February 2016
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"Can we stop at Solomons after dinner? Kat said they have a bunch of new dresses," Whitney asked, taking a large bite from her taco.
Mike cut into his burrito. "You already have a wardrobe full of clothes, most of which you don't wear because you prefer to wear Kat's stuff. So explain to me why you need a new dress."
"For the dance, Dad," Whitney said with an exasperated sigh. Attempting to tune out the shrill note in her voice, Mike reminded himself that it was good thing that Whitney was reverting back to her annoying, whiny, and infuriating pre-virus behavior. As the girls' counselor had explained at one of their sessions, the perfectly behaved cherub who did everything that Mike asked for the first six months after her arrival in St. Louis was a manifestation of Whitney's fear that Mike might disappear again – especially given the situation with her parents living in separate homes. With Mike and Christine back together and the girls more settled, Stepford-wife-Whitney had disappeared. But as pre-virus Whitney re-emerged, Mike was reminded of the benefits of being deployed.
"Why can't you wear the dress that you wore to the Christmas thing?" Mike asked practically.
Whitney almost dropped her food. "I can't let Jasper see me in the same dress twice, Dad! We're dating for real now."
Mike scowled at the mention of the Abbott boy. "I don't recall giving him permission to ask you out."
"Mom did," Whitney replied, smirking, and Mike knew that there was no point in protesting. Christine would simply overrule him. Besides, Whitney was sixteen now. Going to a dance or out to the movies with a boy was perfectly age-appropriate. Mike didn't even dislike Jasper Abbott, who was a decent kid. It was just that Mike had disciplined far too many eighteen-year old seamen to have any naivety about what teenage boys got up to when their parents weren't around.
"What are you and Mom doing for Valentine's Day?" Whitney asked, helping herself to another taco, apparently having tormented her father enough for the moment.
The two were eating at one of the newly-opened restaurants on Capitol Road, a tradition that Mike began at his therapist's recommendation. For the past three months he had spent every Tuesday night with Whitney and every Thursday with Shaylyn. It was a practice that Mike wished he had instituted years ago, finding both girls were far more likely to open up when they weren't talking over each other. It made him wonder whether Lucas would have come out of his shell more if he wasn't always competing with older sisters for his parents' time and attention. The thought caused a familiar ache, and Mike took a quick swig of his beer to hide the sudden rush of emotion.
"Dad?"
"What honey?" Mike asked, realizing that he must have been something important.
"Valentine's Day?" Whitney asked. "I asked what you were doing for Mom."
Mike shrugged. He and Christine never really celebrated Valentine's Day. Thinking back, Mike vaguely recalled bringing her a box of chocolates home two years ago when he was home between deployments, before the Nathan James left for the Arctic, but actually going out? That would have been, well, about seventeen years ago when Christine was still pregnant with Whitney and there was no need to worry about finding a babysitter on the most popular night of the year. "Probably make a pizza and watch a movie."
"Seriously Dad?" Whitney demanded. She set down her taco and gave him an exasperated look. "You and Mom just got back together. Aren't you supposed to be acting like newlyweds again? You're certainly acting all gross and kissy."
Mike grinned at Whitney's discomfort, a tiny bit of payback for her earlier teasing. "You know that your mom doesn't really like going out here."
And it was true. Christine found the constant attention and recognition – her face was highly publicized following the rescue and then again once information Christine provided led to the recovery of another group of hostages being held in rural Texas – uncomfortable.
Whitney pouted for a minute. "I know! You should do something really romantic like sing her a song. I could help you write it!"
Mike laughed. "There is zero chance of that happening."
"Well then you think of something. But you have to make it special, something that she'll remember." Whitney's eyes grew distant and Mike knew she was imagining her own Valentine's Day, a thought that made him want to lose his dinner.
"We could always come chaperone your dance," Mike commented. "In fact, I bet your mom would find that really romantic. It would kind of be like a military ball."
But Whitney wasn't so easily fooled. She rolled her eyes. "As if you would subject yourself to three hours of teenage girls screaming over the Severed Monkeys."
Whitney 1, Mike 0.
There was no way Mike was going to willingly subject himself to three hours of the Severed Monkeys (what the hell kind of name was that anyway?), a post-apocalyptic boy band who had taken the nation by storm but seemed to do very little singing. Instead their skill-sets involved kissing hands, growing three strands of hair on their chins and calling it a beard, screeching into microphones, and breaking teenage hearts. The idea of listening to them for an extended period of time made Mike seriously contemplate paying Granderson to accidentally take down the power grid.
"Don't you worry. I have it covered." Mike turned his attention back to his burrito. "Now, tell me about this problem you are having in chemistry."
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"McMahon," Mike pressed the intercom button on his phone, "could you please come in here?"
Two minutes later, Mike's assistant extraordinaire was standing before his desk, pen in hand. Mike waved her to a seat.
"I need reservations somewhere for Valentine's Day." Mike said bluntly, knowing how absurd of a request it was given that it was currently the ninth of February and the few restaurants in St. Louis were often booked solid on a regular night. Despite President Howard's efforts to revitalize the country, food shortages remained a problem, driving up the cost of running a restaurant, an industry where the margin lines were generally thin even before the economy tanked.
A chuckled sounded in the doorway. "Did you really forget about Valentine's Day?"
Mike scowled at Tom. "Maybe I left it a little late. What great plans do you have?"
"Dinner reservations at that Italian place followed by second row seats at the reopened opera house at nine," Tom replied, his tone smug.
Mike's eyebrows lifted. "Want to split it? You can keep the reservations, I'll just take the opera tickets."
Tom smirked as he dropped into the seat next to McMahon. "Not a chance, I already told Sasha what we're doing so she could pick out a dress."
"My understanding is that the Opera sold out immediately, sir, but there is a private showing of Gone with the Wind being held at the White House. I am certain that President Howard would allow you to join them," McMahon interposed.
"Good idea, McMahon, but Christine hates going to things at the White House. She claims I always end up working." Christine also hated Gone with the Wind, claiming that Scarlett was a complete idiot, but no reason to rain on McMahon's parade any more than necessary. "Can you hit up some restaurants?"
"I'll see what I can find, sir." But McMahon, who had never failed at a single one of the impossible tasks that Mike set gave her, didn't sound optimistic.
"What about a babysitter?" Tom asked. "Aren't the girls going to the dance? Ashley's been talking about it for weeks."
"Kara owes me one for bailing her out last month while Debbie was out of town and Danny was in California," Mike replied, feeling rather pleased with himself for figuring out a solution to that problem in advance.
Tom's eyebrow rose. "You mean the mission that you sent Green on with two hours' notice when you knew Kara had a conference with President Howard and the European Union representatives that couldn't be rescheduled?"
Okay, so perhaps Mike was somewhat responsible for that situation. "So?"
Tom shrugged. "No weight off my back. Just be ready to deal with Green. Danny pulled out all the stops to get them a room at the Hyatt for the evening. He's been talking for weeks about the benefits of room service, Jacuzzis, and having an entire night alone with his wife."
Mike weighed dealing with a grumpy Green against pissing off Christine before a third option occurred to him. "Who's watching Frankie?"
"Debbie."
Smiling, Mike reached for the phone, dialing a number he knew by heart. "Ah Deborah, Kaito's favorite babysitter, how are you doing this fine evening?"
Debbie laughed, immediately intuiting the purpose of his call. "Yes, I can babysit and no, I can't help you get a reservation. Peter is booked solid for the entire night. Now go figure out somewhere that you can take that wife of yours before she finds out that you left all of this until far too late."
As he hung up the phone, Mike turned to Tom. "How much do you want to bet that McMahon gets me in anyway?"
"You're on."
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Mike straightened his tie as he walked up to his own front door. Debbie was the one to suggest that he get dressed at her place when he brought Kaito over, giving Christine uninterrupted time to get ready. He felt strangely nervous as he opened the door, and walked inside, calling for his wife.
Shaylyn popped her head out of the kitchen door, only for her eyes to grow wide. "You're wearing a suit Dad!"
Mike tugged on the double breast grey pinstripe suit that McMahon had located for him – not an easy task given Mike's height. From the slightly smug smile Kara was sporting when she dropped Frankie off, Mike had a feeling that McMahon might have required some assistance with her search. After all, Kara did have the benefit of knowing a large number of rather physically fit men. Mike smiled at his youngest daughter. "I thought it might be nice for a change."
That, and wearing the suit tonight was a way to distance himself from the military. Christine's resentment towards the Navy was something that they continued to work through in their counseling sessions and, although Mike suspected that it was an issue that would never truly be resolved, at least it was now out in the open. It didn't hurt that spending a year and a half with no idea of where Christine and the girls were or what they were doing had given Mike a much better appreciation for what his wife went through every time he shipped out. Getting both of their minds off his job for an evening was well worth the pain of wearing a tie.
"Do you want me to take that?" Shaylyn asked, indicating the bags that Mike was holding. He gave a short whistle as Shaylyn stepped out into the hallway and he got a better look at her.
"You look beautiful, honey," Mike said, his voice a touch husky as he took in her red lace dress, a thick sash tied in the back, and slight heels. Even her hair looked different, older, as it curled around her shoulders.
Shaylyn flushed as she grabbed his bags, setting things out on the table. "Uncle Tom is coming by to pick me up in a few minutes. You missed Whitney but Mom took pictures."
Mike had a feeling that Whitney's early departure was intentional. If Mike wasn't here, he couldn't terrorize her date. Although he could get the boy's father fired, something he casually mentioned last time he saw Jasper. A honk sounded from the front of the house. "That sounds like them. Have fun!"
Waving to Sasha, who was driving the Chandler family's SUV, Mike turned to find Christine had managed to sneak up on him.
"Looks like we are child-free for the evening," Christine murmured as she reached forward to smooth down his tie. "It's been a while since I saw you in civvies."
Mike stared at his wife, her black cocktail dress falling in gentle waves to just below her knees, a matching silk wrap around her shoulders. He leaned forward to kiss her, careful not to smudge the makeup he knew would have taken her ages. "You look ravishing."
Christine giggled before swatting away his hand. "Now, where are we going? You said to dress up."
"Right this way." Grabbing Christine's arm, Mike steered her towards the kitchen, Christine's eyes widen as she took in the velvet tablecloth, gold place settings (where McMahon found these things was beyond him), two dozen red roses, and a bucket of champagne. With a flourish, Mike lit the candles and then pulled out one of the chairs for Christine to sit. "Welcome to Chez Slattery."
Christine waited until he rounded the table to take his own chair. "This looks amazing, Mike."
Mike lifted the lid off the spaghetti squash. It wasn't what he would have chosen, but given that Peter had relaxed his rule about no take-out solely for Mike and Christine, he wasn't complaining. Besides, Christine liked that sort of thing. "It's from Marseille."
"I didn't know Peter did take-out."
"He doesn't," Mike replied. "He made an exception for us."
Christine paused in the middle of helping herself to a mushroom puff thing that Mike didn't know the name of. "You forgot to make reservations, didn't you?"
"Pretty much." Mike shrugged. "But isn't this better anyway? No crowds, no noise. Just the two of us…."
Christine's lips twitched. "I'll let you know when the evening is over."
Four hours, one fantastic meal, two bottles of champagne, and half of an unbelievably ridiculous chick flick later, Mike watched as Christine hung up their crumbled clothing and slipped into her pajamas. While she brushed her teeth, he resumed the movie, knowing that neither of them would be able to sleep until the girls got home. A minute later Christine was back, pressing a soft kiss against his cheek as she crawled into bed.
"Best Valentine's Day ever."
