A/N: Yes, I am about to not-so-subtly mention in this chapter that it's October. This is because in Canada thats when we do the thanksgiving thing. Just, you know, for anyone who didn't know that/may celebrate another time. I personally think we could all just celebrate it monthly to avoid any confusion, but I'm not the Queen of the World. Man, I'd love that job…
Also, I got both ambitious and bored and decided to post this tonight, even though I'm wicked tired. As a result, my eyes are killing me and my head is pounding, and I still have to catch up on Criminal Minds from last night. (tough life, I know). What was my point? OH, spelling/grammar might take a hit here because I'm so tired. My apologies.
One more thing: Just saw a review on S&SM from Lilyzinha. Tried to send a PM but guess you've disabled that so I'll throw it here just in case you read this: I too will always call (in my head at least) Noah Baby Braddock. That or Jam Baby. Poor child.
As predicted, Thanksgiving brings rain. Lots of rain. Drops pounding on the back porch catch her attention and she calls out to Sam to make sure the windows are closed. She's not big on a/c and at the beginning of October it's not nearly cold enough out to turn the heat on, so they've been enjoying the cool breeze constantly sweeping through the house. This of course means every damn window is now a risk for a puddle on the floor - or worse, the furniture - so Sam has to run through the house slamming them closed. It's the least he can do - she's the one making dinner.
"Got them all on time, just had to mop up a little bit in the upstairs washroom."
She doesn't look up from where she's chopping vegetables as she nods her acknowledgment. "Did you-"
"Yes, I hung up the towel when I was done."
"Good," she says with a smile. "Can you set the table?"
He groans, moves to stand behind her wrapping his arms around her waist. "I can…or..."
She drops the knife in the heap of carrots and turns to face him, shaking her head. "Listen, you roped me into making dinner. The least you can do is cooperate while I cook."
He gives an over exaggerated frown and picks up the pile of utensils from the counter behind her. "Ok," he reluctantly agrees, stopping to press a small kiss to her cheek. "Thank you for doing that, by the way."
"No problem." Truth be told she didn't need much convincing. She'd been so worried he'd try to drag her to the base for the weekend that when he said his parents were out of town she nearly squealed with glee. Sure, she'd long ago crossed the battle ground that was 'meeting the parents', but it left a bitter taste in her mouth that she wasn't overly interested in having as a part of Thanksgiving. Besides, she's been thinking that hosting thanksgiving might be a good tradition for when Noah gets older. "Spike texted a few minutes ago, they should be here soon. Natalie is bringing dessert."
"Oh good, so this is going to be our last meal." He grabs for a carrot to snack on, grins when he narrowly avoids her swinging hand.
"Be nice. And keep your hands out of dinner."
"But I'm hungry…" he gives his best boyish grin, to which she rolls her eyes and walks away. He snags an extra carrot and wanders out to the patio doors to check out the storm. "You know, had it not rained we could have barbecued. Could have even eaten outside."
"Sure, except that the backyard is a disaster." Well, not a complete disaster, mostly just covered in leaves because Sam's been stuck on some kind of endless overtime cycle so she's been full-time baby-duty and hasn't had time to rake.
He wonders if he can talk her into outside thanksgiving next year. Picnic tables and leaves, fall breeze and warm sun… paper dishes for easy cleanup.
"Can you bring me the recipe that's on the table?"
Shaken out of his hypothetical Thanksgiving plans he quickly examines the paper in question. "'Gammy Callaghan's cinnamon sweet potatoes.' Seriously? I'm not eating this."
"Know what? Go away," she rolls her eyes and grins as she lands a playful smack on the back of his head.
He's about to defend himself when the doorbell rings. "I'll get it," he smirks to himself as he leaves the room.
"Spike, what are you doing?" Sam smirks as he takes in the sight of Spike in an apron.
Spike shakes his head, turns around from the stove to look at his friend. "Nat said she'd kill me if I got my new pants dirty…" he sheepishly admits.
Natalie simply smirks from her place on one of the kitchen barstools.
Sam raises his eyebrow, opens his mouth to mock his friend when Jules cuts him off. "At least he's being helpful."
"Hey, I tried to be helpful. You yelled." His voice is quiet, his tone more than a little condescending.
Jules shoots him a glare, her jaw clenching. "You tried to peel a carrot with a cheese grater!"
"I told you I was usin' my noggin, now shhhhh!" Sam insists, using Noah's presence as his shield against her verbal attack.
The two lock eyes, Jules rolling hers as she realizes how serious he really is. "Oh for the love of … you do know that you don't have to hold him 24/7, right?"
Sam shrugs, raises an eyebrow as he implicitly dares her to say that again. "I want to," he says simply, taking a seat at the counter next to Natalie.
Natalie rolls her eyes, but convinces Sam to pass her nephew to her. "What are we going to do while we wait for dinner?"
Spike immediately perks up from where he's resumed stirring something on the stove. "When I was a kid we always used to go around the table and say what we were thankful for. That's kind of fun, isn't it?"
Natalie's eyes widen, her excitement barely contained in spite of the sleeping baby in her arms. Her voice comes out as a poorly hushed whisper. "Oh! That's so cute! I love it!"
Tilting her head in confusion, Jules questions both Natalie and Sam. "You guys never did that?"
There's a half huff and Natalie shoos away an invisible fly with her free hand. "We weren't even allowed to talk at the dinner table."
At the shocked expression on Spike's and Jules' faces Sam nods along in support of his sister's statement. "Or lunch. Or breakfast. The General used to line the centre of the table with cereal boxes so we couldn't even see each other."
"Wow that's… seems a little…" Spike struggles to find the right adjective to describe his future father-in-law.
Sam simply nods some more. "That's the General."
The awkwardness of the conversation settles in, and Spike decides to take the lead and move the conversation along. "We brought wine," he smiles, producing a bottle from one of the bags he and Natalie arrived with.
"Nice timing," Natalie smirks.
"I thought so," Spike nods with a grin, moving to the other side of the room to put it on the table.
Sam decides it's about time Noah finds a more suitable napping place, and takes him from Natalie to the basinet in the next room. Coming back into the kitchen, he only manages to catch the tail end of one of Spike's jokes before the phone rings. Jules takes a deep breath to steady herself mid-laugh, and answers it.
"Hello?… Oh hey Mrs. Braddock… yeah, Sam's right here…" Her face is more than a little disconcerting as she hands Sam the phone, who scrunches his face in question.
"Mom? How's - wait, what? Mom…"
There's an odd silence that fills the room as Sam simply listens on the phone. He mumbles to himself, gesturing for a piece of paper and pen which Jules quickly provides. Scribbling down a few details he sighs, runs his hand through his hair. "Yeah… got it. Ok, call when you know something? Yeah… you too…" He scrunches his face weird, pales a little and nearly misses the phone's cradle as he sets it down, his eyes too focused on his sister. He looks more confused than upset, though something about the phone call tells the rest of the room there's more going on than his face is conveying.
Natalie stares right back at him, more like through him. Fearlessly seeking answers. "Sammy, what's going on?"
Expressive lines put there by confusion disappear from his face and a mask takes over, smoothing out into his stone cold sniper face because really, what else can he do? "That was Mom. She thinks The General had some kind of stroke."
Eyebrows shoot towards the ceiling as heads tilt, willing their ears to tell them they've heard wrong. From their positions on opposite sides of the kitchen both Spike and Jules exchange wide-eyed glances, each desperately hoping the other has some clue as to what to do with the situation.
"What? What do you mean? Is he ok?"
Noah begins to fuss from his position in the next room and Sam turns to go to him.
"Sam?" Natalie's usually patient tone is gone, now bordering on annoyance at her brother's lack of response to her question. "Is he ok?"
Sam stops before managing any steps away, turns to face his sister. "They're not sure yet. He just started acting weird at the dinner table and they called 911. Mom's pretty sure it was a stroke but they're still waiting to hear." With that he's off, gone to the living room where he picks up his son, bouncing him gently and asking what's wrong.
Natalie hasn't moved. Just sits on her perch at the counter, mouth moving but no words escaping.
Spike bows his head, pushing himself away from the wall he'd previously used as a leaning post. Moves to Natalie's side, though he too is at a loss for words.
Upon recovering from a brief period of shock, Jules notes the hospital information Sam had jotted down before joining Sam in the living room. He's swaying back and forth holding Noah. He doesn't look at her, just focuses on some random object while making shushing noises. She settles into a chair near the entrance to the room, essentially trapping him there without giving the feeling of actual entrapment, stares him down in hopes that he'll say something, anything, about what just happened.
He doesn't look at her, doesn't initiate any form of communication aside from a quick shush gesture. Jules takes a moment, assesses the situation. Speak too soon, and he'll shut down. Speak too loud, and Noah will have a further meltdown than just the troubled sleep Sam seems to be getting him through. Don't speak, and risk isolation.
"Sam?" Nothing. She's going to have to lead the conversation. Maybe just yes or no questions so she can get information without him having to respond in full sentences - he's likely in shock. Yeah, seems like a smart plan. At the very least she can gage his non-reactions to figure out where to go next. "We should probably go to the-"
"Why?"
Her brow furrows, jaw locks, confusion clear. "Why? Sam, your father is in the hospital we should- "
"Would he?"
"Excuse me? Sam, that's not… You can't just…"
Sam gives a half shrug as he sets Noah back down. "Won't make a difference if we're there or not. Besides, it's not like he came running when it was me. Just leave it alone."
She takes a deep breath, steadies the low-level rage that threatens to rise within her. "That's not how it works Sam and you know it."
He simply rolls his eyes in response, moving towards the doorway. "Jules, seriously, just leave it."
She tracks his movements, trying to reign in her own frustration. It would be so much easier if he would just talk to her. If he would agree to make the drive out of town to see his father. If he would yell or cry or vent. If he would give her something to go on other than the ugly caveman style anti-emotional crap he's currently spewing. She's flat out annoyed now. Can't believe what's happening. Considers yelling at him - words like cold and petty swirl through her thoughts - before she decides that's not the best route to take. It comes out louder, and more anger ridden, than she plans. "You can't be serious!"
In the next room, Spike takes the initiative to turn off the burners on the stove. Dinner is effectively ruined.