Oh Happy Day
Today is a happy day, for quite a few reasons, one of them being that bookworm0503’s vacation can finallyyyy begin! She’s been working her ass off all summer - studying and working and studying and working - and now she deserves some downtime. Starting with fic. Haha. So yes… it's AU, so let’s pretend for the next 2 to 5 minutes that s5 never happened, shall we? :D
Tony Almeida was contemplating getting up and making popcorn. He’d swallowed down his supper barely three hours ago, just in time to see Michelle walk out the door to go have dinner with a few friends from college. “Girls night out,” she’d called it, and he knew how much she’d been looking forward to it.
He wondered if he was really hungry, or if he was just bored. He vaguely remembered a time when he’d come home every day to an empty apartment, watch TV by himself for a while before heading up to bed. It seemed like a lifetime ago; now he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had complete and utter control over the remote. The last time he’d sat on this couch without a warm body next to him, belonging someone he desperately loved.
He wryly smirked to himself. Michelle was right, even though he wouldn’t be telling her that. Somewhere along the line, he’d turned into a real softie.
His ears suddenly perked up when he heard rapid footsteps in the hall. Just a few seconds later the door was wildly flung open, and before him stood his five-year-old son, wearing baby blue pajamas and looking more than a little distraught.
Tony automatically jumped up, stubbed his toe as he made his way over to the boy but barely felt the pain.
“What’s the matter, buddy? Did you hurt yourself?”
Tristan was shaking his head when Tony reached him, and without thinking Tony lifted him up into his arms.
“Bad dream?” he asked softly, running his hand soothingly down Tristan’s back. The kid nodded against his shoulder, and Tony felt his small hands gripping the collar of his T-shirt.
Tony kissed his son’s wet cheek, never failing to notice how soft it was, exactly like Michelle’s. Sometimes when he closed his eyes he could almost fool himself into thinking he wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.
“It’s okay,” he murmured soothingly, “You’re safe here, nobody’s going to hurt you.”
Tristan sniffed, pulling back and wiping his nose on his sleeve. “I know,” he said, looking his father in the eye, “It wasn’t me, it was Mommy…”
Tony frowned. “What about Mommy?”
The tears returned, big drops rolling down the boy’s cheeks. “Monsters were…” he shuddered and blinked as fresh tears threatened to spill over, “Monsters were hurting Mommy and… and I couldn’t find her…”
Tony felt a cold chill run up his spine. He recognized these kinds of nightmares, recognized the irrationality of them but also the ease with which they made you lose your shit. He swallowed, forcing himself to focus on this son.
“Aw, kiddo… Your mom’s going to be fine.” He squeezed Tristan against him and walked over to the couch. “She’ll be home soon, okay?”
The kid nodded as Tony set him down on the sofa. He sat down beside him, pulling the boy’s small body against him and kissing his baby soft curls.
After a moment Tristan looked at him and with his big, brown eyes and asked, “Can call her? Please, Dad?”
Tony hesitated. He didn’t want to disturb his wife’s fun, didn’t want to make her worry. But when he looked at their son’s hopeful face, he could almost hear her telling him to give in.
“Alright,” he relented, reaching for his phone.
When she answered she sounded light and happy, and he felt a slight pang of guilt. “Hey, what’s up?”
“Uhhh…” He hesitated a fraction of a second before spitting it out. “Tristan kinda had a bad dream, he wants to talk to you. Is that okay?”
She sounded surprised. “Sure.”
He handed the phone over to the boy, nodding reassuringly. Tristan’s voice seemed small and unnaturally high when he said, “Mom?”
Tony watched as first fresh tears appeared when he realized his mother was alright, then saw him slowly calm down as Michelle worked her magic on him. Tony didn’t have a clue what she was saying to him - as most of what came out of Tristan’s mouth was “Uh huh” - but whatever it was, it was working. At one point the kid even giggled, wiped his nose and said, “Yeah”.
After several minutes, Tristan held out the phone. “She wants to talk to you again.”
Her voice sounded a little strained, and he knew she was worried even if she’d managed to soothe the crisis.
“Are you guys gonna be okay?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he said quickly, before she suggested to come home, “Don’t worry. We’ll be alright, won’t we, kiddo?” He nudged Tristan, who nodded before a faint smile adorned his face. “We’ll make some hot chocolate and hang out in front of the TV for a while.”
“Okay.” He heard a smile in her voice. “I’ll see you later?”
“Yeah.”
He’d barely hung up the phone before Tristan demanded, “Hot chocolate.”
“Please,” Tony corrected him, trying not to smile as he recognized his own impatience. His kid was mostly mellow, mirroring Michelle’s gentle nature, but once in a while Tony would see his own temper flare up, much to his amusement and his wife’s mock dismay.
“Please,” Tristan relented, getting up and attempting to drag his father off the couch by his fingers.
Tony smirked to himself, thinking next time he’d just skip reassurances, skip the phone call to Michelle and just dish out the hot chocolate.
“Okayyy, what to we need?” Tony asked rhetorically as he entered the kitchen, his son on his heels.
He started rummaging through the fridge, only to have Tristan point out, “That’s not where we keep the chocolate powder.”
“We’re not using chocolate powder,” Tony told him, “We’re using real milk and real chocolate.”
He held out both substances for the kid to see, expecting excitement. Tristan just looked skeptical and a little worried.
“That’s not how Mom does it.”
Tony sighed, placing both the milk and the chocolate on the table and prepared to teach his boy one of the facts of life.
“Son,” he said, lifting Tristan up onto the counter and bending over him a little so they were eye to eye, “Your mother is the most beautiful woman in the world, and she has a great many talents. She could probably be president if she wanted to. But handling food…” he shook his head, fighting a smile at his son hanging on to his every word, “is best left up to me.”
Tristan still didn’t look convinced. “I like the chocolate powder.”
Tony sighed. “Tris, look, it’ll be the best hot chocolate you’ve ever tasted, okay?”
The kid hesitated for a second longer before apparently deciding to give his old man the benefit of the doubt. “Okay.”
“Alright.” Tony lifted him off the counter. “Unwrap the chocolate for me while I warm up the milk. And don’t let me catch you popping any of it in your mouth, I got eyes on the back of my head, buddy.”
Tristan giggled, Michelle’s naughty mischief sparkling in his dark eyes, and Tony found himself wondering when exactly his threats had stopped being credible.
---
Tony felt his eyelids flutter open from the feel of something gently sifting through his hair. His vision slowly sharpened, and he smiled lovingly when he saw his wife hovering over him.
“Hey…” she said softly, smiling back and continuing her swift motion in his hair, “How’re my boys?”
Tony smirked and looked down where their son had fallen asleep in the crook of his arm. Apparently Tony had followed soon after, because the TV was still going strong.
“Fine,” he answered, watching as Michelle reached over to run her hand across the boy’s forehead.
“No more drama?” she checked.
“Nah,” he assured her, “He settled down after you talked to him. He’ll be happy to see you though, why don’t you wake him up?”
She shook her head. “I’ll take him upstairs in a minute. Come on,” She reached for his hand and gave it a little tug, “Let’s go in the kitchen.”
He nodded, carefully easing away from Tristan’s sleeping form and helping him rest against the couch instead. He followed his wife across the room.
“Why would he dream a thing like that?” she suddenly asked him, “Monsters eating me, was that it?”
He smirked. “I think they were just hurting you, honey.”
“Still…” She opened the cupboard and reached for two mugs, “I don’t want him worrying about me like that.”
He fought the urge to snort. “Kid’s got my genes, Michelle. It’s in his DNA to worry about you.”
She rolled her eyes and gently smacked his arm, causing him to chuckle.
“Is there any coffee left?” she asked, changing the subject.
“Uhhh no, I don’t think so. But…” He rested his hip against the counter and waggled his eyebrows suggestively, “I did save some of the best hot chocolate in the world for you.”
She smiled curiously. “You made him some of your self-made hot chocolate?”
Tony nodded, and she reached out to scratch his belly in an attempt to tickle him. “You spoil him,” she told him teasingly.
“Hey,” he defended himself, “This kind of effort is supposed to get me laid… not earn your scorn.”
She laughed, and he couldn’t help but notice how her eyes lit up. He took in the tired but happy expression on her face and felt a sudden, unexpected gratitude that he could still make his wife laugh so easily.
He studied her more closely. Her evening out had merited a simple but elegant black dress that clung to her every curve. It cut her off above the knee and his eyes followed the paths of her long legs to see her wearing low, black pumps. Her hair was down - she’d done something to tame it before she left, but he noticed now that most of the curls had returned - and her make-up was kept to a minimum, the way he liked it.
She was a few years shy of forty, but her style and her figure and her flawless skin lent her a girl’s freshness.
She caught him staring and said, “What?”
Shaken out of his reverie, he shook his head with a wistful smile. “Nothing.”
“What?” she repeated, and he realized ruefully that he wouldn’t be getting out of this one.
He blurted out, “You’re gorgeous, that’s what.”
She looked somewhat surprised. He bit his lip and reached out to tug her closer. She came willingly, allowing him to draw her in his arms, gently push her hair away from her neck so his lips could brush against her skin.
“Is this another ploy to get me into bed?” she teased huskily against his throat.
He pulled back slightly so he could look her in the eye. “C’mon Michelle. We both know I don’t need ploys to get you into bed.”
She laughed quietly, conceding to his point. Her hand traveled up the back of his neck and into his hair, pulling his lips against hers. He smiled into her mouth, tightening one arm around her waist while the other moved upwards so his fingertips could graze her curls. He was about to open his mouth when they heard a familiar voice call out, “Mommy?”
They broke apart, smiling at each other for a moment before Michelle called back, “I’m in here, buddy, in the kitchen.”
Tristan appeared in the doorway a few seconds later, rubbing sleep out of his eyes.
“Hey,” Michelle said gently, going over to him. She ran a few fingers through his hair and bent down to kiss his face. “Did you have a good time with Daddy?”
The boy nodded sleepily, leaning against her legs and resting his head against her thigh.
“Let’s get you into bed, hmm?” she murmured quietly, still smoothing out his curls, and for once the kid didn’t protest.
Michelle started to lead him out when Tony said, “Hey, hey. Where’s my goodnight kiss?”
Tristan, automatically assuming his father saw addressing him, stumbled over to Tony, who bent over to let the boy kiss him.
“Night, buddy,” he said softly, smiling when Tristan sleepily said, “Night, Daddy,” in return.
He caught Michelle’s eye right before she left the room, and she grinned. Tony smirked back.
As long as she knew he was expecting a lot more than a goodnight kiss when she turned off his light.
Tony Almeida was contemplating getting up and making popcorn. He’d swallowed down his supper barely three hours ago, just in time to see Michelle walk out the door to go have dinner with a few friends from college. “Girls night out,” she’d called it, and he knew how much she’d been looking forward to it.
He wondered if he was really hungry, or if he was just bored. He vaguely remembered a time when he’d come home every day to an empty apartment, watch TV by himself for a while before heading up to bed. It seemed like a lifetime ago; now he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had complete and utter control over the remote. The last time he’d sat on this couch without a warm body next to him, belonging someone he desperately loved.
He wryly smirked to himself. Michelle was right, even though he wouldn’t be telling her that. Somewhere along the line, he’d turned into a real softie.
His ears suddenly perked up when he heard rapid footsteps in the hall. Just a few seconds later the door was wildly flung open, and before him stood his five-year-old son, wearing baby blue pajamas and looking more than a little distraught.
Tony automatically jumped up, stubbed his toe as he made his way over to the boy but barely felt the pain.
“What’s the matter, buddy? Did you hurt yourself?”
Tristan was shaking his head when Tony reached him, and without thinking Tony lifted him up into his arms.
“Bad dream?” he asked softly, running his hand soothingly down Tristan’s back. The kid nodded against his shoulder, and Tony felt his small hands gripping the collar of his T-shirt.
Tony kissed his son’s wet cheek, never failing to notice how soft it was, exactly like Michelle’s. Sometimes when he closed his eyes he could almost fool himself into thinking he wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.
“It’s okay,” he murmured soothingly, “You’re safe here, nobody’s going to hurt you.”
Tristan sniffed, pulling back and wiping his nose on his sleeve. “I know,” he said, looking his father in the eye, “It wasn’t me, it was Mommy…”
Tony frowned. “What about Mommy?”
The tears returned, big drops rolling down the boy’s cheeks. “Monsters were…” he shuddered and blinked as fresh tears threatened to spill over, “Monsters were hurting Mommy and… and I couldn’t find her…”
Tony felt a cold chill run up his spine. He recognized these kinds of nightmares, recognized the irrationality of them but also the ease with which they made you lose your shit. He swallowed, forcing himself to focus on this son.
“Aw, kiddo… Your mom’s going to be fine.” He squeezed Tristan against him and walked over to the couch. “She’ll be home soon, okay?”
The kid nodded as Tony set him down on the sofa. He sat down beside him, pulling the boy’s small body against him and kissing his baby soft curls.
After a moment Tristan looked at him and with his big, brown eyes and asked, “Can call her? Please, Dad?”
Tony hesitated. He didn’t want to disturb his wife’s fun, didn’t want to make her worry. But when he looked at their son’s hopeful face, he could almost hear her telling him to give in.
“Alright,” he relented, reaching for his phone.
When she answered she sounded light and happy, and he felt a slight pang of guilt. “Hey, what’s up?”
“Uhhh…” He hesitated a fraction of a second before spitting it out. “Tristan kinda had a bad dream, he wants to talk to you. Is that okay?”
She sounded surprised. “Sure.”
He handed the phone over to the boy, nodding reassuringly. Tristan’s voice seemed small and unnaturally high when he said, “Mom?”
Tony watched as first fresh tears appeared when he realized his mother was alright, then saw him slowly calm down as Michelle worked her magic on him. Tony didn’t have a clue what she was saying to him - as most of what came out of Tristan’s mouth was “Uh huh” - but whatever it was, it was working. At one point the kid even giggled, wiped his nose and said, “Yeah”.
After several minutes, Tristan held out the phone. “She wants to talk to you again.”
Her voice sounded a little strained, and he knew she was worried even if she’d managed to soothe the crisis.
“Are you guys gonna be okay?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he said quickly, before she suggested to come home, “Don’t worry. We’ll be alright, won’t we, kiddo?” He nudged Tristan, who nodded before a faint smile adorned his face. “We’ll make some hot chocolate and hang out in front of the TV for a while.”
“Okay.” He heard a smile in her voice. “I’ll see you later?”
“Yeah.”
He’d barely hung up the phone before Tristan demanded, “Hot chocolate.”
“Please,” Tony corrected him, trying not to smile as he recognized his own impatience. His kid was mostly mellow, mirroring Michelle’s gentle nature, but once in a while Tony would see his own temper flare up, much to his amusement and his wife’s mock dismay.
“Please,” Tristan relented, getting up and attempting to drag his father off the couch by his fingers.
Tony smirked to himself, thinking next time he’d just skip reassurances, skip the phone call to Michelle and just dish out the hot chocolate.
“Okayyy, what to we need?” Tony asked rhetorically as he entered the kitchen, his son on his heels.
He started rummaging through the fridge, only to have Tristan point out, “That’s not where we keep the chocolate powder.”
“We’re not using chocolate powder,” Tony told him, “We’re using real milk and real chocolate.”
He held out both substances for the kid to see, expecting excitement. Tristan just looked skeptical and a little worried.
“That’s not how Mom does it.”
Tony sighed, placing both the milk and the chocolate on the table and prepared to teach his boy one of the facts of life.
“Son,” he said, lifting Tristan up onto the counter and bending over him a little so they were eye to eye, “Your mother is the most beautiful woman in the world, and she has a great many talents. She could probably be president if she wanted to. But handling food…” he shook his head, fighting a smile at his son hanging on to his every word, “is best left up to me.”
Tristan still didn’t look convinced. “I like the chocolate powder.”
Tony sighed. “Tris, look, it’ll be the best hot chocolate you’ve ever tasted, okay?”
The kid hesitated for a second longer before apparently deciding to give his old man the benefit of the doubt. “Okay.”
“Alright.” Tony lifted him off the counter. “Unwrap the chocolate for me while I warm up the milk. And don’t let me catch you popping any of it in your mouth, I got eyes on the back of my head, buddy.”
Tristan giggled, Michelle’s naughty mischief sparkling in his dark eyes, and Tony found himself wondering when exactly his threats had stopped being credible.
---
Tony felt his eyelids flutter open from the feel of something gently sifting through his hair. His vision slowly sharpened, and he smiled lovingly when he saw his wife hovering over him.
“Hey…” she said softly, smiling back and continuing her swift motion in his hair, “How’re my boys?”
Tony smirked and looked down where their son had fallen asleep in the crook of his arm. Apparently Tony had followed soon after, because the TV was still going strong.
“Fine,” he answered, watching as Michelle reached over to run her hand across the boy’s forehead.
“No more drama?” she checked.
“Nah,” he assured her, “He settled down after you talked to him. He’ll be happy to see you though, why don’t you wake him up?”
She shook her head. “I’ll take him upstairs in a minute. Come on,” She reached for his hand and gave it a little tug, “Let’s go in the kitchen.”
He nodded, carefully easing away from Tristan’s sleeping form and helping him rest against the couch instead. He followed his wife across the room.
“Why would he dream a thing like that?” she suddenly asked him, “Monsters eating me, was that it?”
He smirked. “I think they were just hurting you, honey.”
“Still…” She opened the cupboard and reached for two mugs, “I don’t want him worrying about me like that.”
He fought the urge to snort. “Kid’s got my genes, Michelle. It’s in his DNA to worry about you.”
She rolled her eyes and gently smacked his arm, causing him to chuckle.
“Is there any coffee left?” she asked, changing the subject.
“Uhhh no, I don’t think so. But…” He rested his hip against the counter and waggled his eyebrows suggestively, “I did save some of the best hot chocolate in the world for you.”
She smiled curiously. “You made him some of your self-made hot chocolate?”
Tony nodded, and she reached out to scratch his belly in an attempt to tickle him. “You spoil him,” she told him teasingly.
“Hey,” he defended himself, “This kind of effort is supposed to get me laid… not earn your scorn.”
She laughed, and he couldn’t help but notice how her eyes lit up. He took in the tired but happy expression on her face and felt a sudden, unexpected gratitude that he could still make his wife laugh so easily.
He studied her more closely. Her evening out had merited a simple but elegant black dress that clung to her every curve. It cut her off above the knee and his eyes followed the paths of her long legs to see her wearing low, black pumps. Her hair was down - she’d done something to tame it before she left, but he noticed now that most of the curls had returned - and her make-up was kept to a minimum, the way he liked it.
She was a few years shy of forty, but her style and her figure and her flawless skin lent her a girl’s freshness.
She caught him staring and said, “What?”
Shaken out of his reverie, he shook his head with a wistful smile. “Nothing.”
“What?” she repeated, and he realized ruefully that he wouldn’t be getting out of this one.
He blurted out, “You’re gorgeous, that’s what.”
She looked somewhat surprised. He bit his lip and reached out to tug her closer. She came willingly, allowing him to draw her in his arms, gently push her hair away from her neck so his lips could brush against her skin.
“Is this another ploy to get me into bed?” she teased huskily against his throat.
He pulled back slightly so he could look her in the eye. “C’mon Michelle. We both know I don’t need ploys to get you into bed.”
She laughed quietly, conceding to his point. Her hand traveled up the back of his neck and into his hair, pulling his lips against hers. He smiled into her mouth, tightening one arm around her waist while the other moved upwards so his fingertips could graze her curls. He was about to open his mouth when they heard a familiar voice call out, “Mommy?”
They broke apart, smiling at each other for a moment before Michelle called back, “I’m in here, buddy, in the kitchen.”
Tristan appeared in the doorway a few seconds later, rubbing sleep out of his eyes.
“Hey,” Michelle said gently, going over to him. She ran a few fingers through his hair and bent down to kiss his face. “Did you have a good time with Daddy?”
The boy nodded sleepily, leaning against her legs and resting his head against her thigh.
“Let’s get you into bed, hmm?” she murmured quietly, still smoothing out his curls, and for once the kid didn’t protest.
Michelle started to lead him out when Tony said, “Hey, hey. Where’s my goodnight kiss?”
Tristan, automatically assuming his father saw addressing him, stumbled over to Tony, who bent over to let the boy kiss him.
“Night, buddy,” he said softly, smiling when Tristan sleepily said, “Night, Daddy,” in return.
He caught Michelle’s eye right before she left the room, and she grinned. Tony smirked back.
As long as she knew he was expecting a lot more than a goodnight kiss when she turned off his light.