COC #13: Parental Figures
Simon is nervous to see Baz's family and tell them big news...
~ Short little drabble. Enjoy! ~
"Relax, Snow, it'll be fine! They're not that scary..." Baz trails off, knowing he's wrong. (Honestly saying Malcolm Grimm-Pitch isn't scary is like saying the bloody Humdrum wasn't fucking scary.) We're pulling into the cafe now, parking right next to the Pitch's car. Baz is fiddling with his jacket even though he says he's not nervous, but I've been very vocal about my anxiety.
"Daphne isn't. Malcolm on the other hand-" I'm starting off on a tangent, but Baz takes my hand to quiet me down. (Crowley, I hate that he can command me fully with only one touch. S'pose I let him, though.)
"Simon," He whispers, leaning in to put his forehead on mine. (Bloody years we've been together now and I still can't wrap my head around it.) "You love me, yeah?" He sounds so unsure of himself. Ten years ago, I might've said no. I might've said that I hated his guts and wanted him dead. (Not ever really believing a word, though.) But now I am fully his.
"'Course I do, Baz." I tell him softly, like he might break if I get any louder.
He looks down at our hands and I follow his gaze to the ring sitting soundly on my left hand ring finger. "Then you know we have to tell them... right, Snow?" I nod my head against his and let out a little laugh.
"Crowley, I know, Baz. It's just that I don't think they like me very much. Daphne-"
"Adores you."
"Well, 'kay, but Fiona-"
"Is a hardarse but she loves you deep down. Simon, she thinks you're amazing, and she's glad I'm happy," He puts his other hand on my heart. "And I'm so happy, love." He leans in to kiss me, and I let him for a moment before pulling back again.
"Okay but Malcolm-" He gruffly sighs, and I can tell he's holding back a sneer from our Watford days. (It's hard for us sometimes, to remember that we don't have to hate each other anymore. We don't have to fight. But we have to love each other. We have to do that.)
"Just needs time. Snow, you've spent the past five Christmas' stuffing your bloody face at the manor. Do you honestly think that if he didn't like you he'd keep letting you come back?" I don't say anything for a moment- I just nod. He has a point. (Although I still hate to admit it; old habits die hard.)
We're quiet for a long time before I whisper, "What about Natasha?" He takes in a sharp breath between his teeth, so I squeeze his hand.
"Snow, my mum has been dead for years and years. What about her?" He looks guarded. (My beautiful, broken boyfriend. 'Least we match.)
"Would she have liked me? Would she have liked..." I hold up my left hand and cup his face, pulling him in for another kiss. "This?" He laughs and climbs over the console to sit in my lap. He's grinning from ear to ear.
"Simon Snow..." He kisses me on my nose and musses my curls up. I don't mind. (I never mind.) "She would have loved you," A kiss on my forehead. "And this," A nibble on my ear. (I'm trying hard to not make a sound in the middle of his romantic gesture- I don't want to bloody well demonetize it right before we're supposed to go in and see his parents.) "As much as I do." He kisses me soundly and I smile against his lips.
We walk into the restaurant hand in hand, and I'm not near as nervous as I had been. Everyone is ecstatic when we tell them the news.
I'm marrying my past arch nemesis. (No, I revise. That's not what I should remember us as.)
I'm marrying T. Basilton Grimm-Pitch. (Funny how just a name can make my heart flutter. I'm a right poof.)
I'm marrying my beautiful, broken boy.