Walker woke with an arm flung over his waist and a little finger poking him in the cheek.
"Papa." He fought down a grin when Danny switched to patting him on the shoulder, still talking to him in his childish approximation of a whisper – something just shy of normal conversation. "Papa, you gotta wake up! 'm hungry!"
Keeping his eyes closed, Walker faked a snore and rolled to his left, throwing the little boy off him. The tiny "oof!" Danny let out was precious. Not that he'd ever say that out loud, of course. Danny was five now – big boys weren't cute, everyone knew that – and Em and Tay liked to tease him about it. Pen kept getting in trouble for muttering how cute he was. It never failed to make him laugh, watching his skinny, scarred little boy pout and glare up at his mama for daring to call him adorable.
Walker got himself comfortable again, burying his face in the pillow next to him. It sighed and snuggled up closer, warm and soft.
. . . wait a minute.
Sleep made his mind fuzzy, slow. But Walker managed to muster the willpower to crack open one eye. His whole field of vision was filled with red. Not red like blood the boys crumble to dust and the snake runs down his back and the corporal smiles but red hair. It smelled like shampoo and coffee, knotted and tangled.
Penelope.
The night before came rushing back. Pen, coffee, anger, panic, everything. He was still angry. Still confused. But. . .
A little body collided with his back, landing on him with all the force Danny could come up with. It wasn't a lot. But it was enough to make him grunt in surprise. Penelope squirmed, upset by the sudden noise.
"Papaaaaaa!" Danny whined. "Pleeeeeeeeaaase?"
Walker looked over his shoulder and managed a smile for his youngest. Danny pouted at him, hair sticking up at all angles. It struck him suddenly, how different the little boy was now compared to when he first formed. He was confident enough to pout up at him. Confident enough to wake him from a dead sleep just because he was hungry. And it wasn't even the changes to his confidence, to his ability to trust them. It was physical changes, too.
Danny stared up at him with eyes that were almost solid, pouting from a face that was chubby with baby-fat and peppered with freckles. His hair was clean and soft, if not a bit long. And he even weighed something now.
Deep in his heart, Walker knew that he couldn't have reached this point without Penelope's help. It helped cool the anger that still festered in his gut a bit.
He smiled, rasping, "Alright, bud, 'm up. What'cha want?"
A bright, satisfied grin lit up Danny's face. He squirmed under Walker's free arm, giggling happily. "Pancakes!"
"Pancakes?" Walker rumbled. "We had pancakes yesterday, bud. How 'bout we make somethin' nice fer Mama t'day, hmm?"
Danny gasped. "Yeah! Uhhh, we should, uh, make F'ench toast! Mama loves dat!"
Even though not a single bit of him wanted to get up or even move, Walker chuckled and ruffled his youngest boy's hair. "Alright, bud. We'll make some French toast. Why don'tcha get dressed and get Tay up, an' we'll be down in a minute fer breakfast, 'kay?"
Danny nodded, hair flying in thirty different directions, and squirmed out from under him. Walker couldn't resist making it just a bit harder than necessary. The puffy-cheeked look of absolute betrayal on his little face was golden. Eventually, though, Danny managed to wriggle away and landed butt-first on the floor. He only just managed to keep from laughing out loud.
But, after a second, he could tiny footsteps sprinting away on the hardwood. Tay was in for a rude awakening this morning. Walker almost managed to feel bad for him. Then he remembered all the times he'd been woken up by a hungry, pouty ten-year-old with a metal leg, and it flew out the window.
Walker sighed heavily. He knew he should get up, at least put on a proper shirt. But he was so dang tired, the thought was even exhausting. And he was so warm, so comfortable. . .
Penelope groaned in her sleep, face pressed to the side of his throat, and huddled even closer. She still smelled like that new shampoo she'd gotten. Mint and some sort of herb his mama used to grow in her garden. Rosemary, maybe? Something like that. He was too tired to figure that out right now. Slowly, he ran a hand up her spine, trying to at least coax her awake. Pen tended to be bear in the morning, and he didn't want to know what would happen if he just tried to startle her awake like he normally would.
"C'mon, mama," he grunted. "Yer boy's awake an' he's wantin' French Toast."
Another groan. Walker nearly choked when, instead of moving away, like he expected, Penelope threw a leg over him and made herself comfortable. The arm around his waist tightened. She nuzzled against his throat and let out a little chirping noise that made his mouth go dry.
"Uh-uh," Penelope groaned. "Five more minutes. Mama's sleepin', baby."
There was no actual way she was even partially awake. She'd probably only barely heard "awake" and "boy" and just. . . answered. Right? Right?!
Suddenly, Walker felt wide awake. He went stock-still, taking stock of exactly what position he'd woken up in. It wasn't like this was the first time he and Pen had slept in the same bed together. Heck, she tended to sneak into his bed like one of the boys when she had a nightmare anymore. That wasn't a problem. Not in the slightest. They were grown adults and could do what they dang well pleased, as far as he was concerned.
The problem was that he'd never woken up with Pen just absolutely wrapped around him before. Snuggled under his arm sure. Curled around the boys, touching his arm definitely. But this was a whole new level of contact. He could feel every curve, every breath, every thrum of her core against his ribs. Her breath was warm on his throat. Her skin felt too soft. He'd never said that about any woman in his life or his death before. How in the Sam hell did she have skin this soft?!
He swallowed even though his mouth felt drier than an August day. Slowly, very slowly, he shook Pen's shoulder a bit. The movement jostled her against him. It was uncomfortable. But not? He didn't have the time or the energy to deal with this right now.
"Pen, ya gotta wake up," he growled, just a bit louder. "I gotta make breakfast."
He could feel her scowl against his skin. Her grip on his undershirt tightened. "No! 'm comfy. . ."
She was more awake now, shifting muzzily against him. That made everything so much worse. So much worse.
"Penelope, wake up," Walker snapped.
Finally, blessedly, Penelope lifted her head to glare at him, sleep matting the corners of her eyes and hair sticking in every direction.
"What?!" she hissed.
"Ya mind lettin' go?" He was not blushing – he was not. "Yer dug in like a tick, an' I gotta make breakfast 'fore I call in t' the prison."
Penelope had the audacity to look confused, dropping her forehead to his jaw. "Just get up then, Tex. Why do I have to be awake?"
Walker blinked in shock. "Pen, I can't even move m' arm. 'cause yer layin' on it."
It was true. His entire left arm was full of pins and needles, completely numb from shoulder to fingertip. For a second, as Pen lifted her head to glare at him, she still looked confused. Then after a moment of staring at his chest under her hand – where there was a sizeable wet spot where she'd drooled – it seemed to click. She shot away from him so quickly it almost gave him whiplash.
One second, he'd been practically pinned to the mattress by her. The next, Penelope had flung him out of the bed. Walker hit the floor with an "oomph!" as all the air left him. It was shockingly cold. But the impact didn't hurt. Mostly because his legs were still tangled up in the sheets, which had somewhat softened the blow by cushioning his fall.
He stared at the ceiling fan and wondered when exactly his afterlife got this weird. And complicated. And messy.
How could one friggin' woman make things so messy?
"Jesus Christ, Jeremiah, are you okay?!"
Penelope scrambled over the side of the bed, crouching next to him. Her eyes weren't sleepy anymore. Instead, they were wide and panicked, so green they could make a jeweler croak. She pulled at his shoulders, helping him sit up.
"I didn't mean to do that, I swear!" Pen rambled, hands flitting over his shoulders. "I just. . . you were. . . shit, why do I always do this?!"
He couldn't help it. Because, in some ways, it snuck up on him. Just like the laugh that was building in his chest. It shook his shoulders and spread across his face until Walker was just sitting there hee-hawing as Penelope flushed darker and darker red, splotchy across her cheeks, ears, and collarbone.
"What the fuck's so funny, cowboy?!" she growled. "I though I fucking hurt you, and this is what I get?! Well, hardy-fuckin'-har, it's hysterical! You got me!"
Still wheezing, Walker reached out and drew her into his lap with a yelp. He squeezed her tight, face buried in her hair. "I thought I was the one s'pposed t' be mad, sugar! Jeezus, yer a mess!"
Penelope scowled, squirming against him. "Shut up! Let go before the boys see!"
Something told him he should do as she said. But the words snuck out of him, crawled out between his teeth and hung on the air in thick, syrupy drops. "Guess it's why I love ya so much, though."
Penelope froze. Walker froze. The whole damn Zone froze.
All he could see were those eyes. Big and wide and absolutely terror-stricken, darting away to the floor the minute she caught on to his stare. Walker wanted to take the big, syrupy words and shove them back down his throat. He wanted to rewind the last ten minutes of his life. Have a do-over. He wanted to. . . he wanted. . .
"You don't mean that," Pen whispered, and her eyes darted to every corner of the room. "Don't say shit you don't mean. It's cruel."
He wanted to say them over and over again until she got it through her thick skull not everyone was a walking, talking pile of hog-crap.
"I mean it, Pen." He was just three-for-three today, because his mouth just would not stop. "I meant every word. I love ya t' pieces, hon. Even when 'm mad at'cha."
Penelope still wouldn't look at him. She looked at the floor, or the ceiling, or the glyphs branded across his shoulders. But she wouldn't look at him. Black, seething hatred for Bertrand boiled up in the back of his mind. If he hadn't already said he'd call in today, he'd go to the prison just for the jollies of beating the absolute crap out of the shape-shifting pig.
Instead, Walker gave her another gentle squeeze. "Aww, c'mon, sugar. Would'ja at least look at me? Thought you'd be happy I ain't mad n'more."
He could vaguely hear Danny and Tay arguing behind them, little feet racing towards the kitchen. They probably weren't dressed. Tay was probably grumpy and trying not to snap at his brother. Danny was still probably happy as a little jaybird and talking a mile-a-minute. He figured they only had a few more minutes until the kids exploded through the door and interrupted them.
But this was important.
It needed to be done.
Lower lip trapped between her teeth, Penelope finally looked him in the eye again. She was suspicious, apprehensive, a whole lot of things he couldn't quite name. But Walker smiled anyway.
"There she is!" he cheered.
The scowl returned, and Penelope smacked him hard on the chest, cheeks heating up again. "Dammit, quit saying weird shit! It's too early for all. . ." she made a vaguely panicked gesture between them, "this!"
Walker couldn't say she was wrong. He kept smiling, though, and leaned forward to plant a kiss against her forehead. "Couldn't get up 'til ya figured out 'm not lyin'! Now, up an' at 'em! We got French Toast t' make an' little boys t' wrangle!"
With that, he shot to his feet. He'd scooped Penelope up as he went, grinning at her yelp of shock. For a second, he thought about marching downstairs just like that. Pen bundled up in his arms and tomato-faced with embarrassment. Probably snarling at him the whole way.
Instead, he tossed her onto the bed and made for the door.
Penelope snarled again. "You jackass!"
"Watch yer mouth!" he called over his shoulder, thumbing a quick message to Bullet over their long-range communicators.
Normally, he'd be scowling at her language, at being hit, at getting pinned down and then bodily thrown out of his own bed by someone else. Walker wasn't a patient man by nature. He wasn't a forgiving man by nature, either. Both the military and his career in law enforcement had beat that part out of him. Violently.
But even as he made his way downstairs with a bruise on both his pec and tailbone, he never stopped smiling. Not once.
Deep in his chest, he was still a little wary. Still angry at how easily Penelope seemed to fall back into old habits, how despicable and downright dangerous she could be when provoked or pushed. But after that? He just. . . couldn't find the space in him to really be angry. Not with her.
The living room was still dark when he walked downstairs, but the kitchen was lit up. Silently, he thanked whatever deity made them remember to clean up after themselves earlier that night. Especially when he found Danny sitting on the kitchen table, glass of blue milk clutched in his chubby hands, and Tay struggling to put water in the coffee pot. If it wasn't for the fact that he was making a huge mess of the counter, it'd be almost comical.
Poor guy just wasn't tall enough to reach the top of the coffee pot. And, bless him, he hadn't thought to just float over it.
Or maybe he was actually following the rules for once; he'd like to think that was the case.
"An' just what d'you think yer doin'?" Walker half-growled, arms crossed.
Danny grinned up at him, milk mustache and all. "Papa! 're we makin' breakfast now?"
Shaking his head, Walker strode further into the kitchen. He plucked the half-empty carafe from Tay's fingers, ignoring his indignant "hey!" as he went. With one hand, he ruffled the kid's hair. Then grimaced because, "Geez, Tay, when's the last time ya washed yer hair?!"
Taylor set his jaw and crossed his stubby mis-matched arms. "Tuesday! It's not that bad – Penny hasn't said anything!"
Now that he looked, the kid was a filthy mess. How in the actual crap Penelope hadn't hauled him up by the ear and scrubbed him down herself was beyond him, but Walker decided to pick his battles. It was too early in the morning for a fight, and he was tired. Instead, he just rolled his eyes and finished filling the coffee maker.
"Yeah, well, Pen prob'ly hasn't seen the grease drippin' off it yet. Go up an' take a shower after breakfast."
The set of Taylor's jaw firmed, and his eyes got hard. Mean. Walker knew that look anywhere. It spelled Trouble with a capital "T".
Friggin. . . he just wanted one day. Was that too much to ask? One day without a fight?
Taylor stomped over to his chair and flopped down, scowling at the table so hard Walker thought it might catch fire. He took a deep breath to steady himself. The coffee pot started whirring a second later, and he took his time putting grounds and a filter into the machine before getting it to brew. Danny watched them all with wide eyes, still sitting on the table. Still clutching his milk like someone might steal it out from under him.
"Papa?" he warbled.
Walker offered him a crooked smile, walking over to give him another good-morning hug. "No one's in trouble, punk. Tay's j'st got the grumps, that's all."
Danny nodded sagely even as Taylor's scowl deepened. Walker didn't give it another second. He scooped the littlest boy off the table, straightening his rocket pjs before sitting him down in his booster. "Don't sit on the table, kiddo. Mama'll have a fit."
With that, he set about getting everything ready to make French Toast. It was a familiar routine. Comfortable, easy, like an old pair of boots that fit just right. Most of his men would've croaked seeing him like this. Dressed in ratty, stained old pjs with his hair still a mess, standing in front of a stove in bare feet. Both Johnny and Ember had been real messed-up by it when they first came to live with him.
"You just don't seem the type, Pops," Johnny had muttered one day, stabbing at a pair of fried eggs. "I thought guys from your generation didn't do the whole domestic schtick, dig?"
Simple answer was most didn't. Most men of his generation thought cooking was a woman's area. But Walker prided himself on not being most men. His mama had raised a gentleman, she'd always boasted, who could cook and fight without a lick a space between. Besides, none of that had ever really made sense to him. What the heck did being a woman have to do with being able to cook anyway? Just figure out how to cook well for yourself and you didn't have to rely on someone else to do it.
Plus, it had the added-bonus of being an absolute girl-pleaser.
As he finished dredging the bread in egg and sugar, Walker caught the sound of Penelope coming down the stairs. His eyes flicked to the stove to make sure it was on high enough, butter starting to melt in the middle of his skillet. He heard Pen come through the doorway just a second later.
Danny started bouncing in his seat, and Walker stuffed down a smile at the way the little boy's face lit up with excitement. "Mama! Mornin' Mama!"
Behind him, Penelope chuckled at his enthusiasm. He caught her walking over to sweep him up for a hug
"Good morning, baby!" she giggled. "Someone's in a good mood today!"
The sizzle of the French Toast brought with it the warm smell of sugar, and Walker felt his shoulders starting to relax for the first time in. . . forever, it seemed like. Danny was nodding, hair flying everywhere. His grin could've lit up a whole solar system, little fingers twisting in Penelope's loose hair.
"Uh-huh! I had good dreams, Mama!" he declared proudly.
Penelope offered him a gasp, eyes widening comically for his amusement. "Really! What were they about, hm?"
Danny swung his legs back and forth as she put him back in his booster – they'd been working on getting him to sit on his own to eat – and reached out for another drink of milk. "Stars. We went t' da park an' looked at 'em."
Everything was always stars. Stars and space and astronauts. Walker chuckled along with Penelope, glancing over his shoulder while he flipped the first piece onto a clean plate and started the next. She turned her attention to Taylor next. Who was still pouting down at the table.
"Good morning to you to, grumpy man," she joked. "Are you trying to kill the table? I hate to break it to you, kiddo, but that ship's sailed."
The kitchen was warm and smelled like sugar and syrup and coffee. It should've been impossible for a look that ugly to exist here. But there it sat. Wrapped up in a set of old blue and gray pjs and twisting a chubby face. Walker hummed to himself as he finished up another couple of pieces. The plate was starting to pile up. Idly, he wondered if he should make some bacon too. A bit of salt to cut the sweet.
He watched Penelope drop down beside Tay from the corner of his eye. Her ears were only a little red now, and looking at her, you'd never know she'd been a hot-mess fifteen minutes ago.
Walker didn't butt in. He cooked French Toast for his kids and Penelope and didn't say a word, listening.
She ran her hand through his hair, grimacing at the texture. "You know, I'm pretty sure your dad could cook stuff with all the grease here, kiddo. What happened to taking a bath last night?"
Taylor hunched in on himself, shrugging. "I dunno. . . I just didn't feel like it, I guess."
A quiet hum escaped Penelope, and she glanced back at him. But instead of ordering Tay to go take a shower like he'd done, she leaned forward to kiss his temple, rubbing a hand up and down his back. "Well, your dad's sticking with us today. And I was thinking we could have a Star Wars marathon in our pjs. Do you think you could take a shower after we eat, please? You'll be comfier that way."
Tay sagged into her touch, and his scowl softened a bit. Silent, he nodded, and Penelope kissed his temple again. He tucked as close as he could without actually crawling in her lap. Danny chattered next to them, taking his brother's bad mood with surprising ease. Pen hummed along with the conversation, running her fingers through Tay's dirty hair and rubbing at his scalp without another complaint.
After a couple of more minutes, Walker finished plating their breakfast. He snatched some syrup out of the pantry – silently thanking his lair for making more – and then sat the big platter at the center of the table. He grabbed some more plates out of the cabinet, pausing only to pour he and Pen cups of coffee.
It felt weird, somehow.
Last night, he'd been so cold, so empty. All he'd been able to think about was the look on Plasmius's face when he'd screamed about Pen being a monster. The way Penelope's fingers had shook between his, and how she hadn't bothered to defend herself. Because everything he'd said had been true and somehow the woman who'd made his kids fall head-over-heels for her, who blushed bright tomato red and had a temper like a mad hornet, could do things he couldn't even think about without getting nauseous. And he hadn't been able to get the image of all those nightmares filled with dust and blood and zombie privates with milky eyes out of his brain and it had all just kind of crashed.
And now here they were. Chatting away over French Toast and arguing about which was the best Star Wars movie. Everything was warm, and bright, and he had this. . . bubble in his chest? It felt happy, blues and greens and yellows, and it spread its way to the tips of fingers and toes. Walker smiled into his coffee, taking another big bite of pastry. He hadn't ended up making bacon.
But that was okay – he needed to lay off it anyway.
Pen kept glancing at him over Tay's head, expression mixed, but she didn't break the feel of the table. They finished breakfast amicably. No meltdowns, no tears, nothing but laughs and big, bright smiles out Danny. Tay was still quiet. He kept shooting him hateful looks from behind his fork and from Pen's shoulder when he'd finally ate enough.
When they all were finished, Pen stood up to clear their plates. "Taylor, honey, will you please take a shower for me? We'll start the movie as soon as you get done."
Slowly, very slowly, Tay stood up to do as he was told. He kept dragging his feet the whole way. But after one final hateful glare his way, the boy made his way back upstairs. Walker shook his head as he took a wet washcloth to Danny's face and hands.
"Papa! 's too hot!" he whined, squirming. "I don' like it!"
They'd figured out Danny's skin was sensitive to heat a little bit ago. Which made sense in the grand scheme, considering how cold he ran usually. But this time, Walker rolled his eyes and finished up. "Nice try, punk. It's not even warm. Now, why don'tcha go t' the livin' room and find the movie for us, 'kay? Me an' Mama'll finish cleanin' up."
Danny's face immediately brightened. "Okay!"
With that, he was off like a shot. Penelope chuckled from her place at the sink.
"Can you believe we couldn't even hardly get him to walk a month ago?" she muttered. "Some days I can't keep up with him anymore."
Walker slumped against the countertop, arms crossed, and grinned. "Is it karma 're some nonsense. My pa used t' say that ya spent two years teachin' 'em to walk 'n talk, but ya spend the next sixteen or so tellin' 'em t' sit down an' shut up."
Penelope scowled, pointing a soapy spatula at him. "Your father was a prick. You never tell a child to sit down and shut up – it stunts their development. Besides, I'm not complaining that he's got the energy. I just wish to hell I had half of it to stay awake."
"Amen t' that," Walker sighed.
They stood there for a moment. The pipes groaned overhead as Tay started the shower.
"Why's Tay bein' so hateful t' me today?" he wondered out loud. "I do somethin' wrong?"
Penelope stiffened a bit, hands submerged as she scrubbed at a sticky plate. "He's being a little. . . defensive at the moment," she hedged.
Frowning, Walker turned to look at her fully. "Of what? I ain't hardly been here all week, Pen."
A pointed look cut through him, and she sat the plate in the drying rack with more force than was necessary. "Not of what, you dumbass, of me. He thinks you've been. . . cold? He asked me yesterday why the hell you were being so mean to me." She sighed, glaring at him with no real heat. "Don't give me that look, I didn't tell him shit. Kids pick up on stuff, whether you want them to or not. It was inevitable one of the boys would figure it out."
Guilt twisted in his gut, and Walker felt the happy light in his chest flicker a bit. "Crap. . . have I really been that bad? I didn' think. . ."
Pen shrugged him off but didn't quite meet his eyes. "No, you weren't, Tex. He's just a protective little shit. Comes with the territory, I guess. He'll cool off after a bit."
"Watch yer mouth," he corrected automatically. Though the guilt was still there, Walker couldn't help but ask another question. "How is it that I put all the work in t' help Tay, an' you end up bein' his favorite?! It ain't fair!"
Penelope finished the last piece of silverware with a flourish, grinning at him so smugly it made his core flop. "Afterlife isn't fair, sugar tits. Kid's got quality taste despite you being his dad. Don't blame him."
Grumbling, he followed her back into the living room, where Danny had already drug out every blanket in existence for them to snuggle in. "'m kickin' you out. I mean it this time."
"Nuh-uh, Papa!" Danny cried out, throwing his tiny body against Pen's chest. "You can't kick Mama out! We love her lots!"
The smugness dripping off Penelope's grin was so thick a spoon would've stood up in it. "Yeah, Papa, they love me lots."
He truly, desperately wanted to be more annoyed than he was. Honestly. His men were already taking bets on how whooped he was because of how many days he'd been gone since Pen had moved in. Most of that was due to Bullet, though. Little SOB thought it was funny how much Penelope annoyed him and bossed him around. In his own house.
But Walker just. . . wasn't annoyed. It was weird. This whole morning was weird, but not in a bad way. Instead, he rolled his eyes and turned to put the movie in the player. It wouldn't be long before Tay was out of the shower anyway. They watched the opening credits, Danny running around for a bit with one of his toy space shuttles making rocket noises. Penelope giggled and asked him questions, like who he thought was the best Jedi or which fighter he thought was best.
Danny answered them all with enthusiasm. Not once did he shrink, or get nervous, or stop in the middle of a sentence because he thought he'd be punished. It was like watching a completely different boy from the one that had formed in his office. Looking at his chubby cheeks and freckles and gaped teeth made that day seem so long ago, even if he could still see the scars
And, watching Penelope smile at him and treat every word like a special thing, made all the difference in the world.
Taylor came down a bit later, prosthetics whirring and hair fuzzy with static where he'd dried it. His pjs were different, clean, and he smelled like fresh soap when he flopped down on the recliner. But even though his expression still bordered on mutinous, he managed a smile when Danny crawled up beside him. The boys huddled under a blanket together, chattering excitedly as the opening credits began to roll.
Sighing, Walker went to stretch out along the couch, propped up on several pillows. He stopped short when he remembered Pen was sat there with him and made to sit back up, groaning a bit. Except Pen stopped him again before he could.
She flopped down against him, wiggling until she was tucked firmly between the back of the couch and his chest. One arm got flung around his waist.
"Don't bother getting up, Tex," she chirped, flippant. "You're more comfortable than the couch anyway."
Walker froze, stiff, and blinked for a few minutes. The boys were still focused on the movie, Danny making aircraft noises while Tay giggled at the awful dialogue as Luke and Owen tried to buy droids. They were happy and oblivious to the world. And he was trapped under Penelope.
What a way to go to the Beyond. . .
"Relax, Jeremiah," Penelope muttered. "I just. . . I need a good cuddle, okay? Let me have this, asshole, you owe me."
His body was relaxing anyway, arms wrapping firmly around her shoulders as she nestled up under his chin. She wasn't wrong, per-say. He was a self-aware kind of man. He'd been a jerk the last week, he knew that.
Still, he couldn't help but poke fun at her anyway. "Who'da thunk Scary Spectra'd be a cuddler? Should I getcha a teddy bear for Christmas?"
She picked her head up and shot a downright filthy look at him. "Jeremiah Walker, if you breathe a word of this to anyone, I'll make you wish you'd never died. Got it?"
The threat was deadly serious, but her words had no real heat. He chuckled and rubbed her back. "I gotcha, hon. Don't worry."
After a couple of seconds, Pen dropped her head back against his chest. Walker pulled the blanket up her, thumb tracing circles against the bare skin of her shoulder. The boys eventually settled down a bit, content to watch Luke Skywalker learn about Jedi and the evils of the Empire. They even went so far as to climb onto the couch with them. Tay sat in the corner away from them, still shooting him skeptical looks every now and then. Danny chose to curl in the crook of Pen's legs, toying with the blanket, gaze fixated on the screen.
It was all just. . . absurdly domestic. Quiet, normal, perfect. He could almost mistake them for some cheesy 50's sitcom family.
But, as Penelope whispered out, "Love you, too, Tex" before drifting off into a nap, Walker decided he wouldn't trade any of it for the world.
Not a single bit.