Home, Sweet Home

A new face greets you as you walk up the long stair-path to the front door. He’s Hispanic, slightly taller than you and smiling winningly as he draws closer. His eyes are brown and gleam mischievously as he sees Bella’s expression darken.

“Feliciano.” Your sister nods to him.

“Bella.” His grin widens. “You have a few more passengers than you said there would be.”

“My little brother is a bleeding heart.” Ignoring your protest, she carries on. “Most of them seem like they could help out somewhere, though.”

“Good, good.” He claps his hands together. “Welcome, kiddos, to the Knight estate. I’m Feliciano, head of security. You can call me by my first name or by Mendez.” His smile drops for a moment. “I don’t do nicknames.” Smiling brightly again, he gestures to the house. “Now, let’s get you inside so the boss can vet you.” There’s a commotion as Meg rushes forward.

“Is that a custom model?” She points at the rifle slung across his back.

“Yeah. Why?”

“It’s beautiful.” The blonde is almost drooling. “A recoil compensator? That looks like a built-in suppressor, that’s an ammunition counter tool, probably has other functions for QoL….” She gapes. “Is that handle personally machined?”

“Hell yeah.” Mendez is grinning like a lunatic. “Shoots like a dream.”

“That is so completely impractical, but I can’t even be angry.” Meg shakes her head slowly. “That thing is like… the haute couture of modern weaponry!”

“Oh, the handle is detachable.” Mendez nods sagely.

“It’s modular?” Meg looks like she has stars in her eyes. “God, that’s just brilliant! Oh, I want the name of the machinist! If I can get in contact and we can afford it I want to pick his brain!”

“You might get the chance. I dunno.”

“Oh shit, there are two of them.” Charlie’s jaw is slack.

“Why do I get the feeling that we’re going to die because of the two gun nuts?” Sam facepalms.

“Well.” Alex looks like he swallowed a lemon. “We can hope that doesn’t happen.”

“Let’s not rely solely on hope, ‘kay?” Bella storms onward, past the two gushing gun enthusiasts.

“Those two actually kind of scare me.” Sam looks back as you pass the two, and you nod.

“I don’t feel scared by their enthusiasm, but I do admit it’s probably going to result in them building something terrifying eventually.” You grimace. “Possibly sooner rather than later.”

“As long as it’s not pointed at us, I guess.” The redhead sighs.

You all fall into comfortable silence as you approach the door to the main house. As it swings open, you hear a familiar voice.

“Michael!” A strawberry-blonde missile slams into your chest, wrapping her arms around you and laughing giddily.

“Hey, Lucy.” You return the hug, lifting your little sister off her feet slightly and swinging from side to side. “I’m glad you’re safe.”

“I’m glad you made it too, bro.” She steps back, the grin wide on her face and her green eyes dancing. “You’ve got a few tagalongs, too. Hiya, Sam!”

“Hello, again.” The redhead smiles at your sister. “I can’t say I expected to see you so soon.”

“Eh, when you’re around my brother you get used to the universe deciding to screw probability.” Lucy shrugs. “Especially if he could be embarrassed by it.”

“Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up, sis.” You wave your hand, trying to change the course of the conversation before she can start spilling all the worst stories where the others can hear. “Where are Mom and Dad?”

“Inside.” Your sister turns to go back into the house, and you follow. “Bella was grumbling about Feli just now, so I wouldn’t be surprised if she tried to talk Dad’s ear off about whatever happened.” Her eyes dart back to Sam before narrowing at her proximity to you. Her brows rise high on her forehead and she gives you a look that tells you in no uncertain terms that she expects an explanation later, but she turns away as you enter the main living room.

As Lucy predicted, Bella is storming around the room, punching a pillow as though it were her worst enemy’s face. Your parents are watching with bemused expressions from the couch. Your mother notices your entrance first.

“Michael....” She smiles at you and you’re taken back momentarily to countless memories of hugs and laughter and lullabies you haven’t heard with your own ears since you were small. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m so happy you’re safe.” As she pulls you into a hug, she sighs. “You have no idea what you three put me through, you know. All my babies out in this disaster at once, with no way for me to know that you’re alright?” She pulls back and gives you a cheeky grin. “Do you want to give your poor mother a heart attack, dear?”

“I’m not a kid anymore, mom.” You appreciate the concern, though you aren’t admitting it aloud. You hope your own smile is enough to let her know. “None of us are.”

“Says you.” She huffs, returning to her seat. “You’ll always be my little angels, and don’t you dare attempt to convince me otherwise.”

“I’m pretty sure Michael gave up the title of ‘angel’ when we caught him sneaking home from his girlfriend’s house in high school, Tara.” Your father grins at you with a conspiratorial gleam in his eye. “Or before that, if my theories are correct.”

“Rick!” Your mother swats his arm, and he breaks out into hearty chuckles.

Your parents would appear to be an unusual pair if you didn’t know them well. Both have aged gracefully, but where your mother is voluptuous, raven-haired and only an inch or two shorter than you are, your father is blond, his hair cut so short it’s just barely outside the realm of a buzz cut, and he’s closer to half a foot shorter than you when standing at his full height. While your father was not what you would call unattractive by most standards, your mother would probably be ranked somewhere on a completely different scale, and you know she was approached by at least two modeling agencies when she was younger. He’s wearing khaki shorts and a polo shirt, and your mother is wearing a pale blue blouse and skinny jeans.

“You know I have inside information, Dad.” Lucy the traitor, grins at you as she leans on the arm of the couch. “I could easily prove your theory….”

“No no, missy.” Your father wags a finger at her. “I may be many things, but a cheater I am not. There’s no honor in a victory unearned.” He nods decisively. “But if you decide you want to screw with him in some other way I won’t protest. Kid needs to lighten up a bit and get over himself.”

“What?” You pale as the possibilities flash through your mind.

“Oh, I might take you up on that, papa!” Your sister smiles wickedly at you, her expression terrifying you in a way no one ever expects your cute younger sister to be. “I have so many stories to tell, after all!”

“Guys….” You hear the two of them laugh as your mother shakes her head, a good-natured smile on her face. Beside you, Sam bites down a laugh of her own.

“I mean, I’d totally be up for hearing those.”

“Oooh, yes!” Lucy bounces up and down, and you somehow sense that Charlie is watching with greedy eyes. Turning back to you, she raises an eyebrow. “Speaking of….”

“Not to be rude and interrupt the heartfelt reunion, but can the rest of us get rooms?” Meg looks decidedly unimpressed as you turn back to the others. Alex is looking around with an appreciative look on his face, and Heather is holding her hands over her face as she tries to smother her own giggles. Charlie is, as you predicted, eating up the eye candy that is your family's female component (you’ll find a way to get back at him for that later) and Mendez is grinning as he scratches at his stubble.

“Oh! Of course, what kind of hosts would we be otherwise?” Your mother beams at them, though she looks a little dubious as her gaze reaches Charlie. “Any friends of Michael’s are welcome here!” She turns to your younger sister, since Bella is still muttering incoherently at the far end of the room. “Lucy, do you mind showing them to some of the guest quarters?”

“Of course.” She smiles, and turns to you and your girlfriend. “Coming with, Sam?”

“Oh. Uh, I’ll catch up.” The redhead’s eyes meet yours for a split second before she composes herself. “I’d just like to rest for a bit, you know?”

“Right.” Lucy’s not convinced. Crap. Now you’ve got days of constant questioning and surveillance to look forward to, and she might recruit someone else to help her. You forgot that she could be frighteningly determined when she wants to know something. As she leads the others away, you glance at Sam, who gestures at your parents with her eyebrows. Looking back at them, you can see that your father is smiling knowingly. Your mother’s expression is in that special place where you can’t tell what she’s thinking. You learned long ago to fear it.

“So.” She breaks the silence, her lips quirking up. “I assume you stayed because there’s something to say, dear.”

“Uh, yes?” Sam coughs. “Yeah. Um.”

“We can wait, you know. It’s only been a day.” You lean in to whisper in her ear, and she hisses through her teeth before nudging you away.

“Tara, do you think they think they’re being subtle? Because I don’t.” Your father’s grin hasn’t changed.

“I don’t know, Rick.” Your mother sighs. “Honestly, they seem so nervous. Don’t make it worse for them!”

“Okay, since you obviously know, I’m not even going to bother.” Sam throws up her hands, and your father snorts.

“Smart.” He grins. “Seems like you’ll fit right in, miss…?”

“Samantha. I’m Sam Fisher.” She shrugs. “I’m… I was Michael’s roommate?”

“Oh!” Your mother’s face lights up in recognition. “Yes, I remember. He’s mentioned you.” She raises an eyebrow at you. “Among other things.”

Bracing yourself, you pull Sam into the couch opposite your parents as Bella leaves the room, still grumbling.

One extended interrogation later (filled with your father’s sarcasm and your mother’s cooing and teasing, and eventually by your girlfriend’s collaboration with them in managing to make your entire time knowing her sound as embarrassing as possible by making you realize that you’re probably the densest person you have ever heard of), you and Sam have retired to your room. Your girlfriend stretches in a way that draws your eye back to her curves, and you scowl as you realize she might be doing it on purpose.

“Nice place.” The redhead puts her hands on her hips, looking out at the balcony. “A little over the top, but I can’t say I’d mind staying here until the whole shitshorm blows over.”

“I’m glad.” You pull her into a one-armed hug, glancing around the room that still doesn’t feel quite like home on an emotional level. “We probably will be, so it’s good that you like it.” You sigh. “You didn’t have to click with my family so easily, though. It’s like you were trying to mortify me.”

“And if I was?” She grins up at you.

“Then we have a problem, and I might just have to find a way to punish you.”

“Hm.” Her gaze goes half-lidded as her smile takes on a sultry bent. “I don’t think I’d mind.” She steps away from you. “But either way, I still feel like I need a shower.” As the images that sentence conjures fly through your mind, you hear her padding towards your en-suite bathroom. “But no peeking….” And then she closes the door, leaving you to stew in your own frustration.

“Fucking tease.” You mutter under your breath as you walk out to the balcony.

Taking a breath, you try not to focus on what’s happening in your bathroom; on the idea of Sam naked under the showerhead, the water coursing in rivulets down her body. Sam gazing at you lustfully through the shower’s glass door, the blue of her eyes impossibly bright as her eyelids fall half-closed and she bites her fingertip. Sam, moaning softly as she presses her soft, perky tits against the glass, biting her lip and looking at you longingly. Sam, pressing her hands to the shower wall, arching her back to present her supple ass as she waits for you to come up behind her and -

You groan as you silently curse the redhead for having this kind of power over you. And at your brain for being so accepting of it. Pursing your lips, you storm back into your room and start to unpack your bag, setting things in their various designated places.

It’s a few more minutes before you hear the bathroom door open behind you.

“You know, I kind of thought you weren’t going to actually listen when I told you not to peek.” Your girlfriend sounds amused.

“Well, I guess I’m too dedicated to not being an ass for my own good then.”

“Oh, that’s not exactly a bad thing.” You hear her walking over, her bare feet making almost no sound as she crosses the floor to you. “I don’t mind that you understand the meaning of the word ‘no.’” She can’t be more than a foot behind you now. “But I wouldn’t mind if you decided to indulge yourself more often either. It’s not like you’re the only one who benefits.”

“Well, I’ll be sure to remember that you said so.” And you will. You can think of multiple ways to use that phrase in the future, and make a mental note to do so when she least expects it. A table comes to mind….

Your internal plotting to make her regret her words is interrupted as she hugs you from behind.

“You could remember it now….”