Survivals

by Shadowy Star

Part 4

Reassurance

"I do believe, Vryce, your daughter has already rearranged our lives in a truly brilliant way."

"Thank you very much," Geraldine said politely another sunny lunch half a week later.

"Of course. She's my daughter," Damien Vryce said proudly, halfway through his dessert of fresh nu-cherries and sweet cream with almonds.

"Are you sure of that?" Gerald shot back immediately, and Geraldine rose to her feet, motioning her husband to do the same. She'd learned quickly when it was a good idea to get out of range. Or run for cover. Whatever.

"Youuu," the other man said, narrowing his eyes. Then, he collected all the nu-cherry pits and started to throw them one by one at the other man's head.

"Then again," Gerald said dryly, hastily raising an arm to shield his face, "considering her given name..."

At that, Geraldine gripped the younger Damien's sleeve, rolled her eyes, said,

"Parents,"

and went to the door, dragging her somewhat perplexed-looking husband after her.

"We're leaving then," she said from the doorway.

"Yes," Damien da Silva added from beside her. "You may want to ...umm... talk," he sneered, putting all he'd learned on verbal competition finally to good use. Oh revenge so sweet...

"Have fun," Geraldine added, quickly closing the door as she saw some nu-cherry pits flying in her direction.

"This means we're some kind of step-siblings now?" he asked.

"Don't be ridiculous. We're just our fathers' children," she said, grinning, and pulled him into her arms and towards their bedroom.

She planned to keep him there at least until dinner.

The evening found them sitting in the spacious living room, Gerald reading and sipping on his wine, Geraldine pretending to be reading sans the wine, her husband pretending to be pretending to be reading and her father oblivious to it all. The latter was regarding a large map of Erna's three continents spread on an expensive, extremely well-made giant of a table, much like Geraldine's own back in Sheva. She would bet it was even made in the same manufacture. Around another, smaller but equally well-made, table were three chairs made of the same dark wood.

Then her father leaned forward and drew her attention to him. Had he not been who he was, a vulking knight in vulking shining armor that is ‒Oops, she thought at the many vulkings, damn early pregnancy mood swings,‒ she would have believed he'd done so on purpose. On the other hand, sometimes he could be a sneaky devil if he wanted to.

And even if so, way to go, Dad, she thought then, too obvious. But still, nice try.

However, from a heterosexual woman's point of view, Geraldine had to admit the way he was leaning now presented a nice view on his behind. The black pants he chose to wear tonight hugged him in all the right places. Geraldine quickly looked at her father-in-law, noting with satisfaction he was watching her father's ...attributes... very appreciatively and with something akin to hunger in his eyes.

Ah. This was, finally, the answer to the question how far they had gone. Or hadn't, which was really a shame, she mused. Damn, what did they need? A vulking engraved invitation?

"So," she said, successfully ending all the silences in the room. She stood and walked over to her father, smiling wickedly.

"Trying to seduce your fellow in-law in front of your daughter? Not to mention the son of said in-law?" she whispered, making sure no one else could hear them. He straightened hastily which confirmed her suspicions. He hadn't done it on purpose. Stubborn men! she thought.

Damien Vryce turned a rather unattractive shade of red. And sat down quite abruptly.

Geraldine hid her mischievous grin and decided to show mercy by turning her head and looking down at the map.

It was the best she'd ever seen and that was saying a lot. As an archeologist, she relied on maps on an every day basis. Little wonder her father had seemed so enthralled with it. The lines were drawn with an almost inhuman precision, the paper itself so white and smooth when she touched her finger to it, far too smooth, like polished or covered with an additional layer of something... Wait a second‒

"This is one of the Ship's maps, isn't it? And not a copy, I assume?"

"You assume right," Gerald answered, standing and also stepping closer.

"Wow," she made, impressed.

"It's one of only three left. The other two are currently displayed at the 'Jaggonath Museum of History'. So much had been lost..." He sat down, tracing the nearly vertical line of the Dividers with a fingertip. Deep sadness and regret that had nothing to do with lost maps lay behind brown and black as two quiet glances met and Geraldine had to avert her own eyes at the intensity.

She went around the table to the smaller one where wine, beer, fruits and cheese were arranged in an artful composition. Sitting down, she reached for an apple and a napkin, careful to stay away from the table and its precious cargo.

"Though I have to inform you the coastline had changed a bit over the centuries," she said thoughtfully.

"Insignificantly," said Gerald.

"Not so insignificantly. On a planet as seismic active as Erna the plate tectonics are stronger and thus have a greater effect on geography. On Earth, as far as we know, seismic activity was less impressive. There it might have taken millions of years to actually see significant continental drift. Am I right, Love?" Geraldine asked her completely flabbergasted husband.

"Hey, I thought seismology was my area!" said husband exclaimed, coming over and playfully swatting his wife on the arm.

"Better get used to that," Damien Vryce commented lightly, walking over to the smaller table, sitting down again and helping himself to a beer.

Damien da Silva cursed under his breath, muttering something along the lines of whose daughter his wife was and Geraldine laughed, wound her arms around his neck and kissed him soundly on the lips before all this comparing could lead into areas at least two of them wouldn't wish to discuss.

Stunned silence reigned.

"See," she said cheerfully, "my knowledge on communication methods can be very helpful sometimes."

"Communication methods?" Gerald asked, getting her meaning at an impressive speed.

"Well, of course, for example, in early Dark Ages," she decided to take pity on him, "in villages down the Serpent there was a habit of kissing only in daylight because they thought the risk of kissing an incubus/succubus was lesser that way," she cheerfully went into lecturing mode.

"Idiotic habit," Gerald played along, barely concealed gratitude in his voice, "a true succubus or incubus doesn't need to hide from sunlight."

"I completely agree with you," said Geraldine. "But I imagine try telling them that was a bit ... difficult!"

"You might be right on that." He also sat down at the small table, pouring himself some wine, the distance between him and the older Damien smaller than it would have been only days ago.

Geraldine smiled brightly. "After this enlightening conversation I think I need some peace and quiet."

"Why? Having not enough fun?" Gerald asked, lifting a delicate eyebrow, and that look was ...oh.

She decided not to think of its effects on her father's brain functions. And other functions as well.

Then again... Dying of curiosity, Geraldine went for the easiest solution,'accidentally' dropping her napkin. Bending down to retrieve it, she darted a glance under the table. And nearly burst out laughing because her father wasn't the only one having a certain 'problem' right then. She wondered if there was a way to ask her father-in-law to stand just to see the look on his face at the request but dropped the idea. She chose life, thank you very much.

On the other hand, teasing those two was just too much fun and they so deserved it. And needed it perhaps even more.

"I think you two should marry," she exclaimed innocently, the expression to her eyes being as far from innocent as possible.

Pfffft.

Sweet beer out of Jahanna was spit out, and a goblet of fine red wine was set down onto the table rather abruptly, the precious fluid being spilled around it.

Her father started to cough.

"If he dies of aspiration pneumonia I wouldn't be pleased," Gerald remarked dryly, having regained his composure in record time.

"Thanks a lot‒ Wait a minute, does that mean you would be pleased if I die of something else?" Damien Vryce managed between coughs.

Geraldine couldn't help but burst into gales of laughter.

"Why again shouldn't we be selling tickets to that show?" she asked her husband.

"Sense of self-preservation?" he asked rhetorically in return.

"Oh. You might have a point."

She was very good at the art of distraction.

The evening had passed quietly despite all the unresolved sexual tension, filled with laughter and teasing and exchange of stories and memories, establishing new bonds and replacing old ones, on the whole binding them all together as a family.

Damien and Gerald had been talking a lot, off in their own little world, under the watchful eye of their children.

Geraldine tried to not tease too much, wholeheartedly supported by her husband which earned said husband more of her 'communication methods' and the thankfulness of both older men.

After Gerald had left, beckoning his son to follow, Damien Vryce managed to close the living room's door before his daughter had a chance to slip past him and out of it.

"Dad," she said, expectantly raising a brow.

Despite himself, Damien broke into laughter. "You spend too much time in Gerald's company."

Geraldine smiled. "True. Jealous?"

At that, she had a not-so-rare-anymore pleasure to see her father blush.

"Of course not!"

"Yeah, sure," she made. "Well, what did you want?" Her patience was rather thin these days.

"What the vulk is going on?"

"As in what, Dad?"

"As in what did you mean when you said 'take a closer look next time'!"

Geraldine glared. And put the pile of books down she was intending to read sometime soon before she could get tempted to drop them onto her father's feet. Rather forcefully. She was so not eager to get into this. Really, why was she always the one to do all the work here? she wondered, slightly annoyed. Let's see if I can distract you again, Dad, she thought. And if not...

"Exactly what I said. Take a closer look at your own face preferably using a reflective surface such as a mirror," she explained sarcastically. Sadly, sarcasm was wasted on him.

"Thank you so very much for that exceedingly detailed answer!"

"Glad to be of service!"

Damien couldn't help laughing.

"As I said," he said, still smiling, "too much time spent in your namesake's company."

Geraldine's answering laugh was warm. "And what's wrong with that? Beside of you being jealous, of course?"

"Stop that!" he said, ignoring his ‒again‒ coloring cheeks. "And would you please finally tell me what's wrong with my face?"

Geraldine rolled her eyes, his fake politeness causing her to keep chuckling softly. "May I suggest for you to use your brain? You know, that not so big gray thing within your skull you've been neglecting for a while now? Little wonder, since you've been thinking with completely different parts of your anatomy lately," she had to point out.

"Geraldine!" Damien Vryce tried to summon a shocked expression to his face but failed and burst into laughter once more. Too much like Gerald...

"Yes Dad?"

"Sometimes I seriously wonder just whose daughter you are," he said, growing serious again. "You're really much like him."

Geraldine smiled softly at him. "You raised me with him on your mind, Dad, and you know that. So what's there to wonder about?"

Damien stared at his daughter in shock. "I never thought about it that way but I think you're right. I'm sorry."

"Dad," she said serenely. "Stop apologizing. We're human. We always look for traces of our loved ones in the faces of our children. Whether said children are biologically theirs or not. What's wrong with that?"

He smiled uncertainly, completely thrown by his daughter's insight. "Nothing," he said then because he didn't know what else to say. His far too smart, far too insightful, far too compassionate daughter had just adopted Gerald into their family without even so much as blink. Accepted him as a parent just because she knew it was important to her father. To both her fathers. Damien smiled. "Nothing at all."

They said in silence for a while, Geraldine full of wicked plans concerning a wedding, Damien thinking of how much his daughter was all grown up and he somehow managed to miss half of it. When did that happen? he wondered.

"When did you grow up?" he said softly, the faintest traces of melancholy in his voice.

Geraldine looked at him. She didn't like going all sentimental, at least not right now.

So she smiled wickedly. "When you were busy chasing after my namesake!"

Damien was still laughing when he realized this far too mischievous daughter of his had never answered his initial question.

"Stop avoiding the subject," he said, trying to sound stern.

"Nice try, Dad, but you really should work on that."

"Geraldine!"

"Alright, alright." She so didn't want to discuss that but complaining wasn't to get her anywhere so, sighing softly, she straightened her back and turned to meet her father's eyes. Maybe it was better to tell him outright. Subtlety was a rare quality, after all, and, sadly, not one of his. "How old do you think you look?"

Damien blinked. "Well, my age, a few years less, I think."

"You think. Are you blind in addition to being stupid?" she exploded.

Damien blinked some more. "What do you mean?"

Geraldine drew a breath. Then another. "What I mean, Dad," she said, waving with an old picture of them together taken on her first birthday before his face, "is that you aged very little since then if at all."

TBC...