not_that_spike | (no subject)

There probably won't be a hell of a lot of evenings downstairs in the bar, at least not for a while. Beth Junior's too little; he doesn't want her around all that noise and smoke and bright lights and shit like that. And he might be wearing that brand fucking new dad label, but there's a few things that even Beth Junior can't distract him from or make him forget.

Two years ago tonight, some random beautiful angel made a crack about his hair, shared a smoke with him, a martini, and an episode of scar show-and-tell. If there's anything here that deserves celebration, this is it. So while she's feeding Beth Junior he sneaks down to the bar and orders up a bunch of her favorite foods: some lobster, some steak, a nice salad on the side, a bowl of ripe juicy strawberries dipped in dark chocolate. A bottle of wine and a bottle of sparkling water -- her choice, whatever she wants -- some fresh bread... and a very small plate of potechi.

Just for effect.

Pushing open the door quietly with his shoulder, he brings in the tray (complete with a stargazer lily in a vase). There's a smile on his face and fuck if he can or wants to wipe it away: these have been the best two years of his whole sorry life. Even with the separation; even with the bullshit in Cooksfield and the bullshit in Tharsis. He can't ever remember looking back over a period of time and feeling so complete. Junior's sleeping in Beth's arms; he sets the tray down on the bed right near her.

"Hey." His voice is a whisper; he doesn't want to disturb the baby. "I met you two years ago tonight, Beth. I think that's worth a little private party." He figures he can feed her or set Beth Junior into her swing for a little bit so they can actually eat together. Then, later, if little Beth's still sleeping, he can brush her hair and rub her back and her feet and tell her stories or read to her, or just hold her. "And I sure love the hell out of you, ma'am. You're the best damn woman I've ever had the pleasure of knowing."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Beth was right: she can kick ass, and he wonders if she played games like this a lot or at all back before the plague wiped out her planet. Not that it matters: she either did, or she's a hell of a quick study now. The game's not that hard: you can pick shit up, do a variety of kicks that look... fucking pathetic on the little screen. There's also a couple of jumps and punches, the best of which has to be the Flaming Punch, without question.

"I'd like one of those in real life... but not if it takes that long to charge up." He takes his eyes off the DragonNinja just long enough to glance at Beth, just long enough to see she's enjoying the hell out of this. An unspoken thank you goes out to Shipwreck, wherever the fuck he is, for the Christmas present a couple years ago. For all intents and purposes, he'd just about forgotten he had them.

Yeah, a lot of shit's happened in the past couple years. In her swing, Beth Junior stirs and makes a sleepy yawn, but doesn't quite wake up yet.

And that's a good thing: Striker wraps his nunchuks around Little Blue Ninja's shadowy form and takes him down for 300 points.

Go Striker.

Aside from beating the crap out of the ninjas -- which both Blade and Striker are pretty damn good at -- there's not a whole lot of point to the game, but each level has a boss and the first one's pretty easy to get past. The second one's some short little ninja with spiky nails and shit, Striker goes down for the count.

Not enough lives: he's not going to read any damn symbolism into that at all. Setting down the controller, he watches intently as Beth plays on. "Go, Bad Dude. You really are kicking ass."

He knew she could.

"Fuck. I should've let you get that Cola."

Managing to finish off the spiky-nail ninja even after Spike's out ("It's about goddamn time"), she continues to the sewer for the next level.

And the sewer sure is tougher without a second player helping out, and she's not incredibly surprised when things start looking really bad when Blade gets to a series of platforms where he's pretty much swarmed by ninjas.

Too many ninjas, not enough of those life-restoring soda cans.

Once Blade gets overwhelmed and their game's over, she sets her controller down, glances over at the sleeping baby again, and then moves closer to take up some of Spike's personal space and tilt her face up to his for a kiss.

"Love you."

Even if neither one of them is a bad enough dude to rescue the President.

Now that makes him all kinds of smug, and he thinks it's too bad he promised he wasn't going to try to seduce her. Either way, though, he adores her right to left and left to right. All habit, he reaches for her hand and wraps it around his tie which -- believe it or not -- he's too damn stubborn to sacrifice in the name of Beth Junior. So far she hasn't gummed it up or anything, but hell, she isn't even a week old. Maybe he'll change his tune when she gets beyond the murmuring, sleeping, and wiggling stage.

And just because he's not seducing Beth, that doesn't mean he can't dip down for a second kiss and then a third. It's that whole things-are-better-in-threes theory of his. It's not until the third kiss that baby Beth wakes up in earnest, fussing, the tiniest of cries escaping her barely-formed lungs.

Good thing he wasn't trying to seduce her. Instead, that little cry makes him smile in an oddly contented way; he tucks Beth's hair back behind her ear. "Looks like someone's hungry. You relax; I'll bring her over." It's kind of the least he can do; Beth's doing all the feeding, after all.

Turning off that swing, he cradles her daughter -- their daughter -- in those bounty hunter arms of his. "Hey, you little Bad Dude. Let's fly you on over to the most beautiful woman in the universe. Aren't we the two luckiest people here?" She's not old enough to argue; it only takes a moment to get baby Beth to her mom.

"Love you both."

Click.

(Perfect.)