very_sharpe | Do me this honor

Thomas manages to set his bags down safely as Greta is swarmed by a very eager Saoirse. He makes brief eye contact with his fiance and gives her a wink as he goes to talk to the babysitter so that he can be on his way.

As Gabriel heads out the door, Thomas returns to the scene to save Greta's bags and to shoo the dogs out of the way.

"It's not quite the ring you envisioned," Thomas warns Saoirse, a smile on his face.

Greta gives Gabriel's shoulder a fond pat in passing, then lets Thomas divest her of her bags as she steps (or wades, rather, through the still-circling dogs) inside.

"I thought you'd already seen it," Greta says, arching an eyebrow at her daughter. She certainly doesn't seem the least bit surprised, and it belatedly occurs to her that she could have been watching from the window. But she relents a moment later, holding out her hand so Saoirse can see the ring clearly. "What do you think? Does it look better on me than it would on a seal stuffy?" She glances up to shoot Thomas a grin.

She holds Greta's fingers so she can study the new piece properly. It's lovelier than she remembers, probably because it's on Greta's finger now.

She's going to have a proper family, soon, just like all the kids at school and on TV.

"Dad!" Saoirse squeals when Greta mentions the stuffy. "You aren't supposed to tell anyone our plans!" Just because they didn't use them yet means they never will, after all.

"Forgive me, slip of the tongue," he says with a hidden smile. Thomas takes a moment to shoo the dogs into the back yard.

When he comes back, Thomas takes off his coat and hangs it by the door.

"Saoirse, while this is all very exciting, I was wondering if I might borrow you for a moment."

Thomas waits until he has the girl's attention and retrieves the box from his coat pocket. Once again, he's down on one knee - though this time it's to put himself more at eye level with Saoirse.

"I know that you and I already discussed me speaking to Greta, and it means so very much to me that you would want to be involved at all. But, I never really asked you, not properly, if it would be alright with you if I joined the family officially. So I'd like to ask you now."

He opens the box to reveal the pearl and jade bracelet.

"I've asked Greta to be my wife, and you've so kindly asked if I'll be your father. Will you be my daughter, Saoirse?"

Edited 2018-12-29 18:34 (UTC)

As soon as Thomas asks for Saoirse's attention, Greta presses her lips together so she won't distract. Moving carefully, she fishes her phone out of her pocket and discreetly starts to film the proceedings. This is going to be so cute.

Not to mention terribly touching. It won't be the steadiest video she's ever taken, and she has to blink rather a lot to keep her vision from blurring. It takes a good deal of self restraint to remain in the background, not prompting Saoirse for her answer.

This part is the surprise. The kneeling, and the sweet look on his face, and the beautiful bracelet that looks so much like Greta's ring.

Saoirse can't quite believe it.

She doesn't even realize she's crying until she tries to answer and her voice catches. It startles a wet giggle from her throat, and she pounces on him in a tight hug.

"Yes!" she crows.

Thomas wraps Saoirse in a tight little hug, careful not to squish her too much. "Wonderful," he murmurs against her hair. "Thank you, Saoirse."

He kisses the top of her head, then gently guides her back. He puts the bracelet on her wrist.

"It's sized for you now, but we can have it made bigger as you grow, if you'd like."

He'd thought it was important to get a piece that would be easy to adjust as Saoirse grew. She's just a little girl now, but she won't be forever. He looks up at Greta, catching her with the camera and he can't even bring himself to try to give her a look. All he can do is smile, fond and warm.

Greta stops recording, then sniffs conspicuously before tucking the device away. Then, there's really nothing to do but join them on the floor, wrapping one arm around Thomas and stroking back Saoirse's hair with her other hand. "Now we're both all decked out," she says, her grin only a little watery as she takes Saoirse's hand, the ring and the bracelet both gleaming in the light. Lowering her voice to a conspiratorial stage whisper, she adds, "We'll have to get Thomas some sort of finery for Christmas, won't we? If we haven't, already."

Well. The scarf she's made is rather fine by her own standards, but it's hardly on the same level as jewelry. Besides, she hadn't thought to match it with emerald or pearl, color-wise. Surely they can come up with something fitting over the next few days.

She nods, cheeks still damp, and snuggles into her family.

Her family. It's always been real to her, but now it feels official, like a stamp or a sticker, or the papers that Thomas makes for his one-of-a-kind trinkets that people special buy.

"Thank you, Dad," she says, voice a little wobbly.

Thomas doesn't even try to put up a fight at the idea of getting him something that will match them. He's rather touched, even if he wants to insist that they don't need to. He hugs both of them close and presses a kiss to Greta's hair.

Then he laughs, a bit wet and a bit breathless. "Look at us," he murmurs. "We're down on the floor and any moment now the dogs are going to try to come in. Come on... we can at least reconvene on the couch."

Somewhere that they won't get all knocked over. Somewhere he can keep holding them.

"Good idea," Greta agrees, giving both of them a squeeze before getting to her feet. "Here, I'll let the dogs in while you two get settled, all right?" One of the grown-ups has to, and while it's been a moving evening for all of them, Thomas is the one who's been preparing little speeches and presenting jewelry; he ought to sit.

The dogs are both waiting by the door, and look ready to resume their gleeful prancing about until Greta mutters a stern, "Settle down." Then it's all ducked heads and sheepish wags, and she gives both of them a pat before making her way back to the living room, where Thomas and Saoirse have already settled themselves.

"Right, make room for your betrothed," she says with a giddy grin as she sits down beside Thomas, nestling as close as she can get without outright climbing into his lap. Betrothed. She was half-joking, but she does rather like the sound of that. She reaches across him to check on Saoirse, her smile taking on a more sympathetic look. "Bit of a day, eh?" she says softly.

Saoirse has curled up on one side of him, and when Greta returns, dogs heralding her approach, she smiles up at her. It's nice that she checks on her, too. Saoirse loves Greta so much, for so many reasons, and one of those reasons is that she cares about Saoirse even when she should be caring about herself.

"But a wonderful day," she insists.

She crawls over Thomas's thighs to sit on both their laps. She'll be off to bed before long, anyway, so they'll have plenty of alone, grownup time. For now, she wants to snuggle with both of her parents, even if they talk over her head about things. She looks at her bracelet, fingers running over the smooth beads, and smiles. She can't believe Thomas proposed fatherhood to her!

Thomas can't believe how content he feels to be sandwiched between Saoirse and Greta. He slides his arm around Greta and gently rubs his hand over her back as she checks in with Saoirse.

"A very wonderful day," he agrees. "Does this mean we can skip Christmas? I suppose we could find something to do with all those presents..."

He's teasing, of course. But how wonderful to be a step closer to being an official family as they waltz into the holidays. Maybe it's only a bit of paper, but somehow it feels terribly important. Thomas knows well all the benefits a marriage offers and he wants Greta and Saoirse to have everything that he can give.

Thomas presses a little kiss to Greta's temple and murmurs another soft, I love you against her hair. He squeezes Saoirse against his side.

Greta oofs playfully as Saoirse clambers onto their laps, but makes no real objection. It's sweet -- and understandable -- and it means she's close enough for Greta to drop a kiss onto her hair and give her arm a little rub.

"Oh," she says, as if seriously considering the idea. "I suppose we could. Just set our presents aside until our next birthdays roll around. We'd be opening them before you knew it." Well, Thomas and herself would; Saoirse would have a much longer wait, and Greta gives her arm a light squeeze to show she's joking.

And then she's distracted by Thomas's attentions, a warm smile spreading across her face as his I love you registers. She hums in quiet acknowledgment, then leans back enough to press a sweet, chaste kiss against his lips.

If someone had asked her an hour or so ago, she could have made a convincing argument that they didn't need to be married -- that they were living as if they were already, and a bit of paperwork wouldn't have made that much of a difference. But that was before she saw how happy her answer had made him. She knows his previous life was relatively joyless, and she's taken no small amount of pleasure in increasing his supply here, plying him with love and affection and humor as if feeding up a hungry person with her baking. She doesn't know quite what the metaphorical equivalent of that this would be -- like loosening a belt, or taking out a hemline -- but if something as simple as a bit of paper could make him that much happier, well. They could go to City Hall tomorrow, as far as she's concerned.

They can work out the details later. For now, she keeps one arm curled around Saoirse, and with the other, she finds Thomas's hand and laces their fingers together. They're a bit of a tangle, really, but a very cozy one.

Saoirse listens to their teasing — and she knows they're teasing, just like she knows they're not going to save the presents for birthdays — and offers playful protests of her own.

But it's quickly quieted, as she snuggles with her parents, with Cú resting his chin on Saoirse's lap and Sadie curled up at Greta's feet. Later, she'll want cocoa, and maybe a book, and a bath before bed.

But for right now, all she wants is this. It's perfect.

Thomas is content to just stay there for a while, cuddling Saoise with Greta. But when he realizes that the little girl is starting to fall asleep, he gently picks her up to carry her upstairs. It's the usual routine: making sure she's changed for bed, teeth-brushing, a story or two while she's tucked in.

He leans to press a kiss to Saoirse's forehead as he gets up. "Sleep well, darling. We'll see you in the morning."

He moves back so that Greta an have her proper turn and waits for her by the door. Thomas turns out the light and his hand finds Greta's on the short walk to their bedroom.

"Rather an eventful night."

It's both a relief and a slight surprise when Saoirse drifts off. Cozy as their arrangement might be, Greta can't imagine just falling asleep. Maybe it's because there was no music, or maybe it's because she was so taken off guard, or maybe she's simply excited, but she's been quietly fizzing with restless energy ever since Thomas popped the question.

She's masked it well enough, she thinks -- enough to not be mistaken for on edge, if nothing else. But she still feels as if she ought to be doing something, taking some sort of action besides the familiar routine of getting a half-dozing Saoirse scrubbed and into her pajamas and asleep beneath the covers.

A few options have occurred to her by the time they've eased themselves out of Saoirse's room and into the hall, some more practical (or enjoyable) than others. "It has that," she quietly agrees. She lifts their joined hands to press a kiss to the back of Thomas's palm, the engagement ring catching the light like no other bit of jewelry she's ever owned before. With a wry smile, she adds, "This will certainly take some getting used to." Thomas knows her background as well as she knows his; he's sure to understand that she's never worn anything so valuable in her life. Even if she'd owned such finery back home, it would have been kept under bloody lock and key, a family heirloom, and not worn daily. "I'm going to end up putting it away for safekeeping in my sleep. Probably ought to just apologize in advance."

"We could always put it on a chain or something," he offers, smiling at the kiss to his hand. "I know it'll get in the way with some of the baking you do, especially anything that needs kneading."

Thomas finally takes off his sweater and pushes his hair back, making a small attempt to pull himself together.

"Or I could find you one of those little ring-holders and you can leave it in the kitchen. Whatever you do with it is fine, love. It's your ring," he says with a little smile. He leans to kiss her, sweet and soft. "I did try to find something a little more... low profile."

And indeed, the ring isn't particularly tall, less likely to catch on anything, but it still has stones and therefore the chance is there.

She tips her head in acknowledgment; they could. That's what she'd wound up doing with her old wedding ring during the competition; eventually -- perhaps, a little, just to see if Thomas might notice and what he might make of the change -- she'd stopped with the bother of switching it back and forth between finger and chain, and left it on the chain to stay. It had seemed fitting. Her old marriage was over, even if she wasn't explicitly angling for a new one. She didn't need to keep wearing it.

It would seem far less fitting to let her new engagement ring hang alongside it, if only because her old wedding ring is a sturdy thing. She wouldn't want them clattering together and knocking one of the diamonds into a bowl full of batter or something. God, it hardly bears thinking about.

The kiss manages to pull her out of her own head, and she smiles against his lips, her hand brushing down his side, sliding the fabric of his undershirt between her fingers. "I do appreciate that," she admits. "Anything larger than this, and I'd feel like I was going about with a 'rob me' sign stuck to my back."

Which is absurd, and she knows it -- she'd have to wear something far more ostentatious to far worse parts of town than she ever frequents to be in any real danger of that -- but two years in Darrow hasn't entirely purged her of her Village sensibilities.

She releases him and takes a step backward, sitting on the edge of the bed and examining the ring with a game attempt at a thoughtful frown. "Maybe if I was wearing only the ring," she muses with theatrical nonchalance, "so there was nothing else to distract me..."

When he was looking for a ring, Thomas had gone through several phases of thinking he knew what would be best. At first he'd thought a simple, plain band would suffice - but that was what a wedding band was meant to be. And he'd told himself that the Sharpe ring had served as both engagement and wedding ring, but then he'd promptly put his memory of that particular piece of jewelry out of his mind. He knew it was tradition now to have two rings, and while he and Greta, for their own reasons, weren't particularly traditional, he wanted-- He doesn't know. He wanted something new for both of them.

Thomas tries, very hard, to school the smile off his face when Greta suggests wearing only the ring. "In the kitchen or out and about, darling? Because that might distract other people," he quips as he finishes undressing to the waist.

He sits beside Greta on the bed, ostensibly to take his shoes off, but also to admire the ring on her hand as she examined it.

"I think you'll be alright, but far be it from me to try to make any fashion decisions for you."

Personally, she thinks it's a bit rich of him to accuse her of being a distraction right before taking his own shirt off. But she manages, with some effort, to keep her focus on the ring and her expression one of only mild interest. When he sits down beside her, though, she can't help but lift her other hand to his back, her fingers idly tracing over his shoulders and down the ridge of his spine.

"Oh, I was only thinking of tonight," she says, keeping her tone as casual as she can. "Since it's so new, you see. But I do take your meaning, and the last thing I'd want to do is... distract you... when you're just trying to get a good night's sleep." She gives him a considering look as she twines her fingers into his hair, then says, with a tender solemnity that she should probably win some sort of award for: "I'd understand completely if you'd rather sleep on the couch."

That startles a laugh out of him, and nearly a blush. "The light might catch it," he teases her. "Keep me up all night."

Thomas gives Greta an adoring look, though, because he does love her and through it all, she's brought so much happiness to his life. He shakes his head and leans close to kiss her, tender and lingering.

"I suppose I'll just suffer," he murmurs, trying to sound long-suffering and failing miserably. "The couch is so awfully far away, after the day we've had, don't you think?"

"It is rather blinding, isn't it?" she agrees with all due sympathy, loosely wrapping her arms around his neck. Maintaining a straight face is proving impossible, especially when he looks at her like that -- like she's hung the bloody moon in the sky. A warm smile lights her face as he leans in for a kiss, and meets him eagerly, one hand sliding down his chest, past his scars, then circling around his back to pull him closer.

When they break the kiss, she doesn't go far, dropping her chin so their foreheads nearly touch. "A fair point," she returns. "I wouldn't ask you to make a trek like that at this hour. Though if you're staying..." she moves to whisper in his ear, in part to hide her irrepressible smirk, and murmurs, "I could use some help getting out of all these clothes." Then, just to be sure she's got her point across, she gives his earlobe a very light nip.

The graze of her teeth sends a pleasant shiver down Thomas's back and he pulls Greta a bit closer to him. He likes the way she holds him, and the way she no longer pauses over his scars in horror or in pity. Perhaps it never was the latter, but still.

"I suppose I could at least give you a hand," he quips, managing to keep his voice even enough. "It's the least I can do to make sure the ring doesn't get caught on anything."

She used to hesitate over his scars, not out of pity, or even horror, really, but out of caution -- unsure whether he wanted her hands anywhere near them, or if it would better or worse to act as if they weren't there at all. Part of her kept waiting for him to register an objection, or convey one with an unsteady breath or an awkward pause. But no complaint came, and as time has worn on... well, she imagines it would get rather tiresome for both of them if she lingered over them any time he had the temerity to take his shirt off around her. Far better to focus on the life they're building than the ones they've lost.

She's trailing little kisses down his neck when he manages his impressively measured response. But it's not so well crafted that he doesn't leave a rather glaring opening for her, and she grins, nuzzling into the spot where his neck meets his shoulder. "You could give me more than that, if you like," she says, before lifting her head to find his lips again.

They're making very little progress towards actually getting her clothes off, but then again, she doesn't mind taking her time. Saoirse's out like a light, and this doesn't have to be some hasty, furtive scramble.

Do me this honor

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