AUTHOR'S NOTE: The title is from "Space Oddity" by David Bowie.
Marshall crosses his arms across his chest. "Are you drunk?"
"I swear I'm not," Louis protests as the band stares at him. Even when Marshall studies his younger brother's gaze, his sibling's blue eyes are as clear and focused as they've ever been. They're brighter, now that Marshall thinks about it, than he's seen in ten years, and his brother finally looks, well, happy.
"Are you high, then? You actually believe this girl?" Marshall asks as the JFK Airport bustles around them. "You don't see her for ten years-"
"Eleven. I've been counting," Louis throws in. "And I'm not high. Marsh, she's not just a girl."
Marshall almost rolls his eyes. Louis has always been a romantic, wearing his heart on his sleeve, but this is bordering on insanity. "Fine. You don't see her in eleven years and she shows up out of nowhere with a kid she says is yours, now that you have a fancy job and a nice paycheck? I ain't biting on that line."
"He's mine, I know he is. You should have seen him. He's a composer, and he goes to Julliard-"
"Juilliard? A kid who can't be more than, what, ten or eleven, goes to Julliard?"
"Don't ask me how that happened. I wasn't exactly there to enroll him," Louis shoots back, almost defensive of his supposed son who he met an hour ago. Marshall can see the depth of how much this means to Louis, and a small part of him – a very small part – wants to believe his brother. But he knows he has to rein his sibling in before Louis gets his heart broken all over again.
It took a long time for the younger Connelly to piece himself back together after losing Lyla. Louis had pushed everyone away, including his older brother, for years while he tried to recover; it had taken Nick working as a chauffeur in San Francisco for the brothers to even see each other again. Louis might be older and supposedly wiser now, but Marshall won't let any of that happen again. He shouldn't have in the first place, honestly, but he has the opportunity to fix his mistakes now, and he's going to grasp that bull by the horns.
"So your kid 'goes' to Julliard…"
Louis nods. "He was conducting at the concert in Central Park, and the reason I went in the first place is because I saw Lyla's name on a sign. She played the cello earlier in the show, and Evan was onstage and then Lyla was in front of me–"
"Evan?"
"My son." Louis' face splits into the widest grin Marshall has ever seen him wear, and for a moment the elder Connelly wonders if all this is as real as Louis' complete and utter joy clearly is. But Marshall firmly reminds himself of the absurdity of this situation, and refuses once again to believe this.
The story is too good to be true, plain and simple.
"How do you know he's yours?" Marshall asks bluntly, but with Louis' heart is on the line, he's not going to pull his punches. What kind of brother is he to let Louis be duped into thinking he has a kid just because some gold digger says so? Louis isn't a millionaire, but he's not exactly poor either. Marshall knows Louis feels more deeply than most, and that his brother wants a love for the ages and a family of his own. But there's no way this Lyla is it, and Evan cannot possibly be Marshall's nephew.
"This broad up and left you, and crushed your heart in the process. I saw it with my own two eyes."
Louis' eyes harden. "She has a name."
"Ah, yes. What was it, Lyla? The princess girl who abandoned you."
"She said her father made her–"
"Well, isn't that a convenient answer? Someone made her do it. Right."
"Are you incapable to seeing good in other people?" Louis exclaims. "Stop being cynical for once in your life, and at least try to be happy for me, okay? I know it's a lot to take in, and believe me, it took me a while to wrap me own head around it, but I have a family now and–"
"Louis, listen to yourself! This doesn't make any sense! How can you possibly think she's telling the truth? How could this kid be yours?"
"You didn't see him!" Louis is trying not to lose his cool in front of one of the busiest airports in the world, but Marshall can hear his brother's voice is getting hoarse. "Adults can lie well, I'll give you that. But kids can't. Not that convincingly. Lyla said he was given up for adoption against her will. And okay, yeah, I didn't even know of Evan's existence until today."
Louis takes a step forward, actual tears forming in his eyes.
"I know this sounds insane, Marsh. I know. But I've been wanting to find Lyla for a decade, and now that I've found her, can you actually support me in something for once instead of always telling me to keep me head on straight? Just once?"
The two brothers stare at each other as Louis draws a shaky breath. "And Evan's mine. I just know it. He looks a lot like Lyla, but he's got me eyes and hair. And he's such a musician, Marsh. You should have heard his song. I've never heard anything like it. It's truly out of this world. If that's not enough evidence, I don't know what is."
No matter how earnest Louis appears, Marshall consciously refuses to let his own heart be moved. "The whole thing could have been staged. A set up to-"
"It's not a set up!"
People around them start to stare as Louis finally explodes, but neither Connelly sibling cares. The younger brother's jaw clenches, but tears well in his blue eyes again at the same time, and his voice is rough as he continues. "I want this, Marsh. It didn't happen the way I ever thought it would, but I know in me bones I can't leave. I made mistakes in the past, but I have to make it right. If I leave Lyla and Evan now, it will destroy them and practically kill me this time."
"Now boarding flight 89B to San Francisco," a voice says over the loudspeakers.
"I have to stay," Louis adds, voice breaking.
Even though people around them are heading for the gate, Marshall doesn't move. "You'll never be the prince, Louie."
Louis' eyes harden as he locks gazes with his older brother, and though Marshall said it to finally knock some sense into his sibling, he wonders now if he went too far. Louis reaches for his suitcase that the band had brought with them to the airport, and suddenly it as if he is going with them despite everything. But then Louis straightens. "I am this time."
He walks away from the gate.
"Louis!" Marshall instantly tries to follow, but Nick grabs his arm. "Louis, wait! Louis!"
"Let him go," the blond says to his friend, but the younger Connelly doesn't look back at either of them.
In Marshall's head he hears their father saying to look after his brother. He shoves Nick away and rushes forward a few steps, but Nick stops him again. "He's not a teenager anymore. If he wants to stay, let him stay."
Marshall doesn't even look at Nick, his gaze focused on Louis' retreating figure.
"The flight is boarding," his friend adds, and the logical side of Marshall - the one that says he can't waste this much money to chase down a family member who won't return – wins.
Keep an eye on Louis, his father says in his head, but Marshall forces himself to turn away, wondering if he will ever see his brother again.
The gig in New York was a one night event, and so Marshall can't do anything else but go back to San Francisco.
But he's distracted at work, accidently giving two bar patrons each other's shot glasses on Monday, and even briefly forgetting how to make the more complicated drinks. All he can think about is imagining what could be happening to Louis on the east coast, because it is not as if his sibling is calling with updates.
In his darker moments, Marshall imagines Lyla begging Louis for child support money, and then draining his not insubstantial bank account dry before splitting with his life savings. He even pictures her leaving Louis with Evan or dumping the kid – maybe even related to neither of them, just a prop in her scheme – back wherever she had found the boy.
But with only the monotony of work to occupy him, Marshall also finds himself thinking briefly of how the situation could turn out for the better.
When his thoughts get too sentimental, he always immediately shuts them down. Yet when he does allow himself to dwell on them for the shortest of moments, he envisions Louis finally happy in ways his brother hasn't been in years. The broken little family Louis described is highly unconventional, but Marshall's kid brother would probably be content with his own wonder kid and the princess. Louis had always thought with his heart and not his head, and this could be no different.
Louis is an adult and has been one for a long time, but their father's words gnaw at Marshall, and the elder of the Connelly sons lasts two weeks before he picks up the phone. As the automated voice begins after Louis' Blackberry stops ringing, Marshall has a split second to wonder if his brother didn't pick up because Lyla ruined his life again, or because Louis is busy with his new family.
But then the voicemail tone sounds, and Marshall blurts out, "Louie, when you have time… Uh, call me." He hangs up quickly, because Louis had always been the one with the fancy words, not him. But he made the attempt, and tries to brace himself for his brother calling back with the worst of news for the rest of the day.
But the next morning, Marshall's phone rings, and he is actually afraid of what Louis might reveal.
"Hey," Louis says, a smile coloring his voice even as he says that one word, and Marshall allows himself to relax a minuscule amount. He hears a cello in the background, muffled voices just out of the range of the speakers on Louis' phone. But Marshall can just barely distinguish the sound of a woman and a child talking, and maybe, just maybe, everything is alright.
"Hey," Marshall says, and pauses. "How's it going?"
"Better than I ever imagined," Louis replies, and Marshall releases the breath he didn't know he'd been holding.
"How's the wonder kid like?"
"I almost doesn't know how to describe Evan. He's incredible." He laughs under his breath. "I still can't believe this is my life. It exceeds every dream I ever had."
"That's good to hear," Marshall offers as he hears a door shut on Louis' line.
His brother's tone changes. "But it's not perfect. All three of us have our issues, but Evan honestly has more than most kids his age. He had a messed up life before Lyla and I found him." Louis sighs. "We're trying to help him, but it's not easy."
"What do you mean, messed up life?" Marshall says, figuring he has to ask. This Evan is appearing to truly be his nephew, and even after everything, he doesn't wish the kid ill. It's not Evan's fault any of this happened.
"Like I told you at the airport, he was dumped in the foster care system against Lyla's wishes. What I didn't mention is that Lyla got hit by a car while she was pregnant. After her surgery, her father forged her signature on release forms for an adoption agency. He gave Evan up without her knowing. She thought Evan was dead until recently. Lyla's been screwed over by life, but Evan… Evan had it ten times worse."
Marshall almost isn't sure he wants to hear the details of his nephew's life if it was even more difficult than Lyla's was, but Louis continues.
"He was at an orphanage for most of his life, and then ran away to try to find Lyla and I. He ended up literally homeless, living with this man who made him play music on street corners for money. I mean, Evan's talented, but he's a kid. And honestly what I wouldn't give to knock that guy's lights out…"
Louis sighs again. "But Evan wound up being found by this pastor who enrolled him in Julliard. And after Evan composed this insane piece – and I've seen the sheet music, it would blow your mind - they let him conduct it at that concert in Central Park. And that, obviously, is where we all found each other."
Marshall is uncharacteristically quiet for a moment, and slowly starts to open himself up to the idea that this whole thing might be real. "Seems like you're not the only one who got some hard knocks over the years."
"No kidding. I had it easy compared to Evan and Lyla." Louis pauses. "Hey, Marshall?"
"Yes?"
"First off, I want to apologize for ditching the band again."
"It looks like you had a pretty good reason."
"Yeah," Louis replies, and Marshall knows his brother has picked up on his older brother's way of offering his own apology. "I also wanted to ask if you… if you want to fly out here and meet Evan."
Even over the phone, Marshall can read Louis like an open book. The elder Connelly might focus on logic more than emotions, but he can hear again in Louis' voice how much this means to him. This whole scenario might not be playing out the way Marshall envisioned, but this is a clear invitation back into his brother's life, and he's not going to let it pass him by. Another ten years without contact is unthinkable.
"If you want," Marshall says.
"I do," Louis replies, and lets out an airy laugh. "I really do."
"I don't think I'll be able to fly out right away. I'll take a look at my schedule. Throw some more vacation days together or something."
"I get it. Thanks."
"By the way, how are things going with the princess?"
"It's Lyla, Marshall," Louis corrects, but there's no defensive hurt in his voice. "She's… she's amazing." Marshall can practically hear Louis' grin from New York. "Extraordinary. Stunning. Unbelievable. There aren't enough words to say about her, really."
The older Connelly laughs. "Glad to hear it."
He hears a door open on Louis' end, and a voice calls, "Dad!"
"Look, I've to go–"
Marshall finds himself smiling. "I understand."
"I know," Louis replies, and the corner of Marshall's mouth turns up further. "Let me know when you book a flight, okay? We'll pick you up."
"Sure. See you, Louie."
"See you, Marsh."
"Dad, come listen to the new song I wrote–" Evan says, voice muffled, and the line goes dead.
Marshall had prepared himself to meet both additions to the Connelly family at JFK, but only Louis is waiting for him outside the airport.
"How was your flight?" his younger brother asks as he gets out of the taxi parked at the curb.
"Long," Marshall sighs, but jet lag can't dampen his happiness that Louis wants anything to do with him. "Where's Lyla and Evan?"
Marshall almost thinks Louis looks grateful that his elder sibling didn't call them princess and the wonder kid, but Louis doesn't comment. "They're at Lyla's apartment."
There's something in Louis' tone that makes Marshall pause, but he focuses on putting his suitcase in the trunk of the taxi. "I'm looking forward to meeting them," he offers, and it's true. He's had a few more weeks to come around to this idea, and if this is the life Louis has chosen, he needs to be supportive this time. At least his brother isn't vanishing off the face of the earth again, and that's enough for Marshall at this point. It's taken longer than it should for him to accept this, honestly, and he's aware of it.
But Louis only gives him an almost genuine smile and gets into the taxi, giving the driver a Brooklyn address as Marshall follows his brother into the vehicle. Neither Connelly says much as the taxi pulls into the packed New York City streets, but when they're stuck in traffic for what is surely the first of many times on the way to their destination, Marshall looks at Louis.
"Is there a reason they didn't come to the airport?"
Few others would be able to see the way Louis tenses ever so slightly, but Marshall notices it like a flashing neon sign. He might not understand his brother's reasoning and thought process on everything, but he has always been able to read his sibling's body language. Louis isn't exactly pissed off, per se, but there's an edge now to the way he carries himself. He looks… well, protective, and Marshall can see hints of their father in his brother.
"I wanted to talk to you before you meet them," Louis admits. "I want to make sure they're welcomed properly into the family." He finally looks at Marshall. "Especially Evan."
"I know you and I don't always see eye to eye," Marshall says, "but do you honestly have such a low opinion of me that you're worried about how I'll react to meeting my nephew?"
"He's been through hell and back, Marsh. If you–"
"You told me plenty about his past. If you say he's your kid, then he's yours. And for the record, for your sake I won't bring up how Lyla ditched you to her face."
Louis' jaw clenches. "I wasn't kidding when I told you her father forced her to leave me. I met her dad the night of the concert, and let's just say I'm not letting him near either of them ever again. Lyla hasn't told me much of how he treated her when she was growing up, but I put the pieces together." Marshall watches as his brother's hands curl into fists. "If he so much as touches a hair on her and Evan's heads…"
Of what Marshall has seen, the only other time Louis' energy has been this focused on something was when he was still making music. And though looking after his new family is a different channel, Marshall is glad to see his brother stepping up the plate without a second thought. Louis had always been borderline scatterbrained and easily distracted when he was young, and music had been easier to focus on than school he had scraped by in while they lived in Ireland. There hadn't been much of an avenue in life for two poor fishermen's sons in a small village, but anyone could be a musician, especially in a place like America.
But now with this family that has been thrown into Louis' life without any warning, his sibling doesn't seem as distracted as before. Even when they had reunited at Nick's party and decided to play one more gig in New York, Louis had still shown a tendency to retreat into his own thoughts like when they were young. But now he looks clear headed and concentrated, and Marshall begrudgingly admits that even a few weeks of looking after Evan and being with Lyla just might be helping Louis find a goal and a purpose to focus on.
Marshall might tell Louis that he supports him in this, but he isn't about to completely lower his guard. He hadn't even formally met Lyla, and has only a vague idea of what to expect with Evan. Yet Marshall is allowing himself to hope that perhaps this might be a good place for Louis to be. His brother certainly looks happier, no matter how tense the extraneous details might make him. As they drive, Marshall notices a faint smile on Louis' face as they both watch the skyscrapers towering overhead, and knows Louis is probably thinking of his family. And in all honesty, that's ten times better than the mess he was back when he lost Lyla.
Between the two of them, Louis had always been the one Marshall had expected to get hitched first, but neither could never have dreamed up this in a million years.
They finally arrive at a small but not rundown apartment building in Brooklyn. As the taxi leaves, Marshall looks up at the endless flights of stairs with a sigh; at least in San Francisco most buildings have elevators. "Oh, I forgot to ask," he says as he follows Louis from floor to floor. "How's Lyla in bed after all these years? She meet up with your memories?"
Louis turns, but he doesn't look embarrassed in the least. Marshall has never seen his brother give him an almost disapproving glare before now. "Seriously?"
"What?"
"That's the type of question you bring up offhand?"
Marshall smirks.
"Lyla and I haven't yet… you know."
His older brother raises an eyebrow. "Why not?"
"She said she doesn't want to risk another baby. Condoms break, or the pill doesn't work. Accidents happens. And honestly, I agree. We have enough going on right now without adding another kid. I've even been sleeping on her couch until I find me own place."
Marshall can't hold back his laugh. "Your own place? You know it's not the fifties anymore, right?"
"We have to set an example for Evan," Louis says firmly as if there is no other answer. "It's not like he's had many good ones in his life."
Marshall has more questions, but Louis is pulling keys out of the pocket of his leather jacket as they stop in front of a door, and so Marshall bites his tongue for once. When the door opens, he hears light footsteps in the depths of the apartment, and suddenly a dark-haired blur turns a corner to tackle Louis.
"You're home!" exclaims the boy who cannot be anyone but Evan.
"I am," Louis laughs, face lighting up like New York City itself. "Let's give your uncle some space to get his suitcase inside, alright?"
The tiny hallway into the apartment has barely enough room for the three of them, and Marshall has just managed to wrestle his suitcase into the narrow foyer when a woman with familiar honey-colored hair appears. "You must be Marshall."
"Guilty as charged," he says, holding out a hand, and feels callouses on her elegant fingers when she slips her hand into his. "And you must be Lyla…"
"Novacek. Lyla Novacek."
"Sorry about what I did in our first meeting," he offers, relieved when she smiles. "The champagne and all that."
"We were all much younger then." She looks down at her son, still practically glued to Louis' side. "Marshall, I'd like you to meet Evan."
"Nice to meet you," Marshall says, and only now can he say that phrase with any honesty. Evan truly does have Louis' big blue eyes, but not only the color; Marshall recognizes the intensity from Louis in his son's gaze, and that is more unmistakable than their similar hair color. His nephew is small – smaller than most kids his age, Marshall realizes – but he thinks Evan will probably grow up to have Lyla's thin body type rather than Louis' lean but solid frame. Evan has Lyla's round face, but Marshall can see a hint of Louis' chin in the boy.
But when he shakes Evan's small hand, he can feel some slight callouses on his nephew's skin, and that is the greatest conformation Marshall needs.
"I like your accent," Evan says quietly, and Marshall smiles.
"You're not the first American to say that."
"It's very melodic," Evan adds. "New Yorkers are loud and brassy, like a trumpet, but your voice sounds like a song."
It is Marshall's turn to laugh. "He's your son alright, Louis. Only a kid of yours would be a musician and a poet to boot."
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees both Louis and Lyla visibly relax as Evan stares at his uncle with a shy smile.
Later that evening, Marshall and Louis are setting up the air mattress the elder Connelly will use for the night; even though it's a two bedroom apartment, he's not about to kick either Evan or Lyla out of their rooms. Louis already has claim to the single couch in the small living room, even though he did offer it earlier, but Marshall had turned it down. He's already inconvenienced Louis enough.
"Sorry about this," Louis says when the mattress Lyla had bought only that afternoon is finally set up properly. "She just moved into this place right before the concert, and we were so busy settling Evan in that having guests over was the last thing on our minds."
"I've slept on worse," Marshall replies as Louis goes to a closet to pull out extra blankets. "So have you told Dad about Evan and Lyla yet?"
Louis pauses before turning around. "Yes."
"And?"
"I told him he had to fly here to meet them."
Marshall stares at his younger brother. "He's old."
"Dad's exactly not on life support yet," Louis says, tossing the blankets on the couch.
"He's never been on a plane in his life. I don't think he's ever left Ireland, period."
Something changes in Louis' expression. "I'm not trying to cut Dad out of all this, but I refuse to uproot Evan this soon and drag him halfway across the world. He needs stability more than Dad needs to meet him."
Marshall has never seen Louis like this, but this responsible side of him is a not entirely unwelcome change. Working an office job seemed like an actively-sought appearance of being mature, a career that adults were supposed to do once they got over their dreams. Granted, Marshall hasn't seen Louis much in the past ten years, and the shift in personality could have happened far earlier than he realized. But only now does Marshall truly believe it.
Louis seems like… well, a parent.
"What did Dad say to that?" Marshall asks.
"He's not keen on the idea," Louis admits as Lyla goes into the kitchen and fills a glass with water. Marshall's brother immediately turns even though she hasn't said a word. "We have to put Evan to bed, but I'll be back," Louis adds.
The pair leave together, and even though they've only been raising Evan for a little over a month, Marshall privately muses on the fact that they already seem like a well-oiled machine. When Louis returns, Marshall keeps his voice low for the sake of his sleeping nephew just down the hall. "Your kid is a freak of nature, and I mean that in the best way possible."
His brother smiles absentmindedly. "I know."
"Did he really compose that song? Honestly?"
Louis nods. "Yeah."
"I mean, sh- uh, shoot," Marshall says, glancing at Evan's closed door, "I've never heard anything like that in my life."
"Same here."
"That's some Mozart level stuff right there," Marshall adds, and glances at Louis. "You can tell Lyla I know who Mozart is. I might be more familiar with Freddie Mercury, but I do know about more genres than just rock."
Louis laughs under his breath. "I'll make sure to let her know."
A few months later, Marshall walks up the drive of his childhood home for the first time since he was twenty.
"Hey, Dad."
Fergus Connelly peers at his eldest son behind his smudged glasses. "Nice of you to finally come back," his father says gruffly. "It's been, what, ten years?"
"Give or take," Marshall sighs. Like the old house, Fergus hasn't changed much like the seaside village that still smells of fish and rain and salt, even if there's snow everywhere. His father, even if his hair is now almost completely gray, still wears the same thick wool sweater, and the eldest Connelly son thinks of Louis and his brother's own cream fisherman's sweater. His younger sibling had brought with him to America as a reminder of home, no matter their memories of Ireland, and Marshall wonders if Louis still has it. But Marshall himself hadn't bothered to bring any reminders of the country of their birth with him to New York all those years ago, and he's not about to pick one up now.
"Are you ready to go?"
Fergus looks at the backpack slung over one of Marshall's shoulders. "Where's your suitcase? I don't see why we couldn't have scheduled the flight back a few days from when you landed-"
"I have to get back to work as soon as possible," Marshall cuts in, and it's not a lie. "My boss doesn't like it that I've been taking so many days off."
"You could get a job here. There's plenty of bars in Ireland."
"They pay better in America. Let me carry your suitcase, Dad," Marshall says, taking a step forward, but Fergus picks up the old case.
"I've got it."
"Alright," Marshall says, moving back, and knows not to press his father on something as minor as this. Stubbornness runs in the Connelly family, and it clearly started with Fergus. "Merry Christmas, by the way."
"It's not the twenty fifth yet."
"I'm aware, Dad," Marshall sighs. "Let's get to the airport." But as they leave the little old house, they both instinctively glance at the graveyard by the ancient stone church across the street.
"I told your mother about Louis' girl and the boy," Fergus offers, clearing his throat.
"Louis would have liked that," Marshall replies honestly. Talking to their mother's tombstone is one of the only sentimental things Marshall remembers his father ever doing. Fergus had always worked extremely hard for the local fisherman's business, but it was Eileen Connelly who had been comfortable expressing emotion, not her husband.
Now here in Ireland, Marshall is reminded of just how much Louis still takes after their mother, but Marshall realizes that he himself has more of their father in him that he initially thought. The latter two had always been the logical, level-headed ones in the family, with Louis and Eileen as the dreamers who let their hearts guide them. But both sons had their mother's musical talent; after all, their parents had met when she had been playing her guitar and singing folk songs in a Dublin pub in the seventies. But it was Eileen, not Fergus, who had urged them to pursue art instead of staying in their small village on the coast where nothing ever happened.
"Is this Lyla good enough for Louis?" Fergus asks after a moment, a rare outwardly sign of concern for his youngest son. It was not as if their father didn't care for them - Marshall knows Fergus would go to hell and back for his family - but he hasn't been skilled at showing it, and the eldest son is a bit taken aback that Fergus actually voiced his worry.
Marshall knows now that back then his father had just been trying to give his then teenage sons stability in a time of uncertainty, attempting to be a rock and foundation to hold the family together as they all grieved. But rarely having Fergus even talk about Eileen after the funeral had done more harm than good in the end. And it had hit Louis more than anyone, who had always felt everything deeper than most.
Marshall doesn't know if he'll ever quite get over the pain of those years between his mother's death and when he and Louis had left for the States. But how Fergus responded to Eileen's passing honestly fits his father's personality; Marshall doesn't know if he should have ever expected anything different from Fergus. And, sure, he might have wanted his father to react differently in the moment, to have Fergus mourn with his sons and show them emotion was not something to avoid in a time when their grief was beyond all consuming.
But the past can't be changed, and all they can do is move forward in the here and now.
"Uncle Marshall is here!" Lyla calls over her shoulder as she opens the apartment door, turning back to face Louis' brother, but her eyes widen when she sees Fergus behind Marshall.
"Merry Christmas," Marshall offers. "This is me and Louis' dad, Fergus. Dad, this is Lyla Novacek."
"Dad?"
All three look further into the apartment to see Louis staring in complete shock at his father. "What are you doing here?"
"Consider this my Christmas present, even if it's a day early," Marshall quips. "Sorry about not giving you a heads up, Lyla, but I wanted to surprise Louie."
"I understand," she says with that soft smile, and extends a hand to Fergus. "It's a pleasure to meet you."
"I'm glad to finally put a face to the name after all these years," he replies, shaking her hand firmly. Lyla blinks, but to her credit doesn't respond to the vague jab.
"Please do come in," she says smoothly, opening the door wider to let the two Connelly men inside. "No bags?"
"I just got him a hotel room," Marshall says. "I didn't think he should be sleeping on a couch or an air mattress at his–"
"I ain't deaf yet, you know," Fergus interrupts as Louis steps forward, and Marshall bites his tongue. It's been even longer since his younger brother saw their father face to face, and Marshall hopes for everyone's sake this reunion doesn't go the same way they parted.
"Thanks for coming," Louis says, and glances at Marshall to let him know that Louis is aware how involved Marshall had to have been to get Fergus to leave the village in the first place.
"I thought it was high time I met my only grandchild," Fergus replies, "since it doesn't look like your brother is going to have kids any time soon." He glances at Marshall. "Didn't you say you had a girlfriend?"
"An on and off one, yeah," Marshall says easily. Fergus had always been blunt just like Marshall himself grew to be, and the six hour flight has taught him that his father hasn't altered in that regard in the past decade.
"I'll go fetch Evan," Lyla says in the awkward silence that follows, and goes down the hall as music drifts through the apartment to give Connellys some time alone.
They are all acutely aware that the last time they had been in the same room was when Louis and Marshall had left their childhood home back in the nineties. Marshall observes their father studying his second son, but doesn't comment. When they had last seen each other, Louis had been a budding grunge musician with raw talent in his hands and his voice, a wide-eyed eighteen-year-old itching to leave Ireland the moment he graduated from secondary school. Now he has a masters degree in finance – something, Marshall only recently learned, that his brother had gotten in the time between losing and finding Lyla – and a family of his own, and he carries himself differently.
Louis had been between a boy and man when he last saw Fergus, but there is no mistaking Marshall's younger sibling has changed.
"It's good to see you, Dad," Louis offers. He had always been too honest for his own good, but it's clear how much it means to him that their father flew all the way to New York.
"Both of you have grown so much," Fergus admits. "Your mother would be proud of you both."
Marshall and Louis exchange a glance as their father clears his throat roughly, and the elder Connelly son starts to think again that maybe it's not just Louis he took too long in reconciling with. But then Lyla is returning with Evan, and their father is schooling his features into a neutral expression.
"Evan, I want you to meet your grandfather," Louis says as his son instantly goes to his father's side like a shadow. "This is Fergus."
"Hello." The boy looks at Fergus for a moment. "You're the only grandfather I've met, you know."
"That's a story for another time," Lyla says quickly as Fergus raises an eyebrow. "Let me put an extra place setting on the table. Dinner is almost ready."
But it is Louis who goes to make final preparations on the meal as Lyla brings a fifth chair to the small table. As his brother moves with a surprising amount of ease around the tiny kitchen, Marshall can see a bit more of Eileen in Louis. And when he glances at Fergus, it's obvious their father notices the same.
Marshall spearheads the conversation between Evan and Fergus. It is immediately clear that when the boy's grandfather finally believes that Evan went to Julliard, Fergus immediately feels like an outcast in the room as the only non-musician in the family. Marshall quickly turns the topic to the elementary school Evan is attending and the grade he is repeating. And by the time dinner is ready, everyone is taken aback when Fergus actually agrees to take Evan to the New York Aquarium.
It is Fergus' turn to be surprised at Louis' cooking, but after Lyla says grace, the Connelly matriarch matter-of-factly asks, "So when are the two of you getting married?"
Marshall almost chokes on his drink.
"Well, we haven't been reunited that long," Louis begins as Lyla flushes.
"You have a kid, don't you? It's the next step. It should have been the first–"
"Dad," Marshall interrupts.
"We made some…" Lyla's gaze flits to Evan, who is watching the exchange with eyes as big as the plates on the table. "Certain choices in the past, of course, but after everything that has happened, we are trying to take things slow and get to know each other properly this time."
"Marshall told me a bit of your story on the flight, but I think–"
"Pass the rolls, Dad?" Louis interrupts firmly, and thankfully Fergus takes the hint.
Before anyone realizes it, the clock strikes eight thirty, and the Connelly men are left to clear the table as Lyla leaves to put Evan to bed. The boy doesn't want to leave his grandfather or uncle, but even Louis doesn't budge on the curfew. But the three Irishmen are used to not having a dishwasher back in Europe, and the well-rehearsed rhythm of scrubbing and drying kitchenware together comes back more quickly than any of them admit. By the time Lyla returns, the table is bare and the tiny kitchen shines.
"Sorry about how long that took," Lyla says in a low voice. "He's not disobedient, exactly, but it's not easy to get him on a normal sleep schedule either."
"We should head out," Marshall says with a yawn. "Flying to Ireland and back in two days straight is catching up with me."
"I'll pull out the–" Louis begins, but his brother waves a hand.
"As appealing as your air mattress sounds," Marshall says dryly, "I got meself a hotel room. We'll come over tomorrow later in the day."
"If you're sure," Lyla says.
Marshall nods. "It's your first Christmas with the wonder kid, and you should spend the morning just the three of you."
But when they are gathering coats and scarves to greet the icy temperatures outside, Lyla puts a light hand on Marshall's arm. "Thank you for everything you've done. It's clear how much this means to Louis, and it means a lot to me too."
"Don't mention it," he starts, but then the landline phone rings. She dives for it as the ringing fills the apartment, tossing a worried glance at Evan's closed bedroom door as she answers the call, and Fergus goes over to Louis.
"You should marry that girl."
"I want to," Louis admits quietly, looking as Lyla across the room. "I just don't want to push her too fast, you know? She's been through so much…"
And just when Marshall thinks the evening has run out of surprises, Fergus says, "You'll never know what her answer will be until you talk about it." Marshall is glad to see he and Louis aren't the only ones trying to patch up their relationship in this family as Fergus offers his younger son a thin smile. "Your mum would have liked her."
The corner of Louis' mouth turns up. "I know. Merry Christmas, Dad. You too, Marsh."
Marshall smiles as his sibling opens the door. "Right back at you. See you tomorrow, Louie."
But Louis pauses. "Thanks for coming, Dad. I mean it."
In classic Fergus fashion, their father only says, "I know," and walks out into the hall. Marshall shrugs and bids Louis farewell before following Fergus through the door.
As they take a taxi to their hotel, Marshall's jet lag becomes impossible to ignore. But even through his exhausted fog, he privately ponders on how the very presence of one twelve-year-old managed to reunite more than one fractured family.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: After this fic was completed, I stumbled upon a deleted scene between Louis and Marshall. I barely remember the video, but it's surprisingly close to what I have here.
It's actually really weird how close my fic and the deleted scene are. I literally remembered none of the dialogue in the scene until I watched it again after I finished this fic, but the bones of the idea are there. And I do so wish that that one, of all the deleted scenes, had been kept in. Trimmed down, maybe, but keep the important dialogue.
So there's that.