grabbing his phone to see the notifications screen. Two texts from Price and one from Laswell.
“Price says he made it home safe and he enjoyed yesterday. Hopes to see us again soon. Laswell says the same. Think Gaz texted you.”
“Probably. I’ll check it later.”
Simon hummed, typing out a quick response to Kate and Price before scrolling the news, listening to the reporter drone on about mundane happenings. Nothing exciting aside from the price of eggs dropping, which reminded him that they needed to do a grocery run. Eggs, milk, broccoli, a loaf of bread and sliced bread, cheese and ham slices from the deli… the news droned on, filling a void of his mind as he thought about the day ahead. It wasn’t anything special. Just a Saturday. A text message from Price gave him a reason to click off the news station, the noise still droning on but a bit quieter.
“Looks like Price left us something.”
“…like, something nice or something questionable that we’ll find a week down the road?”
Simon chuckled in amusement, typing out what John had asked and sending it to Price. All he got back was a winky face reaction emoji and and the cryptic message:
“You’ll see. Enjoy a cuppa.”
Simon narrowed his eyes at the text, opening his mouth to make the suggestion that maybe they should start getting ready when a loud crash from the kitchen stopped him. John perked up at the sound. Years ago they would have already been in motion, reaching for the nearby gun or knife in the bedside table or under the mattress, but some years of retirement and parenting have loosened that specific reaction. They were still in motion however; but for vastly different reasons and things.
John rolled off Simon and grabbed his hearing aids, setting them around his ear as he shuffled his feet into slippers. Simon was already out the door. A brave man to go without shoes. His brave man he corrected, following closely after.
The sight that beheld them was…certainly a sight. Primary a mess but a sight nonetheless. Eggs broken across the counter, slowly oozing onto the floor and step stool. The flour container had been tipped over for optimal reach while the sugar container had been almost emptied out despite having been filled just a week ago. The fridge had been left open, a carton of orange juice acting as a stopper. John’s half and half was also out on the table next to a mug that suspiciously looked like it was full of half and half. A curly straw stuck out of it. A bag of chocolate chips had been opened and spilled out partially across the table and floor. A variety of kitchen utensils were spread across the counter as if an operation were about to occur. And finally, their daughter stood in the middle of the mess, a metal bowl on the ground in front of her. She looked up at them with teary eyes, flood gates that threatened to break open at the slightest hint of disapproval. The two of them went into damage control.
Simon quickly stepped around the mess before taking a knee in front of his daughter, picking her up and whisking her away from the middle of the mess. Thick tears were already streaming down her face as words clumped up in her throat.
“Hey there buttercup.” Simon began, but Catherine, their daughter, was already desperately struggling to hold everything back.
“Am I in trouble?” She quietly asked, seemingly having a preference in the grain of the wooden floors than Simon’s eyes.
“No, no you aren’t in trouble. Accidents happen. Everything can be cleaned up. No harm no foul. Did you hurt yourself at all?” He questioned. She shook her head, fussing with the sleeves of her pjs. Simon looked over at John who had ensured the stove and oven were turned off and the fridge was closed.
“You just scared us is all. I know you wanted to do something special for us,” Simon said, having already deducted an attempt at breakfast by the mess and the 3 plates that had been set out in preparation, “but we’d really rather you tell us so we can do it together. Messes can always be cleaned up and items can be replaced; we care about you and don’t want to see you get hurt. What if you slipped and fell into wonderland? I wouldn’t know where to start. Your Da would lose his head.”
“Aye. I don’t think my wee heart could take it. Not to mention we’d need to rescue you,” John quipped, remembering the movie they’d watched the night before with Price, Laswell, and Gaz. “Follow the white rabbit, get directions from Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb, and then beat the queen in a game of golf. And I can’t play golf.” He exclaimed, placing a dramatic hand to his heart. His other hand clicked start on the coffee maker.
“It’s not golf Da! It’s croquet.” Catherine managed to get out, her attention being partly redirected.
“Same difference no?” He tilted his head, thinking inquisitively as he moved around the kitchen island, picking up the milk and orange juice, storing them back into the fridge. “I mean, they both use sticks and balls.”
“Nuh uh. The Queen uses flamingos as clubs and hedgehogs as balls. And she cheats.”
“Well that’s not good. How about we avoid wonderland all together then?” Simon asked, humming as he grabbed a tissue, offering it to Catherine to which she took to wipe her tears, still sniffling a little. “No following white rabbits?” He asked, taking her nose and giving it a little wiggle. She smiled as she pulled away, holding her nose as she giggled.
“No following white rabbits.” Catherine reaffirmed.
“Can we ask what you were trying to do?” John asked, trying to see if they could make whatever Catherine was trying to make in the first place.
“I was trying to make pancakes for you.”
“Well you got all the ingredients, so that’s a good start.” He said with a smile, closing the jars of sugar and flour and setting them aside.
“Why were you trying to make pancakes for us Pumpkin?”
“Because it’s Father’s Day and I wanted to do something special for my dads.”
That just about melted their hearts. Father’s Day had never really been a holiday they looked out for or celebrated for that matter, so it wasn’t one that they would have remembered unless something or someone told them. Both of them felt a little terrible for having forgotten such a holiday, giving each other a look that needed no translation. Time to make today the best Fathers’ Day ever.
“Pancakes for breakfast sounds like a wonderful idea. How about it?” Simon asked, glancing over at John to get confirmation that it was in fact possible. John however signed to him eggs gone . Looks like they were going to pick breakfast up.
“Yes please! Pancakes for breakfast!”
“Then go get dressed. And if you can tie your own shoes, we can eat in the living room and watch a movie when you get back.”
“Pancakes!” Catherine jumped out of Simon’s arms, making a dash up the stairs to her room. Once she was up the stairs and in no way in danger of slipping back down, Simon made his way over to the kitchen.
“Mind telling me the plan?” Simon mused, wrapping his arms around John’s midriff.
“You and the little lass go grab breakfast and I’ll clean everything up here. Now go get dressed,” John said, giving his husband a kiss. “You have pancakes to go pick up.”
“Coffee?”
“Should be done soon.” He replied, placing his hands on the other’s shoulders before walking him backwards. “Now go.”
Simon huffed but obliged, leaving the mess in John’s hands. With a smile John removed the lid from the trash can and got busy, tossing the broken egg shells and yokes away and sweeping up the spilled flour and sugar. Most of the mess had been cleared away by the time his husband walked out, dressed in sweatpants and a black undershirt. His wedding ring hung around his neck on a chain necklace that once held his dog tags. John quickly grabbed a cup to-go and poured some coffee, setting it on the counter next to the man’s keys. Simon slid on a jacket before scooping both items up, sliding the keys into his pocket and checking that he had his wallet and phone. Everything was accounted for.
“Want me to do a grocery run too?”
“Nah. Just grab some breakfast. We can do errands later.” “Sounds like a plan.”
At that Catherine came flying down the stairs, nearly falling over herself before planting her hands on her hips.
“I have tied my shoes!” She declared.
Simon walked over and made a show of kneeling down, acting older than he was. He hummed, looking at the shoes as if he were thinking hard.
“They look tied. Give them a shake.” Catherine shook her shoe and the laces did not come undone.
“Good work,” he praised before suddenly picking her up over his shoulder as he stood up, tickling her sides as she flailed in his arms. “See you back in 20?”
“Aye. See you then.” John said, chuckling as he watched their daughter squirming in Simon’s grip, giggling as the man showed off his strength. “Don’t drop the lass. We can’t replace her.” he joked, watching as Catherine gave a look of mocking offense.
Before they stepped out, John questioned his husband.
“Is this mug yours?” He lifted it up for Simon to see. It was a white mug with black lettering reading These Puns Are Armed and Dadly. Simon shook his head as Catherine exclaimed in glee.
“Me and grandpa got it for you guys!” Ah, so that's what Price meant by that cryptic message earlier. However he still had one more question.
“Well that's very sweet of you. But…pumpkin. Why is it filled with half-and-half?”
His daughter simply stared at him for a moment before exclaiming “Pancakes! I’m hungry!”
John was defeated when Simon waved him off. “The mystery can wait, Mactavish. The child demands pancakes.”
“I- alright. Have fun you bampots.” Simon gave him a two fingered wave before stepping out, setting Catherine down who ran to the car. John let out a chuckled huff as he poured out the half-and-half into the sink and gave it a quick rinse before pouring himself some coffee. He mixed in a little bit of sugar and cream before stepping out the front door, watching as the car pulled out of the driveway.
Cradling the mug in one hand, he leaned against the door frame, the smell of bitter beans and sweet creamer blending together in a worthwhile aroma. The dew misted over the greenery, sparkling as the sun shone from above. It was cool outside, the early morning breeze carrying a new day with it. The sun was warm, making it a perfect day to go out and about. Painted clouds slowly floated their way across the sky at a snail's pace. With a satisfied hum John closed his eyes, thinking back to the dream he had. A day out on the waters didn’t sound like a bad idea. Not a bad idea at all.