Week Nineteen:
"Sean's
coming for the wedding," Fiona says while brushing her teeth. It's
Wednesday night, and they're getting ready for bed.
"That's
good." Michael says, stepping out of the shower.
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Of all
of Fi's family, and yes, he met most of them during the years he was in
Ireland, Sean's the one he likes the most, gets along with best. Sure there's
the whole saving each other's lives things, but when it came down to it, even
before bullets and bombs and the glorious cause, he just liked Sean. Sean has
that same devil-may-care attitude Fi does, and while it's annoying on ops, it
can also be a lot of fun.
As Sam
said, "How many times do you have to touch the flame before you'll know it
burns?" Well, Sean's the same sort of fire Fi is, and Michael
likes that sort of fire. Sometimes, deep down, he wishes he could just be all fire. It
seems a whole lot easier, more restful.
"My
mom wants to, too."
He
stops toweling off. Michael supposes it shouldn't be a surprise that Katherine
Glenanne might want to come to her daughter's wedding. "Okay," he
says, thinking that's a somewhat less welcome addition to the guest list.
"Okay?"
Fi's a little surprised to hear that. It's not that her mom didn't get on well
with Michael when he was in Ireland; it's just that since the whole leaving
thing, she's loathed him and hasn't made much of a secret of that fact. Finding
out why he left, when Sean got home again, didn't do anything to make that
better. Fi generally thinks it's a good thing her mom's been a on the other side
of the Atlantic this whole time, because she's very aware of Michael's flaws,
and is not his biggest fan by any stretch of anyone's imagination.
"Do
you want her there?" he asks.
"Yes."
And she does. She's sure this is going to be awkward, to say the least, but
especially since she's been pregnant, she's wanted her mom nearby.
"Then
it's okay. I'm not going to tell you your mom can't come to our wedding."
"It
just might be a little tense." Fi sits on the edge of the tub, facing
Michael, who's leaning against the sink, toothbrush in hand.
"You
mean having the woman who, after all five of your brothers had a wee chat with
me about how, if I hurt you, they'd kill me so dead I'd come out the other side
alive again and then they'd do it all over, said to me that I had nothing to
fear from her lads; they'd never get to me in time, because she'd hunt me down,
cut my balls off, and choke me with them if I got her good Catholic girl
pregnant without a wedding band on her hand, might be tense."
"She
said that to you?" Fi looks stunned at that idea.
"First
time you brought me home. You were in the kitchen helping Thomas and Pat's
wives with the washing up. She pulled me aside, took a long drink of her
whiskey and said, 'There's a proper order for the doin' of these things, and if
you think you can get to the fuckin' without puttin' a wedding ring on my
daughter's finger, you're sorely mistaken.' And then proceeded with a very
detailed description of what was going to happen to me if I did not heed her
words."
Fi grins at the idea of it, laughing a little at the idea of her mother staring up at Michael, cussin' him out properly. "What
did you say to that?"
"I
think I blushed." He slips into his Irish accent, leans forward, and whispers into her ear,
"If ya remember, that was about six months after the fuckin' had started."
She
laughs. "It was my Da's line. He said that to all of my boyfriends while
he was alive, usually while sharpening his hunting knife."
"Did
it work?"
She
looks at her bulging stomach. "Apparently not." She places her
fingers on their child, feeling it squirm and kick. "I haven't told them
I'm pregnant."
Michael
closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and opens them slowly, while sitting on the edge of the tub next to her. Telling his mom was one thing. Telling
her family, who had already promised numerous levels of extreme bodily harm in
the event of this, was another thing all together. Not that he thinks they're
going to physically hurt him, much. Still, he doesn't enjoy spending time with
people who are pissed off at him. On the upside, they live on the other side of
the planet and won't spend all that long in Miami.
"Fi—"
"The
last time I talked to them we hadn't decided if we were keeping him or not. And
I didn't want to tell them if we weren't keeping him."
Michael
understands that. He would have happily not told his family either. But the
whole living less than half an hour away thing made sure that was impossible.
"And
now we're keeping him, and it didn't seem like something to tell them over the
phone."
"Because
in person, picking them up at the airport, shocking them with this," his
hand caresses over her very visible tummy, "is going to be that much
easier."
"Think
of it this way, if we get them before they get their luggage, they won't be
armed."
"Your
bother carries a ceramic knife when he travels commercial."
Fi
winces. "Forgot about that. Maybe he won't get it through the
sensors."
Michael
thinks about that. Those full body sensors might be the end of... "He'll
have a garrote, at least."
"Yes,
but he's coming for our wedding, so he probably won't be too interested in
making me a widow. Just, wear a cup when we get them."
"Great."
He stands up and brushes his teeth, headings into the bedroom, finding a pair of his pajama pants a moment later.
"Any new name ideas?" he asks as he sits on the bed putting his
pajama pants on.
"How
about Dan?" Fi says as she pulls back the sheets and slides into their
bed. She fluffs a pillow and settles
down on her side.
"You're
thinking it's a boy today?"
"Today.
Maybe not tomorrow, but today I'm thinking of a son. A little boy with your
eyes and build, but my smile."
Michael
grins at that idea and lies down beside her, resting his hand on her tummy. "Isn't
one of your cousins named Dan?"
"Good
memory. He was my favorite when we were little."
"Dan...
I like Dan."
"Daniel
Westen. That sounds good."
Michael
thinks about Dan as a name for a moment. "Who in your family thought Dan
Glenanne was a good name?"
Fi
gives him an exasperated look. "No one. Dan McKiernan. He's my mum's
nephew. No one in my family is so tone deaf as to name a child Dan
Glenanne."
Michael
thinks about that for a moment, too. "I was hoping, if it's a boy, to use
Nathaniel as a middle name."
Fi
nods; she's been expecting that. "And you don't think Daniel Nathaniel
works?"
"Not
really."
"So,
not Dan then."
"Not
Sam, either."
"Not
a good idea anyway, we'd never hear the end of it if both Westen boys ended up
named after him." Michael looks momentarily confused. "You didn't
know that was the reason behind Charlie?"
"No.
I didn't even think about it until now. For Sam, really?"
"Really."
He shakes his head. He didn't know Sam and
Nate were even that close. He wonders if Sam knows, but judging by Fi's comment
he must.
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He
thinks that's something he'd have liked to talk to Nate about. Thinks all of
this is something he would have liked to have talked to Nate about. Not that
they really would have talked, more like sat near each other and worked on
something, like the Charger, or with this new house, furniture. But at least a
few words would have gone by, mostly Nate's, and he finds himself wondering
what Nate would have had to say about this.
He
guesses Nate would have been mostly smugly pleased, amused to see Mike not
knowing what to do next. He absolutely knows Nate would have laughed at the
idea of Mike having a huge collection of angry in-laws.
He
tries to smile, to conjure up Nate's amusement, and feel it for himself.
And it
works, a little.
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