forthedog | (no subject)

When the sun sets, they light the torches.

It's nothing large, nothing much besides a standard barbecue - which had been insisted upon. There's a grill hot and a fire burning in the pit, and the marshmallows, graham crackers, and chocolate the girls had begged for are laid out on the long folding table with the rest of the food. Multiple coolers are fully stocked and the smell of smoke and cooking meat floats deliciously through the air.

In truth, a lot of this is Mack and Flo's doing, insisting on a real birthday party because not having one is some kind of unbearable abomination. So there's cake - chocolate - and there are even some balloons, and the girls - with help - have flung streamers haphazardly into some of the smaller trees. They're very pleased with themselves. Daddy may not care hugely about this, but it's the principle of the thing, and Daddy's opinion ultimately doesn't matter much.

Which is fine. As far as Mike is concerned this isn't even necessarily just a birthday party. It's a last goodbye to another summer, which feels like an achievement in itself. So in the flickering torchlight, with the moon rising through the trees, everyone is welcome.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The smell of the cooking food is making her sick, but she's here because it's Mike's birthday and even if she's almost entirely certain his daughters were in charge of all the planning, it's a big deal whether he thinks it is or not. She's completely on Mack and Flo's side in this.

But she passes by the cake and gets a whiff of the chocolate and her stomach turns. Mike is nearby and she goes to him, grabbing his arm and tugging him away from the crowd, away from the smells of the food. She hasn't told anyone yet that she's pregnant and she doesn't want to start throwing up in the middle of Mike's party. "Come with me," she begs.

"Hey, what-" But he doesn't protest as she pulls at him. The look of distress on her face seems genuine, and he feels a pang of concern. He wasn't a hypochondriac-by-proxy with Eostre and he's certainly not going to be one now, but that doesn't mean he isn't keeping a closer than normal eye on this.

When she pauses he lays a hand on her arm, studying her carefully. "What's wrong?"

"The food smells are killing me," she says after she takes a few deep breaths and when she thinks she feels the worst of it pass, she looks up again and offers Mike a smile. It's not the end of the world, really, she's never been a big eater, but she has to try and put away more food now for the baby.

"But I'm okay," she says. "I just needed to get away so I didn't throw up on you when I wish you a happy birthday." She smiles again and wraps her arms around him. "Happy birthday."

"Oh." He huffs a laugh of realization, hugging her back. "Yeah, pretty sure Eostre went through that. It goes away."

He turns his head, presses a quick kiss to the corner of her mouth. "Thanks." Just having the thing is good, but when he looks around and sees the people like her, the people who mean everything, it's even better.

"I read only half of women get over it by week fourteen, which means I really only have a fifty-fifty chance of getting over it in the next seven weeks." She smiles at him and says, "Seven weeks sounds like a really long time sometimes." She's dealt with worse by far and it's actually kind of nice to be worrying about something as normal as morning sickness, but that doesn't mean she's not going to take full advantage of the right to complain.

"So how much did your daughters have to do with this?" she asks, looking around.

"Almost everything." He shrugs, smiles. "I wasn't gonna tell 'em no. Birthdays mean so much more when you're six. I wasn't really thinking of doing much of anything."

He nods back toward the party. "Think you can go back, or you wanna stay away a little longer?"

She pauses, taking stock of how she feels, then nods. "I think I'm okay," she says. And if she isn't, if she has to retreat again, she will.

"Just don't try to make me eat any cake," she warns, giving him a look before she loops her arm through his. "So forty, huh?" She remembers being in her early twenties and thinking that forty was so old, but now, only twenty-seven herself, she's realized making it to forty will be a gift.

"Technically. Sort of. I dunno." He shrugs. She hasn't changed, not outwardly, and he knows the precise angle and degree at which Neil would roll his eyes, but being near her does feel different now. He remembers it being this way with Eostre, looking at her and marveling at how such a thing could even be.

She was always special. Now she's special in a whole new way.

"Part of me was one age in the Realm, the part of me that died on the island was older than that, and then I got these... flashes of memory..." He shakes his head, smiling slightly. "I know this is fucking cliche, but age is just a number."

"No arguments here," she agrees and she's beginning to think maybe she has a very specific type. The night with Mike in the alley, Dale, Spike, Rick; all of them significantly older than she is and yet it's the type of thing she'd only given thought to because of Donna. The way she'd made Andrea and Dale's relationship her business because she'd been concerned about the age difference.

"I think I'm twenty-seven, but I don't actually know," she admits, smiling. "So, you know, it really is just a number."