between the LAUGHTER and the TEARS;; drake

[mystic pearl adier]

When times got tough,
You pulled me through

» As was to be expected, Mystic had been having a rough last couple of weeks, both physically and emotionally. Emotionally, obviously, because Flannery was dead. The first couple weeks afterward, especially the days immediately following the funeral, were the hardest, because that was when she was adjusting to life without him, coming to accept that he was never going to speak to her again, and stop expecting him to walk through the door and hug her like nothing was wrong. She and Flannery, no matter how hectic their work schedules were, had never been apart for more than a couple of hours- twelve hours was the longest they'd been apart since they were married- and now to know he was six feet under and the only way she'd see his face again was in pictures... It hurt, badly. There were a lot of nights between then and now that, when they went to lay down for the night, Mystic would bury her face in Drake's chest and simply cry until she managed to fall asleep. That, and at random times during the day, something small that reminded her of Flannery would tempt her to burst into tears, though she usually managed to control herself until she could cling to Drake or just be alone. Physically, too, she was having a hard time. As the babies were getting bigger, she was finding it increasingly difficult to get comfortable, especially once she was able to feel them kicking and whatnot. And at twenty weeks now, that wasn't going to get better anytime soon. At least the nausea was over with. She'd had a really hard time with that; not so much actually puking, since she'd gotten lucky and only actually puked a couple of times, while the rest of the time she just felt like she was going to. She'd been very low in the appetite department, eating or drinking only enough to avoid dehydration, since she never felt particularly hungry. On top of all that, she was more prone to getting tired after doing very little physical activity.

» Thankfully, things were starting to look up. She wasn't feeling sick very much anymore- very rarely now, actually- and was able to rest when she needed to, so she never got too tired. She'd regained a little bit of appetite, though it wasn't exactly something she was known for in the first place, and while she didn't eat a whole ton of crap, she was eating a little healthier now. She was able to find ways to get comfortable, though it usually required a little adjusting of pillows and shifting her hips, so even though it was by no means a permanent or complete fix, she got some relief from the seemingly never-ending movement. She was convinced her babies would be fighters, always at each others' throats when they got old enough to do things like that. Emotionally, too, she was starting to come out of her funk in small ways. Over the last week or two, she gradually spent less time crying, most noticeably at night. She wouldn't take as long to stop crying, and there were nights that she didn't cry at all, or very little. She attributed this to being with Drake. That day at the hospital, she knew she couldn't stay there any longer because there was nothing wrong with her or her babies. She told him she was going to stay with her sister- no way was she going to stay at her and Flannery's house. She was glad when he asked her to come with him. While she and her sister were very close, and Mystic had no doubt her sister would at least attempt to be comforting, it was nothing compared to the amount of comforting Drake could give her. Even though she was all but inconsolable at first, being with him helped tremendously. Had she stayed with her sister as planned, she would still be in a deep funk, as far as she could figure. Her sister, after all, had obligations to the Marines, and couldn't spend as much time just holding Mystic as Drake could; even though he had to go teach and things like that, he wasn't gone all day, or for days at a time. That was exactly what she needed: him there a majority of the time, just being there. Also, perhaps helpful to Drake's sanity, she was gradually being more affectionate, instead of just clinging to him and sobbing into his chest. Lately, she'd cuddle with him at night, holding his hand. She'd even given him some kisses and hugged a little harder. Overall, she was doing a lot better, and was glad to be, at least on some level, coming out of her shell. She'd gotten to the point where she could see things that would normally remind her of Flannery, and not feel an overwhelming urge to cry. Talking about him was still iffy, depending on what about him what was speaking, though, like other things, gradually improving.

» And because she was feeling better, she was starting to feel a bit guilty. Because of being so, for lack of better term, depressed about the death, she felt like she was neglecting Drake a bit. While that was probably not the case, since she'd definitely told him several times that she loved him, she still felt guilty. What must he think about this? Hopefully he knew she was coming around, and maybe then they'd be able to be truly happy together. Hopefully he didn't expect her to be completely better all at once. One thing bothering her more than most things was what he must think of her being there. Obviously, he wanted her there, otherwise he wouldn't have asked her to stay. But what did he think about why she was there? She really, truly did love him. She'd never stopped, even though he "died" and she got married to someone else. But considering the choice she'd been faced with at the time of Flannery's death, did he think she was going to stay with him just because his, for lack of better term, competition was dead? Absolutely not. She was there because she loved him and honestly wanted to make it work with him; not by default. While she could be categorized as a bit clingy, and like most people did not want to be alone, she was far from dependent on a man. If she'd been leaning more toward Flannery, or had already made up her mind that she wanted to be with him, and he died... Well, even though it would hurt, and it would be an unnecessary heartbreak by most accounts, Mystic would have told Drake no, she didn't want to be with him. Even though it would have hurt both her and Drake, she would have refused to be with him knowing that was was "second choice", and that the man she loved most was dead. But, lucky for both of them, she'd been leaning toward Drake.

» She wanted to prove to him that he wasn't making a mistake by trying to be around her. She needed him to know that she loved him more than she could find the words to express, and that his patience was greatly appreciated. But how? After a long time of thinking, just staring at the ceiling- she was still in bed, having been asleep when Drake left to go to school- it finally came to her. She would attempt to cook. Even if she failed royally, and they ended up eating hot pockets or something, he would know she'd tried, and was willing to make the effort to come out of her shell. Pulling out a recipe book, and after a short search of the refrigerator and cabinets, she found a simple dish even she- well-known for not being able to cook- should be able to accomplish. After a quick glance at the clock, she decided to hurry. Drake would be home soon, and if something was going to explode, she would rather have it cleaned up before he got home to worry about it. But in her haste, she added too much of something or another, or not enough of something else- she couldn't be sure- and the pan caught on fire. She was able to put it out before anything else caught on fire, but unfortunately, the food was done for. Sighing, she lifted the lid she'd used to smother the flame with and frowned at the blackened, unidentifiable chicken, and then grabbed some paper towels to mop up the mess on the counters. She'd remembered to wear an apron, thankfully, and so would be spared a change of clothes.

[drake fitzgerald minor III]

All of these lines across my face
Tell you the story of who I am
So many stories of where I've been
And how I got to where I am

Drake had honestly been surprised when Mystic had agreed to stay with him. While he wasn't sure how she'd react to his invitation, he had half-expected her to tell him that she just wasn't ready to be that close to him yet. But it hadn't even taken any powerful persuasive tactics to convince her, or any heavy duty moving to bring enough of her things back to his place that she could survive there without missing anything important. Aside, unfortunately, from her husband, but Drake couldn't do anything to fix that. All he could do was regret the indirect role he'd played in Flannery's death. And as much as he'd done that over the past few weeks, it couldn't bring Flannery back, and it couldn't fix the pain he knew Mystic was feeling every time she cried herself to sleep on his chest. He hated the fact that he had to go off to work every day and leave her at home alone. He hadn't pried into whether she was just taking off from work in the wake of Flannery's death, or if she was now on maternity leave. Maybe, he thought, it had been both; at first because she'd lost her husband and then after that, as she started to show and it was getting harder and harder for her to pretend any longer that she wasn't pregnant, they'd put her on maternity leave.

Drake had since gathered, though both implication and things that Mystic said, the truth regarding her former pregnancy, so it would make sense for her to be on leave, taking it easy during the early stages of the pregnancy. Honestly, if she'd been trying to follow some rigorous work schedule, Drake probably would have said something, thrown some sort of fit (a manly fit, of course) about it. By this point, he'd gotten past the initial shock of finding out that biologically or not, he was going to be a father. It was overwhelming, he had discovered, to find out exactly how much love he had in his heart for the three little people who'd so suddenly appeared in his life. The third little person, of course, was Mystic, who, in spite of the fact that her belly was now bigger than the average honeydew melon, was still considerably smaller than Drake himself. That was one of the things Drake loved about her. Not that he wouldn't have loved her if she'd been a foot taller; it was just that he particularly enjoyed having to bend over to kiss the top of her head, and being able to effortlessly scoop her up off of the ground.

Over the last few weeks, he'd started to notice changes not only in Mystic's grieving process, but in her behavior towards him as well. After their initial lapse in judgment when they'd first run into each other, he and Mystic had hardly touched before Flannery died (barring the snuggling at the hospital, of course). And while he'd held her when she cried, and they'd both slept in Drake's bed, it wasn't like he was feeling her up every night. But now she was starting to make the little gestures that indicated two people were actually a couple, and not just a pair of individuals cohabiting. He had been determined to not push her; he'd taken special care to never take anything for granted, including feelings, touches, etc. Drake had undesirable characteristics; everyone did, but insensitivity had never been one of his. It had gotten him called names, like wuss, pussy, or girlie, but for the most part, he had for quite some time been way too preoccupied with hoping he hadn't done something incredibly awful in some part of his life he hadn't remembered to go around being all domineering and manly (or pushy and seductive).

Drake had done his time in the military, had experienced the gun-toting, shoot-em-up lifestyle, and he was done with it now. He was well aware that there were other kinds of strength than muscles, namely emotional strength. He could be the mental fortitude that she needed to get through this, and he was going to do just that. And slowly, it seemed that they had grown accustomed to being together. He got used to falling asleep with his arms around her, to waking up in the morning with her lying next to him. So it happened that the affection Drake held for her went above and beyond the adolescent passion and adoration he'd had for her before he'd gone away to war. If you'd told Drake when he was eighteen that he could possibly love Mystic any more, he would have branded you a liar, but he could honestly say now that what he and Mystic had was something deeper, something more lasting and permanent than anything their young minds could have even comprehended back then. Forever was such a fleeting concept when you were eighteen. It seemed like something that you could talk about but that would never actually arrive. Now, though, forever seemed so much closer. He could love her forever, and he could imagine the forever that they could make together.

I climbed across the mountain tops
I swam out across the ocean blue
I crossed all the lines and I broke all the rules
And baby, I broke them all for you

Drake turned his car into the parking lot of the apartment complex, and punched in the four digit entry code into the keypad that guarded the gate. The gate slid open with a squawking sound that would have put barnyard animals to shame, and Drake accelerated, claiming a parking space near the corner of his building. He put the car in park, and killed the ignition, tucking his keys away in his pocket as he hit the automatic lock and shut the door behind him. He didn't have much to bring in, stuff-wise; he usually carried a small box with him containing any extra books he needed for his classes. He was a little later than he usually would have gotten home; he'd had to stay for a parent-teacher conference after his last class let out, but he wasn't so late that he thought Mystic would be freaking out over his absence. After they'd been together again for this long, he hoped she was beyond worrying that he'd just up and leave and never come back (or worse, get himself killed). He opened the door to his apartment, and was immediately assaulted by the powerful odor of charred something. It was so burned, it wasn't even recognizable what it was that was burning.

At first, Drake was a little alarmed, but the smoke detector and fire alarm weren't going off, and the smell seemed to grow stronger as he got nearer to the kitchen. By the time he got there, he had a feeling that he knew exactly what had happened, and his suspicions were confirmed when he came around the corner to see a rather dismayed Mystic mopping something up off of the counter, likely the same something he was smelling...or was that in the pan? Maybe both. It didn't matter. Honestly, Drake found himself ridiculously spellbound watching her. She'd probably think it was creepy, strange at least, but he thought (as he often did) that he'd never loved her more than he did at that moment. She was so perfectly imperfect, so absolutely human and irresistible in this, of all situations...

A thought came into Drake's mind at that moment, but he didn't voice it. Instead, he took one step across the kitchen, and wrapped his arms around her from behind, inhaling the scent of her hair and hugging her close against him. "You," he said, kissing her on the side of her head, just above her ear, "are beautiful, and I love you." The chicken, if that was what it had once been, looked completely repulsive, but Drake was so far from caring that he would have eaten it anyway just to prove to her how much he didn't care that she'd burnt it. They could eat hot pockets, or he could boil noodles and they could eat them out of bowls with chopsticks out of the little paper packages left over from Chinese takeout. That wasn't what mattered. What mattered was that Mystic, who probably couldn't cook an instant macaroni cup without incident, had tried to make him a meal. "What the..." He left off just before the curse word made it past his lips, and amended the sentence, remembering Mystic's usual avoidance of harsh language."What in the world made you decide to start cooking?"

No, they don't know who I really am
And they don't know what I've been through
Like you do
And I was made for you

[/blockquote]

[mystic pearl adier]

your heart to hold onto,
all i ever needed was you

» Mystic was no longer scared that Drake would just run away, or that he had when he took a little longer to return than usual. This wasn't just because it was his apartment, but because she knew he was too attached to her- as she was to him- to simply leave without saying good-bye. But, on the other hand, she was still scared to death that he wouldn't return because he was dead. Even before Flannery's death, that Drake would die when he was out- or out of her sight. She had already lost him once, and was thoroughly unprepared to deal with such a thing again. Now, with Flannery being dead, Mystic was understandably scared that Drake would meet the same untimely fate. There were any number of ways he could die, and even though she hadn't seen him pass out again since that very first time, she was still scared it would happen to him behind the wheel, which could be dangerous to others as well. But with every time he returned home safely, she gradually relaxed, losing a little chunk of the paranoia each time. But times like today, she was too occupied to notice that Drake was running a little late. With Mystic, it was hard to keep her mind occupied on any one thing for a significant amount of time, but when she or someone else managed to accomplish such a feat, it was a very useful tool in keeping her from imagining the worst.

» That was why no going to work was really hard for her. While going might have been hard without having Flannery to run into, or going into the nurses' lounge, which was where they met, but at least she would have been doing something. Unfortunately, she was on leave- doctor's orders. First, it was just until she was farther than three months along, when her risk of miscarriage would decrease drastically, plus a little more time due to her history. But by the time they determined that wasn't a risk, they just ordered her to stay home until the babies were born. Given her small frame, and that she was carrying twins, she was pretty much told not to expect to carry to term; hell, there were average-sized women who couldn't do it. But, by staying home and taking it easy, she was gaining as much time as possible, because a week, or even a couple of days, could determine how healthy her babies would be at birth. She wasn't on bed rest yet- that would eventually come, if she made it far enough- but she was expected to take it easy and rest whenever possible. It killed Mystic, and she felt like she was being lazy, but she sucked it up- her babies' safety was top priority, no matter what she had to do.

» Even though she could never forget Drake and how much she loved him, or how empty she felt when he wasn't holding her, she was astonished at how much her mood was elevated, when she wasn't aware it had been low. "Eek," she squeaked, setting the towel down even though she wasn't quite done cleaning, and leaned against him, unable to stop a big smile from finding its way to her face. It faded slightly as he called her beautiful. She had never been one to stare at herself in the mirror for hours, and had never really thought of herself as beautiful, especially now, with her ever-growing belly. But, she didn't try to debate the subject. Aside from being completely stupid and useless, it would do nothing except ruin a perfectly sweet moment- and, given the way the situation hadn't called for many of those lately, she damn sure wasn't going to ruin this one. So she kept her denials to herself, and simply smiled, enjoying the closeness for a second before gently pulling away and resuming the clean-up. 'It's like chemistry all over again," she pouted. "When I try to set things on fire, it doesn't happen, but when I'm not supposed to, it catches fire. Oh, I'm useless in a kitchen." Even her sister was capable of a few small meals; Mystic was not so talented. She did, however, possess an innate ability to ruin just about any piece of kitchen equipment she touched. As always, she was easily distracted, and something on the stove caught her eye. She leaned forward slightly, squinting. "What does that button do?" she asked, reaching out to poke it. Luckily, she managed to stop herself, and stood up straight. She was convinced those would end up being her last words.

» She turned to face him and smiled. "Oh, I just got bored and figured you might be hungry." She poked him in the stomach, then turned back around and scowled at the very much deceased chicken. "Well that was a swing and miss. Could use it as charcoal, maybe, but it's not edible." After a short pause, she remembered an interesting little tidbit. "This isn't the worst thing I've ever done in a kitchen..." As she began the remainder of the cleaning, Mystic told Drake how, on her father's birthday last year, she went to his house and tried to make him a cake, which ended up with the oven exploding, and Mystic never being allowed in his kitchen again. No kitchen equipment was safe around her. "Hmm... I could make sushi if you want." Sushi, unlike most things, did not require a stove, oven, or microwave, or anything else plugged into a wall. And, it was the one thing that was impossible for Mystic to burn, blow up, or set on fire. Of course, she would have to go out and get the necessary ingredients and such, since she doubted they had any nori or rolling mats lying around. "Ehh, never mind. Some other time." It seemed like a bit too much work for now; she would, however, make it for him some day.

» With a sigh, she looked back at Drake, then approached and hugged him, glad he was there. Every time he held her, she felt safe. It felt right to be in his arms, whether they were laying down or, like now, greeting each other after one returned home, it just felt right, and she often found herself wishing they could stay like that forever. She knew they couldn't, of course, but it was nice to hope. Honestly, tell Mystic to look ahead and ask if she could see herself spending her life with anyone else, she knew she couldn't. It had taken her a vast majority of the time lately to come around, but as she did, she realized that this was exactly what she'd wanted all along, and was beginning to devote herself, once again, to making it work. She hoped, for Drake's sake, the babies were his; she had a feeling he would love them either way, simply because they were hers, but it would make Mystic feel better if they were his. She would ask him eventually what he wanted to do- just assume, and stay in the dark, or do a DNA test- and leave it up to him. For now, she wanted to focus on the present, and being happy with him.

» After a short pause, she let go of him, but then placed her hands on either side of his face and smiled up at him. "I love you," she said, before pulling him down so she could kiss him. But, as much as she wanted it to last, she had more to say and knew she better say it before she got distracted again. So, she let go of his face, and held his hands. "I know I haven't been much fun lately, and I'm really sorry." She gave his hands a squeeze. "And you've been so...awesome. I don't know what I would do without you here." Her sister and father weren't the greatest at being comforting. Even though, in this situation her father might have been better-qualified to comfort her, since he too had dealt with the death of a spouse, but he could only tolerate so much before telling her to quiet down and suck it up. In fact, he was partly responsible for why she had taken so long to come to terms with Drake's alleged death; he hadn't allowed her to simply cry until she got tired, and so she wasn't able to just let it all out right away like this time. Even though this time had also taken a considerable amount of time, it was a lot better than before. "I... I can't promise I'll ever be okay... with him being gone, but I can promise that nothing has or will change how much I love you." At least she spoke without tearing up. She was making progress.

[drake fitzgerald minor III]

Sometimes, Drake had to take a step back (figuratively of course) and remind himself that this was his life. After he'd been MIAA for so long, and had found out that mystic had gotten married, he had spent the longest time after that not only recovering pieces of himself and who he was, but rebuilding his future without the key piece he had imagined that Mystic would play in it. He'd worked so hard at that, that now that she was back, it almost felt like he was experiencing again the multitude of dreams he'd had during that time. But this, he reminded himself as Mystic hugged him, was quite real. Mystic was here, she was his, and she loved him. While that in itself was more than enough to keep him happy for the rest of his life, she wanted him to be the father of his children, not only biologically, if that turned out to be the case, but to be there with her to raise them, to experience the ups and downs of being a parent with her. He honestly couldn't think of a thing he'd ask for beyond that, aside from the means to take care of the little family he'd have very soon.

And he wasn't lying when he called her beautiful; he really did think she was. Regardless of how much bigger her pregnancy made her - actually, he thought it was cute, what with how tiny she was - he loved watching her, the little things she did, the way her breathing, so quiet and subtle, was so perfect to him that he could lie there and listen to it until he fell asleep. He considered himself lucky; most relationships had a brief phase that could only be described as infatuation before it fell into either decline or a more steady, comfortable state. But he and Mystic had the privilege of getting to fall in love all over again. He had no doubt that after this first whirlwind of happiness, things would only be getting better. If they weren't meant to be together, things wouldn't have gone the way they had. By now, there was no doubt in Drake's mind that somewhere, someone or something was pulling strings to keep him with this woman. He wasn't a believer in strong, overpowering destiny that you couldn't fight, but sometimes, things seemed to lead right back to a certain place regardless of the things that stood in the way. He was sure that if he wanted to leave, he could, but he couldn't imagine why the hell he would ever want to.

She kissed him, and as usually, he felt a little lighter. He wasn't enough of a hopeless sap to describe it as feeling as if he could fly, but if he had to imagine flying, if he absolutely had to, it would be a lot easier to do if he was kissing Mystic. That was just the effect she had on him. Not only did he feel as if he knew himself better when he was with her, he liked the person he was when he was with her better than the person he was without her. He could only imagine that fatherhood would have a positive impact on his character, too. But he wasn't going to dwell on that right now. Mystic was talking to him, and he had a feeling that she was saying something important. He gathered that from the fact that she was actually paying undivided attention to him. She was usually so...well, distractable...from the food to the cleaning to her father's birthday cake, to sushi, to just hugging and saying sweet things...but this, she seemed to be focusing only on him and what she was saying to him, and it got his attention. Her words had the desired effect; that is, if the desired effect was making Drake smile both inside and out. Hadn't been much fun? Drake was happy just to have her back in his life, even if she had been crying. He could deal with that. He could take care of her, he knew he could.

"I never stopped loving you." he told her, kissing her again. "And I never will." Unless he died, of course. But he wasn't going to talk about that and ruin the moment. It was a sad enough moment for such happy declarations of love, with mentioning dearly departed Flannery and all. "Don't worry. I'll order pizza, or takeout, or we can have some of those enchilada hot pockets that are in the freezer."

[/blockquote]

[mystic pearl adier]

» Mystic had tried so hard not to make comparisons between Drake's alleged death and Flannery's actual one. Realistically, they were dissimilar in just about every aspect. Drake "died" in a war. Flannery died in a car crash. She was simply engaged to Drake, and, obviously, very much married to Flannery. She never got to go to Drake's funeral, and though she barely kept her composure at it, she did go to Flannery's. She didn't get to see Drake's body- obviously- and say goodbye to him one last time, while she did for Flannery. Actually, looking back on it- which was probably a bad idea, considering how sensitive she was- she wondered why she wasn't more suspicious about not seeing a body, not going to a funeral. She tried not to think about it, mainly because it made her feel more guilty for not waiting on him longer. Every time she thought about it, she was so sure she should have waited for undeniable proof that he actually was dead, instead of simply believing it because of the letter. While it might have broken her heart to be with him while he was still recovering- since he likely wouldn't have recognized her, or remembered anything about how close they were- she would have stood by him every second, until he finally remembered.

» But the past was the past. There was nothing she could do now to replace the time they'd lost, and nothing she could do to bring Flannery back to life. All she could do was love him with all her heart, and make the most of their reunion. She was convinced that something, somewhere wanted them together. Hell, she wanted them together, even though these weren't the most ideal of circumstances. But the less-than-ideal circumstances only served to further prove that they were meant to be together. If they could make it through such a hard time, they could make it through anything. If Drake was willing to hold her while she cried over the death of another man, that only further proved to her that he was a great man himself, and secure in the knowledge that she did love him; and she did, very much.

» Smiling sweetly, she looked up at him after he kissed her. "Hot pockets sound pretty good." She wasn't particularly hungry, but she was feeling pretty decent at the moment, and felt as though she should take advantage of the situation and munch on something- if only to make sure her babies would have the necessary nutrients. She was given special vitamins to help with that, but as a nurse, she knew that the vitamins couldn't be the sole bearers of nutritional responsibility. But Mystic could only suck it up so much. If she ate what she would normally- which wasn't all that much to begin with- she would feel achy and sick, and with Drake home and Mystic finally feeling more like her normal self emotionally, she didn't want to ruin the moment by having to lay down and sleep all day. She seemed to be doing a lot more sleeping lately, which was to be expected- being small and carrying twins was a recipe for exhaustion! So, for Drake's sake, she would vaguely nibble on the hot pocket until it was gone, but nowhere near as fast as any normal person would eat one.

» She giggled a little. "Maybe... maybe you should take care of making them." Even though the instructions on the hot pockets box were so simple any idiot could follow them- wow, three whole buttons, plus the start button, how complicated!- Mystic didn't trust herself to successfully operate the microwave. She had already thoroughly proven that she was incapable of cooking anything, and didn't want to risk blowing up the microwave, like she had her father's oven. "I'll... make drinks. What do you want?" She hated sitting around while someone else did everything; she always felt bad if someone else did all the work. Making drinks was simple, but it would given Mystic the sense that she was doing something useful. Besides, she wasn't required to do anything more than pour the liquid into a cup with ice in it: no way she could make anything explode or set it on fire. She stepped away from him and turned around, searching for some cups. Luckily, she'd learned fairly quickly to start keeping the cups and suchlike on lower shelves. While she wasn't opposed to asking Drake to grab one for her, or climbing onto the counter to get one herself if he wasn't around, she didn't want to irritate him, and soon she wouldn't be able to do much climbing at all, and so it was simply more convenient to keep them on lower shelves.

» After setting one cup down she stopped, seeming to drift off into her own little world as she smiled at the second cup. She was, of course, imagining a bottle, getting one ready for one of her babies. Up until recently, she was unsure of how to feel about them. Of course she loved them more than anything else- except Drake- but she was unsure if it was okay to be excited, and hadn't allowed herself to really be excited. But now, Mystic definitely was. They were her firsts- the first she would actually get to hold, at any rate- and any mother-to-be would be excited right now. She was beginning to feel a sense of normalcy again, and allowing the repressed emotions was part of that. Blinking, she came back down to Earth, set the second cup down, and reached into the freezer to grab some ice to put into the cups. "Don't worry," she said, with another soft giggle. "I haven't yet blown up a freezer, or set a drink on fire. But that would be interesting to see." She paused for a second her hand inside the freezer, as she was once again distracted by envisioning a blown-up freezer and a glass of juice on fire. She was brought back once again by her hand having that distinct pain caused by holding an ice cube too long. "Oh! Owww." She pulled her hand out of the freezer, and rubbed it on a nearby dish towel to make it feel better. "Wow, I'm distractable." She hadn't been taking her Ritalin, not wanting to risk harm to the babies. She promised to start taking it again once they were born, though- couldn't risk getting distracted while holding one and dropping it.

[drake fitzgerald minor III]

Drake had never really blamed Mystic for moving on when he’d gone missing. There had been the initial reaction of disappointment (devastation was probably more accurate), and somewhere in that stage of devastation, he’d obviously wished she had waited for him, but he’d never been angry with her or anything. Hell, he hadn’t even experienced what some might think a quite normal rage directed towards Flannery, regardless of the fact that the other man had married the woman Drake was supposed to have spent the rest of his life with. Actually, the only real anger he’d felt had been towards the people who’d made him write that damned letter in the first place. He knew Mystic, or had thought he did. If she hadn’t seen his handwriting, his signature, read words she knew he’d written, she probably wouldn’t even have accepted it. Not that he would have wanted that for her if he really had been dead, but the truth was, if he hadn’t written that letter, he and Mystic might have been spared all of this. (Flannery, too, poor guy). It was funny how something that seemed so small at the time could end up having such a huge impact on the rest of his life. But there was nothing that could be done about it now; that was all in the past, and Mystic, against all odds, was his again, after all that had happened.

He moved to the freezer, removed the hot pockets, and tore open the box, leaning against the counter after turning to face her again as he did so. ”So, I think I’m going to be picking up another class at the end of this semester.” he said, guardedly. He was sure Mystic wouldn’t freak out and tell him he was working too much, but he wanted to break it to her gently because he knew she probably wouldn’t be overjoyed by anything that meant he’d be away from home any longer, even just for the hour another class would keep him. He didn’t want to be away from home any longer, either, but the truth of the matter was, they were having a baby, and he needed to support them. Teachers were notoriously underpaid, and Drake, though this was a rather nice district, was no exception. He made enough to support himself, but he was suddenly taking care of two other people as well, and while Mystic had her skills as a nurse, she wouldn’t be able to work for a while even after the baby was born. The last thing Drake wanted was to lose her again simply because he couldn’t provide for her. That was something that was implied with the promises they’d made once, that he’d always be there for her, that he’d be the kind of husband she’d want to be married to.

Not that they were engaged anymore…Drake wasn’t sure what they were. Living together, yes. In love, certainly. But they weren’t wearing wedding rings, and come April, they’d probably still be filing their taxes separately unless he did something about it. That, though, was something that, while he could conceivably find himself ready to do, he wasn’t sure Mystic was anywhere near prepared for. Her first husband had just died, and Drake was not entirely innocent in the matter as far as he was concerned. He took both of the hotpockets out of the box, put them in their little cardboard sleeves, and shoved them into the microwave before turning it on. As it hummed to life, he reached out and took her hand, grinning because he knew his own would be pretty cold from handling the hot pockets. ”Actually, iced tea sounds pretty nice about now.” he said, hoping that would be relatively easy for her to make. He usually kept a pitcher of the premixed stuff in the fridge.

He couldn’t help but laugh slightly at her spaceyness, and at her reaction to holding the ice cube too long. He kissed her fingers, cold as they might be against his lips, and then kissed her lip again. He was about to tell her how much joy she brought into his life, but it occurred to him just before he spoke that to say something like that just might be the tackiest, cheesiest comment in the history of mankind, and just might compel her to laugh her ass off at him, prior to running out the door in the desire to avoid being associated with such a sap. So instead, he settled for ”I love you. And I love your fingers.”

[/blockquote]

[mystic pearl adier]

» She worried about him every second he was out of her sight. There was nothing she could do about it, and nothing she told herself could make it go away. Sure, it was ridiculous to think that someone his age would keel over and die of a heart attack in the ten seconds between when he left the room and then when she did. Sure, it was statistically improbable that he, too, would get into a horrible car wreck and die. And really, around here, did that many people get caught in explosions, shot through the heart or head, or randomly attacked? In the Middle East, sure. In New York or Detroit, absolutely. But not here. She knew she should probably just calm down. He was very much alive, and unless he'd been lying to her- in which case, she'd kill him herself- he was in near-perfect health, and nowhere near about to die from a random disease or ailment, like heart attack, stroke, whatever. In short, she really ought to focus on being excited for his return, whether from the other room or work, instead of being scared of getting that phone call. She wasn't a negative person- so why was she so focused on the negative?

» Another class? "Uh... what class?" She wasn't entirely sure of how to feel at first. On one hand, yeah, he probably needed to- which made her feel a little guilty for not immediately nodding her approval, or something similar- but on the other hand... well, the obvious. What if something happened to her while he was gone that extra hour, or however long, when he normally would have been there? At this point, however, she was unwilling to accept that as a possibility. Way too soon, and she would be damned if she had gone through so much, come so far, only to lose her babies now, or have them way too early. "It's fine. Really." She smiled, masking any concerns. "More time to clean up after a wild party." She giggled a little. Of course, Mystic was nowhere near any wild parties, now or ever. It was more of a mood-lightening joke, just something to get rid of the mild tension. It was a good idea, after all. Was he asking her permission, or something? How sweet. She just couldn't say no to him- in more ways than one, obviously.

» She giggled a little as he kissed her fingers. "All better," she said quietly after he kissed her lips. Really, it hadn't hurt that badly, holding the ice cube too long; it was just more like playing in the snow for an extended period of time without gloves on. She suspected he knew this, but it was still really sweet of him to act like it wasn't to be taken lightly. "Wait, what was I- oh, yeah," she'd almost forgotten her original mission. "Iced tea." She opened up the fridge and pulled out the pitcher of iced tea, placing it on the counter next to the empty cups before going back and putting ice in them. Luckily, this time, she managed to focus long enough to do that, and even managed to hold that focus until after she poured the drinks, at which point she set the pitcher down and wandered out of the kitchen, seemingly to do something else. But then she wandered back in, cheeks bright red. "I think I've lost my mind." God, she felt like a senile old lady that ought to be in a hardcore Alzheimer's care facility. She grabbed the cups, then then frowned, put them down, and put the pitcher back in the fridge. "Warm iced tea is like... Warm beer. Warm is bad. You don't drink something just to drink it, unless you're taking medicine. You drink it to cool off. And it's like, impossible to do that with a warm drink. Not that I know anything about warm beer. Or any beer. Or anything with... I'm shutting up now." She then finally grabbed the cups and went into the living room, setting them down on the coffee table. But then, in true obsessive-compulsive style, sought out two napkins to set the cups on. She wasn't going to take an hour of her day to get rid of the stains left. She wouldn't classify herself as a neat freak or anything, but cups left directly on tables... it was a pretty massive pet peeve, which was saying a lot for the normally-mellow Mystic.

» Yawning a little, she sat down on the couch and leaned against the arm, laying her head down. She really ought to sit down more, but of course, she wanted to be as helpful as she could, which isn't something one can usually accomplish from a single stationery position. Mystic never really realized how tired she was until she got to a quiet moment, or had some other opportunity to rest. Of course, at night, she wasn't so tired that she could fall asleep right away, and would spend the longest time just trying to get comfortable. It was so weird- to Mystic, at least- that in the middle of the day, she could doze off just about anywhere, without having to adjust for comfort, but it was such a hassle to get comfortable at night. It was probably all in her head, she decided. Mystic, unintentionally, of course, fell asleep right there on the couch. She'd done that a lot lately, be up and doing something one second and then out cold the next. She'd joke that it was just her body's way of catching up on a lot of the sleep she knew she was going to lose.

» She awoke with a start a short while later, looking around, her expression one of confusion. How long had she been asleep? Had her hot pocket gone to waste, or had Drake gone ahead and eaten it? She really needed to put more of an effort into not randomly dozing off, she decided, even though, really, she had no control over it. She sat up straight, rubbing her eyes, and looked around.