Work Text:
In the email Mel forwarded Samira, the Vale of Primrose was a mythical land where creatures roamed amongst the crowds and magic shimmered in the air. In reality, the Vale of Primrose was a large field in Westmoreland that usually hosted the state fair, currently filled with rows of tents and banners snapping in the wind and, perhaps, just a little bit too much sweaty polyester.
“Historically accurate fabrics breathe,” Mel had said wisely in the dusty parking lot, yanking Samira into one of the dresses she spent her free time hand-sewing like a lunatic. Mel looked like she could work at the Faire. Her hair was braided elaborately into a net at the back of her head, her glasses gone, and she was wearing a gown that must have taken her months. She had even made a very tiny linen dress for Kira (to go with her flower crown and wooden sword), who was currently being squabbled over by Jack and Trin.
Samira had to admit she did feel very floaty in her dress with the big swoopy sleeves. She had worn her hair down for once, diffusing it carefully while Kira sat on the floor at her feet and methodically removed every single item from the bathroom cabinets, and Mel had settled a beautiful gold circlet into her curls. It was Kira’s sincerest wish to yank the little gemstone that dipped down over Samira’s forehead into her mouth.
Trinity had taken one look at the sumptuous, carefully embroidered dresses and corsets (stays, Mel called them) when Mel brought them out at girls night, made a rude noise, said no thanks, and opened Etsy on her phone. She was now wearing something that could only be described as Slutty Knight. There was a chainmail miniskirt involved. Samira had seen her sending a mirror selfie to someone in the car.
Jack had said Samira, is it important to you that I pick out an outfit or do you want to choose one for me? which was one of the reasons Samira loved him. Jack was also kind of a slutty knight, but he got to wear pants. The slutty part was his arms.
Frank was as much of a freak about the historical accuracy as Mel, and was at this moment trying to tell Trin, who was ignoring him, about when specifically a doublet (???) in the style he was sporting would have been worn.
Becca had confessed this year that she didn't actually want to go to the Ren Faire every time and was mainly interested in a group of women who performed bawdy historical songs and would not be in attendance this year, so she preferred to stay home in the air conditioning. This had caused Mel to go into a spiral so bad it required Samira and Trinity to collaborate on a text to Frank that essentially said get your butt over here Mel needs a hug.
She's always needed me, Mel had said quietly, her arms wrapped around her knees. Frank had shown up ten minutes later and sat down next to her, his hand open on the floor. Mel had grabbed it after a moment. This was when Samira decided she fully approved of Frank. Trinity had glared at him for a long moment and then sighed deeply. Which was pretty much the same thing, for Trin.
“You get her all the time,” Trinity snapped, reaching for Kira, who was screaming with laughter about being held over Jack’s head. “She's going to forget who I am.”
“She knows who you are,” Jack said. “You're always in our apartment. And you eat all of our food.”
“I babysit for free.”
“Trinity,” Samira said. “Did you know there's a stand here where bar wenches will pour mead down your throat while they dirty talk you?”
“How do you know that, sweetheart?” Jack asked with an interesting tone in his voice.
Trinity was undeterred. “Duh. That's why I agreed to come in the first place. Grandfather Time, give me my niece before I take your other leg.”
“Oh my god, they're both knights and she's a little princess!” a woman walking by cooed. “Can I take your picture? Is that your baby?”
“Ew, gross, no,” Trinity said at the same time that Jack loudly announced “I'm married.”
“Oh, I love the bar wench stand,” Mel said dreamily. Frank finally paused in his monologue about court clothes vs. everyday clothes to swallow his own tongue, by the looks of it.
“That’s my wife,” Jack continued, nodding at Samira.
Trinity won the baby fight and walked away with Kira, promising: “I'll bring her back in an hour because I do need to get absolutely wasted soon.”
Samira was pretty sure Trin was going to use the very cute visual of having Baby Elf Princess Kira perched on her hip while dressed as a hot knight to get as many phone numbers as possible. Get it, Tita Trinity.
__
“It’s not really like Grey's Anatomy at all,” Micah always told people when they found out he worked in HR at a hospital. And it was true. Sure, staff were sleeping together every now and then, but at much lower rates than anyone would imagine. The real drama came from the L&D nurses. Micah had filed so many incident reports involving pregnant women committing workplace assault and battery.
Those motherfuckers down in the Pitt, however, were trying to ruin Micah's life.
The baby thing was insane, first of all. There did not exist a form for a resident and an attending bringing an abandoned baby home together. Platonically. Platonically, both Doctor Mohan and Doctor Abbot had stressed, separately and together, and then what did Micah see outside the coffee shop on his lunch break but the Doctors Platonic exploring each other's tonsils against a wall. Right after his coffee date had bombed, too. Which was just rude.
Doctor Garcia kept sneaking downstairs and basically doing an instructional session on inappropriate workplace language with regards to Doctor Santos, who, thank God, never bothered to report what could be the harassment case of the century. And this was after Micah had to write an incident report about Santos stabbing Garcia! With a scalpel!
(Micah kind of wished someone thought he was hot enough to discount being stabbed.)
The two attendings kept disappearing to yell at each other in empty trauma rooms and stairwells and bathrooms, to the point that Micah was incredibly relieved when Dr. Robinavitch went on sabbatical. Doctor Whitaker was apparently, if you believed the gossip, using the ED as a dating service. Fuck’s sake, they even had a goddamn child prodigy down there, and don't think Micah hadn't seen them sneaking her beers in the park. The windows worked both ways.
Micah was also a little bit afraid of the charge nurse, who had appeared outside his car one day when Micah was getting in to work and said only there's a spot in the ERDC program for the baby. There wasn't! But there sure would be now, because Dana had scary eyes. By the time Micah started hearing rumors about Doctor King and Doctor Langdon cuddling (????) in the ready room, he was already scrolling LinkedIn on work time. Anywhere would be better than this.
At least they couldn't get him in his happy place. The Vale of Primrose was as far away from PTMC as it was possible to get. Micah was two honey meads in, contemplating a pickle and an expensive armor purchase (he deserved it) when he heard a horrible sound.
His coworkers.
An entire pack of them. And the baby, of course. It was a cute baby, Micah had nothing against the baby. He resented heavily the fact that her parents' weird relationship developments continually forced him to re-submit multiple forms he had just finished. But the baby herself was fine.
“Fuck my life,” Micah muttered into his mead, watching the group dissipate into the lanes of tents. This would require a third and possibly a fourth honey mead. He turned back to the drinks tent.
—
Jack and Samira sat on a bench in the beating down sun and watched a very small woman contort herself into a variety of interesting shapes in midair. Samira wondered what Kira was doing. They watched a man in period garb forge horseshoes in a real furnace and Samira thought she heard Kira in the crowd. It was just a little girl dressed as a flower, strapped to the chest of a woman in a beautiful fairy outfit and screeching happily. They wandered through a shop tent selling little leather bags and drinking horns. Samira stopped in front of the display of very tiny flower crowns and felt a lump in her throat.
“What do you think Kira’s doing?” Jack asked morosely from over her shoulder. Oh, she did love him. Samira leaned back into his chest.
“Charming poor unsuspecting women into Tita Trinity’s clutches, I bet,” she said. “Should we go find her?”
“Are we boring?” Jack asked, taking her hand. “Should we want more alone time? Am I neglecting you?”
“I think we just have the cutest and objectively the best baby in the world, actually,” Samira said. “Let’s buy her a bunch of things to make ourselves feel better.”
They discovered in the stands at the jousting arena that almost everyone had the same idea. Kira was perched in Trinity’s arms wearing a different and more elaborate flower crown and fairy wings, clutching a glittery wand in one hand and a doughnut in the other. There was a tiny stuffed owlbear clamped under her arm and she was absolutely covered in a fine layer of cinnamon sugar.
“MAMA DADA DOUGHNUT,” Kira screeched upon seeing them, lunging from Trinity’s arms.
“I let her have sugar,” Trinity said in greeting, handing her to Samira. “Hope that’s okay. I’m gonna go say hi to the mead wenches now. Save me a seat for the joust,” she called over her shoulder, running away with faint clanking noises and a speed that suggested she was very done with Tita duties.
“You are so sticky,” Samira said to Kira with delight. Kira offered her the half-eaten doughnut. “That’s okay, thanks babe. Did you get new toys?”
“Baby,” Kira said affirmatively, mashing the doughnut into her mouth so that she could hold up the owlbear with sticky fingers. She leaned into Samira’s chest and sighed happily, which was never going to stop making a little bubble of golden light rise up in Samira’s lungs. She could take or leave the doughnut crumbs in her cleavage, though.
“Let’s go get seats,” Frank said urgently, glancing at the stands. “Mel needs shade. Probably Kira too.” Mel looked at him indulgently. Both of them were holding new swords. The group settled into the first row of seats, where the shade was absolutely delicious after the beating sun.
Mel had been right about the fabrics; Samira wasn’t sweaty, exactly, but the direct beating sun was still far from pleasant. Jack was already retrieving wipes and sunscreen from the little leather bag strapped to his waist. He tried to wipe Kira’s face clean, which she took as a personal insult and quite possibly an attempt at torture.
“You need more sunscreen, darling,” Jack said desperately, grappling with Kira’s sweaty little limbs as she tried to worm away from him.
“NOOOOO,” Kira protested. Two seats to their left, a woman in a beautiful handmade mushroom hat looked to be contemplating a childfree existence.
“You’re stealing all the doughnut she was saving for later, man,” Frank joked. “Can I try?” He picked Kira up and tickled her under the arms until she giggled, then swooped in so quickly with the wipes that Kira was left clean and quietly baffled. “There you go,” Frank said proudly. “Back to Dada.”
Jack grumpily applied the sunscreen to a subdued Kira, who eyed him with suspicion but allowed it. Jack hated it when Frank tried to teach him anything about Dad Stuff. Mel made eye contact with Samira behind Frank’s back and they both had to look away before they started laughing.
“Trinity’s taking a while,” Samira noticed as the horses trotted out into the field.
“She’s probably recovering from our beautiful daughter,” Jack laughed, settling a fully sunscreened Kira on his lap. “Look, Kira. Horsies!”
Kira ran her fingertips reverently over his breastplate. “Dada shiny.”
—
Micah walked out of the armor tent clutching an incredibly necessary purchase. Possibly even therapeutic. It would have to be therapeutic, actually, because that $200 had been his therapy budget for the week.
There was a shout from the arena and cheers rose into the dusty air. Micah hurried along an overgrown grass alleyway behind the stands, his thoughts brightening. If he hurried, he could still catch most of the joust. He wasn’t going to let his coworkers ruin the Faire for him. The day could still be salvaged.
There was a couple pressed up against the chainlink fencing directly in his way. Micah groaned internally. The couple broke apart when they heard him coming. Dr. Santos was faintly pink, her pauldrons askew. Micah noted with despair that they looked much better on her than they did on him. The dark haired woman leaning over her was way too familiar. Joy. There were more of them. Dr. Garcia was instantly recognizable, because she hadn’t even attempted to put on garb and was instead wearing shorts and a t-shirt. Micah hated people who didn’t respect the shared illusion of the Vale.
She squinted at Micah, who felt a cold trickle of fear run down his spine. Dr. Santos bit her lip and looked at the ground.
“I know you,” Dr. Garcia said slowly. “You’re the guy we had to have the meeting with about the scalpel thing.” One of the more uncomfortable meetings of Micah’s professional life. He had opened LinkedIn for the first time after that, actually.
“Sorry,” Dr. Santos muttered to the grass.
“How many of you dorks are here?” Dr. Garcia said wonderingly. “I thought it was just King and Langdon playing swords and sheaths.”
“Dungeons and Dragons,” Santos corrected.
“I know what I said,” Garcia said absently. “This isn’t getting back to work,” she said to Micah, who nodded fervently.
“I don’t want to deal with the paperwork.” Micah agreed, choosing peace. “I want to see the joust. I’m just gonna —” he squeezed past them. Behind him, he heard a hissed conversation devolve into muffled armor clanking and wet noises. Had they no shame?
—
Trinity returned halfway through the joust, looking flustered. “Mead line was really long,” she said, even though no one had asked and she wasn’t holding a drink.
“You got something,” Frank said, pointing at her jaw, where there was a little red mark. “There. I didn’t think the mead ladies were allowed to touch you?”
Trinity flushed pink and glared at him. “Look at the horses, Frank.”
The knight they had been assigned to cheer for won the joust and trotted his horse in a celebratory circle, tossing favors to the crowd. He bent down to the attendant standing by the ring and pointed at them. A moment later the attendant crouched down next to Jack. “Would your little girl like to get a favor and pet the horse?”
“HORSIE,” Kira confirmed, sitting up from where she was cradled in Jack’s arm and removing her thumb from her mouth. “HORSIE,” she said again, in case she hadn’t been clear. They all went to see the horsie. They probably didn’t need to, but it appeared that Frank and Trinity would be taking advantage of cute baby privileges to also pet the horsie.
The knight bowed deeply and presented Kira with a little rose made out of ribbon, which she shyly accepted before hiding her face in Jack’s arm. Mel and Frank immediately struck up a conversation with the knight about horse care. Apparently their re-enactment group was considering a cavalry faction for the next living history encampment.
“Can I pet her?” Trinity asked.
“Sure. She likes a gentle stroke with one or two fingers,” the knight said. Trinity opened her mouth.
“Trinity,” Mel warned.
“I usually use three—” Trinity said.
“Trinity, the baby is right here.”
“For good girls,” Trinity finished, grinning widely as the knight coughed and looked away. “Meltdown, the baby has to witness Meems and Sir Peepaw getting frisky every day in her own home. You're gonna silence a queer woman during Pride?”
Mel rolled her eyes and went back to discussing the practical uses of historical horse tack. Trinity stroked the horse’s nose very gently. Samira knew a former horse girl when she saw one. The red mark was resolving itself into a hickey. Samira flicked her eyes up to Jack and raised her eyebrows. He smirked. They would be discussing this later.
“Lunch?” Frank said as they joined the crowds streaming away from the arena. “Last year Mel and Becca and I went to the brewery. The food here is a racket.”
“I want a turkey leg first,” Trinity said decisively. “I need a picture with one.”
“I thought you didn’t want any proof of you at the nerd convention,” Mel said without looking at her, adjusting her new sword on her hip.
“She’s having fun,” Frank sing-songed. “Trinity, do you want to come with us to the next meeting of the Reserves? We just got a new cannon.”
“Both of you shut the fuck up,” Trinity muttered.
“Mel can teach you how to make breeches.”
“I used to have normal friends,” Trinity said, long-suffering. “I used to go to the club. I was cool.”
—
The brewery down the road from the faire had very obviously accepted that it would be inundated with crowds of fairies and knights and Hobbits every summer and had prepared accordingly. The booths were full of a mixture of dusty, sweaty people in various stages of bedraggled costumes and locals in street clothes eyeing them with vague concern. Welcome, Residents of The Vale was chalked onto the board behind the bar.
“I think we’re heading home after this,” Samira said as they sat down, adjusting Kira on her shoulder. Kira was fighting the good fight, helped along by sugar and the adoration of hundreds of strangers, but nap was coming for her nonetheless. She laid her head on Samira’s chest and patted her neck gently. “Mama,” she mumbled. The owlbear was still clutched tightly in her fist.
“I should check on Becca,” Mel said guiltily.
“Why don’t you go call her?” Frank said, scanning the menu. “I’ll order for you. Veggie burger? No onion?”
Mel smiled and touched his arm. “Thanks.”
“Hey, dorks,” Garcia swung herself into the booth next to Trinity, who tried not to look flushed with pleasure. “How was the dork expedition?”
“What are you doing out here?” Frank said suspiciously. “I thought you were busy?”
“I heard someone was dressed like A Muppet Christmas Carol,” Garcia grinned at him. “You are fucking stupid for her, huh?”
“He actually likes this stuff on his own,” Trinity said dismissively. “They probably leave the elf ears on.”
Jack turned to Frank, who was turning a color that suggested Trinity had struck, if not the truth, then absolutely a fantasy. “Do you think you guys can drive Trinity home? Kira’s going to need a nap soon.”
“No nap,” Kira mumbled, her eyelashes fluttering shut.
“I can take her,” Garcia said quickly. “It’s fine.” Trinity preened.
“Yolanda, were you at the faire?” Jack asked innocently. Garcia went uncharacteristically still and silent.
“No,” she said, avoiding eye contact. Trinity coughed and took a large sip of her beer.
“Oh,” Jack smiled. Samira bit her lip and busied herself with Kira, who was now fully passed out and snuffling into her neck. “My mistake. I thought I saw you.”
“Becca’s fine,” Mel said happily, returning to the table and rescuing Garcia. Frank smiled at her. “Let’s go back after lunch? I want to get her a present still.”
“Oh, I get it,” Garcia said, making direct eye contact with Mel’s boobs. “Nice one, Langdon.”
—
Micah walked into the brewery, made direct eye contact with Doctor Garcia, and immediately walked back out again. Maybe he would just move.