Annie Hargreeves (
defenderofdesmoines) wrote2023-06-18 07:58 am
Entry tags:
75 Godiva St | Sunday Morning
It was rare that Annie was able to beat Diego to being awake -- so rare, in fact, that on the few occasions when she did successfully sneak out of bed before him (and back when she'd had her insomnia-induced midnight Almond Joy raids), she kind of suspected he was letting her.
Today was one such day, which was good because it was Father's Day. A holiday that, right up until this year, had been kind of fraught and/or meaningless for everyone in this house. Annie hadn't seen her father in fifteen years, and Diego's was now dead -- and also, like, a manipulative asshole alien with little regard for the lives of those around him, so. You know. Not big Father's Day people, previously.
Annie had gotten it into her head that Father's Day breakfast was a thing (right? People did that?), and had thus made both her own coffee and Diego's real coffee before setting to work to do just that.
So, when Diego did emerge, he would find Annie quietly cleaning the kitchen, the lingering smell of burnt toast in the air, perhaps a cracked egg shell here and there, and a delivery person on their way with an actual edible breakfast shortly, because that had been stupid of her.
At least she'd managed to not catch the present she'd gotten him on fire or anything. It was still sitting there on the counter, looking all sparkly and gift-like.
[for the dad-to-be!]
Today was one such day, which was good because it was Father's Day. A holiday that, right up until this year, had been kind of fraught and/or meaningless for everyone in this house. Annie hadn't seen her father in fifteen years, and Diego's was now dead -- and also, like, a manipulative asshole alien with little regard for the lives of those around him, so. You know. Not big Father's Day people, previously.
Annie had gotten it into her head that Father's Day breakfast was a thing (right? People did that?), and had thus made both her own coffee and Diego's real coffee before setting to work to do just that.
So, when Diego did emerge, he would find Annie quietly cleaning the kitchen, the lingering smell of burnt toast in the air, perhaps a cracked egg shell here and there, and a delivery person on their way with an actual edible breakfast shortly, because that had been stupid of her.
At least she'd managed to not catch the present she'd gotten him on fire or anything. It was still sitting there on the counter, looking all sparkly and gift-like.
[for the dad-to-be!]

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He was surprised he hadn't gotten up at the smell of burnt toast. He sniffed as shuffled out into the kitchen. "Should we call the neighbors?"
As if Buck wasn't dealing with his own potential fire trying to make Father's Day breakfast for Eddie.
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"Why?" Annie asked, playing dumb as she quickly poured him a cup of his (blissfully actually caffeine-containing) coffee and moved over to offer up a good-morning kiss. "Happy Father's Day, babe!"
Did she look like she could barely contain the joy at getting to say that? Maybe, like, a lot, yeah.
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"Aw, honey," he said, smile not leaving his face any time soon. "Did you make breakfast?"
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But she'd, like, tried! Honestly probably better this way. Now Diego didn't have to try to muscle through eggs with bits of shell, or potentially horrifyingly undercooked bacon, or anything.
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This time next year, they'd have a couple of little half-year-old reminders when it came to the spring parent-related holidays.
"Maybe next year the kids can make you breakfast." They'd probably do better than Annie had.
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Obviously. Their children were the size of bananas, they moved around inside her now, and with that change came the ability for Annie to assign meaning to that movement as she saw fit. It was the least she was allowed, she felt, considering how freaking weird it felt.
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"Oooh, I think they heard you," Annie replied affectionately, brows arching up as she felt a little movement under her hand. That was newer than feeling the kids shift around inside her, and it had been so faint she almost wondered if she'd imagined it.
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Which didn't sound nice? It sounded like some kind of space horror movie from the 70s, you know? But given the way Annie was smiling, it was actually...definitely really nice.
Her eyes widened as she felt another kick, a little sharper and more distinct this time, and impulsively reached out to snag one of Diego's hands and bring it to her bump.
It would be disappointing if the kids settled down now, but maybe they'd just spend Father's Day like this, waiting for the babies to make themselves known again. Like a stakeout!
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When Annie put his hand on her stomach he stood still for a couple of seconds, like absolute silence would be needed to feel anything. The surprise at actually feeling movement a moment later was written all over his face. "Oh wow. Was that--"
Hey, Annie could have also just been hungry.
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"You felt it too?" Annie gasped in soft, bewildered amazement, nodding to answer his unfinished question. And, like, maybe it was the hormones, but Annie actually thought they weren't all that much to blame for how she kind of felt a little weepily emotional, all of a sudden. "Yeah, that's one of your children saying hi, Diego."
At least one. Maybe they were, like, tag-teaming this.
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"Wow," he said softly, moving his hand a little to see if he could feel it again. "That's...pretty amazing."
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"They're real," Annie murmured, biting her lower lip and blinking a little to clear her own mistiness. "I mean, I know they've been real, but...."
But she got it. It was one thing to know she was pregnant, to follow along and track it from the outside, but the kids were now actually sort of interactive.
"But now you can feel them, too." Which was also kind of huge for Annie, who had started this pregnancy with a keen awareness that Diego was sort of stuck as an outside observer for a lot of things. Having your panicked husband try to keep you and your unborn offspring safe from scythe-wielding guardians any desperate way he knew how would, you know, do that.
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And she was literally just past the halfway point, if she made it to full-term with this crew. It was going to get much more uncomfortable, and much less novel when the kids moved around.
But it would probably still be kind of special, even when they started kicking her with full-on baby legs in the bladder, eventually.
"But yeah, it does. I don't even know how to describe it," she admitted. "Kind of like having an upset stomach, but also super not?"
That was just asking for an eventual mix of nausea and baby kicks.
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Did the kids already share their mother's appreciation of holidays?
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Now he just needed a pair of white Nikes and some jorts to complete the look.
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"First of many, if we have anything to say about it," Annie replied with a bright grin, feeling comfortable speaking on the twins' behalf on this matter for the next few years, at least. "And you deserve to be spoiled, honey."
Particularly on this day.
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And Annie herself had had little reason to even think about it, other than a yearly reminder that forgiveness was a constant work in progress, and she was allowed to be a little hurt and bitter when she thought about her dad.
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You know. If the twins cooperated.
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