𝜗ৎ Soup and Someone to Stay
Pairing: girldad!Joel Miller x sick daughter OC (Maeve)
Synopsis: Winter befalls Jackson and so does flu season. Maeve is unfortunate enough to catch the crud and Joel makes it his full time job to nurse her back to health, every step of the way.
Warnings: Mentions of sickness (Influenza), vomiting, bodily fluids (snot, mucus), minor ptsd, profanity.
A/N: For context, Maeve is my character I created for my story Revival on Wattpad (go check it out if you feel so inclined :p) and I've decided to bring her to Tumblr simply because I cannot write with y/n as it just really really isn't my vibe. Anywho, Maeve is twelve years old and immune from cordyceps genetically which leads to other sensitivities such as common illnesses hitting her 10x harder. Note that Ellie does not exist in this one-shot!
Joel notices that something is off the second Maeve isn't downstairs at promptly 7:30am on a school day, her breakfast plate sitting idly untouched at the counter.
He knows down to his bones that Maeve is a creature of habit. She loves her routines, loves to know what she's doing and when. She has it down to a science.
Which is why his worry morphs into concern when he calls up the stairs for her and receives no response.
He's at the threshold of her door in an instant, moving quicker than any man of his age should be. He knocks twice before letting himself in and his shoulders sag in relief as he notices her familiar small form bundled up in her covers.
He always jokes about the way she sleeps like an eskimo with all the blankets drawn over her head, only leaving space for her face to peek out.
Maeve stirs when her bed dips as Joel takes a seat on the edge. He rouses her the same way he does every morning, gently running his index finger from the crease of her brow to the tip of her nose.
This morning though, Joel doesn't miss the way her forehead has a slight sheen to it and he presses the back of his hand to her clammy skin immediately.
Maeve's eyes flutter open and she can see the concern already etched in his features.
"Mornin'." She says, her voice still thick with sleep as Joel moves his hand to her cheek.
"You feelin' okay?" He asks gently.
Maeve takes a second to assess herself.
She feels a bit hot and maybe a bit achy? But other than that she feels fine and she softly takes his hand, temporarily stopping his fussing.
"I feel okay." She reassures and Joel still looks worried, "Why?" She asks.
"You feel a bit warm," He starts, "And it's 7:30--"
He doesn't get the last bit of that sentence out as Maeve's attention springs over to the clock on her nightstand, the bleating red numbers now reading 7:35.
"Shit!" She practically leaps from the bed and a wave of dizziness stronger than usual crashes over her, hard. Joel is at her side in an instant, one firm arm around her waist as he slowly leads her back to the edge of the bed.
Once the spots clear from her vision, she worms out of his hold. "I have to get ready for school. Why didn't you wake me?" Panic lacing her tone at the thought of having to walk into class late.
"Woah, hold you horses, kiddo." Joel says as he gently eases her back to sitting. His hand is firm, but gentle on her shoulder and she goes easily. "School might be off the docket today."
"Why? Because all of the sudden you have thermometer hands?" She huffs, crossing her arms over her chest in child-like defiance.
Maeve knows she's a rare, school-loving breed of pre-teen. Something Joel has told her multiple times isn't exactly the norm.
Regardless, she enjoys the classes and the people and learning in general.
And they were supposed to be doing some fun experiment with fire in biology today and she wasn't about to miss out on it because of Joel's unfounded worries.
"That and you almost just split a lip from getting up." Joel says, tucking some stray hairs back behind her ear.
She wills herself not to lean into the touch, staying strong against his old man witchcraft.
"I am okay. I promise." She says, lightly pushing his hand away. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have about five minutes before we need to get out the door."
"Aren't you repairing Ms. Alton's roof today?" She cuts him off and he gives her a look.
Ms. Alton was an older woman who lived alone a couple doors down from them.
"That's a pretty vital part of a home to need repairs in the middle of winter." She states matter-of-factly.
"I can have one of the other guys take my shift, baby--"
She refuses to fall victim to the pet names, another form of witchcraft, "Nope. You're going to work because you have a job to do and I'm going to school because I feel just fine."
Joel sighed and the look on his face was enough to signify her victory.
"Fine. But if you start feeling worse--"
"I ask the teacher to radio you or Tommy so I can go home." She repeats the sentiment from early on when school was still a touchy subject for her. "I got it."
Joel concedes, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead before leaving her to get ready.
On the walk to school, Joel had her repeat the sentiment two more times before letting her go into the building.
With how firmly he hugged her goodbye, she was half-worried he was going to throw her over his shoulder and take her back home-- prisoner style.
Anyway, her day was going great, up until it wasn't.
Whatever mystery illness had befallen her hit hard around lunch.
It started with a small tickle in the back of her throat that advanced into her having a full-on coughing fit in the middle of the mess hall lunch line.
Having to excuse herself with teary-eyes and her face half-buried in her elbow wasn't exactly a highlight.
She was able to compose herself in the bathroom, but now the small ache from earlier felt like it was starting to make its way into her bones.
Every inch of movement set her nerves on fire and she had to grit her teeth when putting on her winter coat almost had her moaning in pain.
After lunch, things didn't get much better. The cough was only getting worse, her nose had began to run, and her head was absolutely killing her.
She thought for a split second about calling Joel, but decided against it almost as soon as the idea came because she didn't want to bother him.
He didn't need a sick kid to worry about on top of all the other stuff he was dealing with.
Surely, she could finish the school day. One more period and then she was done.
Maeve isn't actually sure how she got back to their house.
All she knows is that she is most definitely not fine anymore.
When she gets home, it's quiet, meaning Joel is still at work and she has time to try to make herself feel better before he returns.
She shucks her jacket the moment she gets in the door, throwing it to the side with haste, not bothering to hang it up.
Next are her boots, being quickly discarded in the middle of their foyer even though she knows Joel will have something to say to her about it, being the neat freak that he is.
In this exact moment though, she doesn't really care because her stomach is doing the flippy feeling it always does right before she throws up.
By the time she makes it to her bathroom upstairs, saliva is flooding her mouth and she knows there is nothing she can do to stop what is inevitably coming next.
With one hand white-knuckling the toilet seat and the other trying to keep the hair out of her face, she rides out the first wave of nausea-- where dry heaving eventually turns into full force vomiting--the contents of her stomach coming up in one nasty mix.
She doesn't know how long it is until she's done.
Her throat is stinging and raw, her head feels like it might implode, and she feels so incredibly, unbearably hot.
She strips off her over shirt that is now soaked with sweat, leaving her in just a tank top. The bite scar on her collarbone on full display.
She haphazardly wipes at her mouth before flushing the toilet and it hits her all at once.
She genuinely doesn't think she's ever felt shittier in her life.
And that is seriously saying something.
She lays down on the bathroom floor, finding solace in the cold tiles, and before she has a fighting chance to stop it, the fatigue drags her under and she's out cold.
Joel arrives home a little after five, announcing himself as he does every other day.
Usually what follows is the sound of socked-feet padding down the steps to come and talk his ear off about her day.
But right now, the house remains eerily quiet.
Joel clicks the lock shut on their door, turning around to see Maeve's boots and jacket on the floor, making it look like she was in some type of hurry.
His hand is on the gun holstered at his hip immediately because no matter how much Tommy teases him about being some paranoid old man and reminding him constantly that Jackson is a safe place--old habits die hard.
He makes his way up to her room, convincing himself that she just has her headphones on listening to her walkman that he found on a recent patrol.
Yet, Maeve isn't in her room and his heart is already beating in the same thready pace that tells him he's about three seconds away from a panic attack.
"Maeve?" He calls a bit louder now as he clears his room, still no sign of her.
He turns to her bathroom last, noticing the crack of the door and he flings it open.
The sight physically knocks the breath out of him.
Maeve is curled in on herself on the floor and for a split second the same terror and dread that he felt over twenty something years ago with a different twelve year old hits him like a punch to the gut.
He's at her side immediately, and it isn't until he has two fingers on the pulse point under her chin that he can breathe again.
Once the ringing in his ears dies down, he can also hear the chattering of her teeth.
"Baby? Baby, I need you to wake up for me." He asks, scooping her in his arms as she stirs.
He notices the sweat that slicks her skin and has soaked through the tank top she's in and he presses another immediate hand to her head.
It's about ten times hotter than it was this morning.
"Joel?" Maeve croaks out as her eyes peel open.
It takes her a minute to register where the hell she is and what the hell just happened before the ache in her bones and the sting of her throat remind her of the exact reason she's on the floor of her bathroom.
"Yeah, baby. I'm right here." Joel eases her upright and Maeve notices the crack in his voice and the concern in his furrowed brow.
If she had to guess, finding her passed out on the bathroom floor probably had a part to play in that.
"You remember what happened?" Joel asks, serious now as he cards his hands through her hair attempting to find any bump or injury.
God, she feels sick again at the way she has him so worked up. Feeling more and more like a burden that he doesn't need.
"Yeah, I was just--" Is all she gets out before a violent set of coughs wrack her body and he holds her tighter, rubbing her back soothingly.
"Just taking a little nap." She lies once the coughing subsides.
"On the bathroom floor?" Joel asks, giving her a look.
Maeve was good at a lot of things, but lying just wasn't one of them.
"Yeah?" She shrugs and tries to send him a smile knowing he doesn't believe her for a second. It was worth a shot.
Joel sighs and the same pang of guilt settles through her stomach.
Burden. That's all you are.
"I feel fine," She starts.
"Maeve. You look and feel about the farthest thing from fine." His eyes are still running over her and she feels herself shrink under his concerned glare.
And before she has the chance to dispute his point, another wave of nausea crashes over her and sends her straight back to the toilet.
"Easy, baby." Joel reassures softly as he grabs her hair and pulls it back with one of the hair ties that he keeps on his wrist 24/7. He rubs soft circles on her back, "I've gotcha."
He mumbles a couple other sweet nothings, but Maeve is too focused on the sting of stomach bile that is currently exiting her stomach to register any of it.
Once the wave passes, she leans back against Joel's broad chest, panting and achy.
"That all of it?" He asks gently, swiping the hair back from where it was plastered on her forehead.
Joel took it from there, gently wetting a rag as he cleaned up Maeve's face.
"I'm sorry." Maeve rasped, feeling like the most pathetic burden of all time.
If there was a competition for biggest inconvenience she would definitely be winning first place.
"Ain't nothin' to be sorry about, baby." Joel reassured as soft as ever. He pressed a kiss to her temple and in one swift movement she was up in his arms, her weight practically nothing to him.
Maeve leaned into him, letting his reassurances quell her anxiety for now.
Once downstairs, Joel set her gently on the couch.
As he grabbed the thermometer from the house-warming kit Maria had given them when they first returned to Jackson, he had to remind himself to take a deep breath, remembering that her immunity was making this cold seem worse than it was and that she would ultimately be okay.
Upon returning to Maeve, she had bundled herself under just about every throw blanket that was in reach, her teeth chattering once again despite the sheen of sweat that was now ever-present on her forehead.
He took a seat by her side, gently tapping her chin, "Open up for me."
Maeve eyed the small, pointy-looking thing in his hand with mistrust. Joel was quick to explain.
"It's just a thermometer. Gotta take your temp."
Reluctantly, she obeyed as Joel stuck the end of it right under tongue.
The 102º that blinked at the other end did little to ease his worries. He took a pen from the coffee table and wrote the number down on his wrist, marking the time next to it.
Maeve knew what was coming by the way Joel sighed before he even said it.
"I think we should get you checked out at the clinic." He said at the same time Maeve whined, "No no no no."
Maeve loathed the clinic.
The combination of foreign hands touching her and feeling trapped with no escape was enough to deter her from ever stepping foot in there willingly.
Hell, when she had broken her arm earlier in the summer, it had taken her a whole two days and her arm swelling to the size of a small tree trunk before fessing up to Joel.
"I know, but I think it might do you a world of good to get checked over by a doctor." He reasoned, stroking her head softly.
She grabbed his hand in her own. "Please please please no clinic." She begged. Joel sighed.
"If it gets any worse, I'll go. I promise." She said, knowing it was the only angle of an argument she had at this point because she knew she looked bad.
After a moment of internal deliberation, Joel nodded reluctantly.
Maeve could still sense his apprehension and she held out her pinky to show she was serious.
With a firm shake of their interlocked fingers, Maeve just silently hoped she wouldn't eat her words.
No trip to the clinic meant Maeve had to settle for taking pain medication--another thing she really wasn't fond of.
Feeling loopy and vulnerable with no way of snapping out of it quickly wasn't her idea of fun.
"It's just to try and get your fever down, kiddo."
The two of them were snuggled up on the couch together, Maeve pressed perfectly into his large side, her head on his shoulder. She was changed into one of Joel's shirts that reached down to her knees.
They had just returned from the kitchen where Joel had gotten two pieces of toast and half a banana into her.
(A dinner that was much less than he usually required of her, but something simple enough to help try and settle her stomach).
She was already peeved that Joel had convinced her to shuck off a blanket or two at the way she was burning up despite her protests of feeling cold.
With another ounce of Joel convincing her that she was safe, Maeve took the pills with a roll of her eyes.
"I know, I'm the worst." Joel teased, pressing a kiss to her head in thanks before clicking play on the movie that Maeve had picked--The Truman Show.
It was their third rewatch of the film because Maeve was absolutely obsessed with the plot and seeing her happy made him happy so he couldn't complain.
About thirty minutes into the film, Joel could see the way Maeve's eyes had gone bleary and her weight pressed deeper into his side as the pills took effect.
Maeve could feel the familiar fuzz of the medication crowding her mind, but it did take a bit of the achy-ness away so she wasn't complaining.
(Truman also just saw the backstage area when he was going in for work, his perfect world starting to fall apart--one of her favorite scenes).
However, as hard as she was willing herself to pay attention to the screen, she could feel her eyelids getting heavier with each blink.
After one blink lasted longer than she would've liked, Joel spoke up, "You ain't fallin' asleep on me now?"
It was the childlike defiance inside her that made her reply, "Of course not."
Joel wasn't convinced with the yawn that followed her subtly slurred words.
"Mm serious." Maeve argued.
"Whatever you say." Joel finished, bringing up his hand from her side to play with the hair just above her ear.
Unbeknownst to her, Joel knew it was a surefire way to get her to sleep as he felt her relax further against his side.
He smiled smugly to himself.
Witchcraft. Pure witchcraft. Maeve thought as she felt herself slip closer to sleep.
Joel watched as her half-lidded eyes fell to fully closed, his hand still combing through her hair.
He waited an extra five minutes to make sure she was really out before clicking off the TV.
He maneuvered Maeve easily into his arms, her form completely pliant as he held her.
"Jo...?" She stirred softly.
"Shhh." Joel eased, "Just me, baby."
She heeded his words half-asleep and settled further against his chest.
He carried her up the stairs to his room, wanting to keep a close eye on her condition throughout the night.
He set her gently in his bed, checking her temperature one last time for the night--holding strong at 102º--before crawling in next to her.
Maeve went easily as Joel tucked her close, her chest to his back.
"Sleep easy, baby." He whispered before letting himself follow her into unconsciousness.
It had been a rough night.
Maeve had gotten up around 2am to throw up again, but Joel was well prepared with a bowl already equipped at the bedside.
And if it wasn't throwing up, it was Maeve having a coughing fit or being too cold and then too hot.
It took every bone in Joel's body not to force her to the clinic to get looked over, but her temperature remained the same--not dropping, but not going up either.
It was with every teary gag that pulled from her shaking body where Joel remembered just how worrying a sick kid was.
(But he wasn't one to break pinky promises).
(Especially not when he knew it was Maeve's ultimate form of trust).
So he did his part: keeping up soft reassurances through every wave of nausea, braiding her hair back to keep it out of her face, rubbing soothing circles on her back as her coughing fits passed, and offering water once they were done.
In total, they both got about five hours of sleep before the morning sun started creeping in through his window.
Joel had gotten another round of meds into her after her last nausea spell, so she was out cold beside him.
He realized he wasn't falling back asleep anytime soon as he moved them both downstairs, getting started on some breakfast.
Tommy came over somewhere in the midst of Joel flipping pancakes, taking a seat at their counter.
"There a reason you been witholdin' my niece from me?" Tommy questioned as Joel took a long sip of coffee, not even flinching at the name used in reference to Maeve.
It had been a recent development, Joel calling Maeve his daughter, making Tommy confident enough to call her his niece.
He had known that that's what she had become to him the moment he had her in his arms after Silver Lake and the only reason he hadn't started using the noun sooner was because he didn't want to make Maeve any type of uncomfortable.
"Down with the crud." Joel explains, nodding towards the couch where Maeve was bundled up, her chest rising and falling rhythmically as she slept.
"Poor thing." Tommy sympathized before stealing a pancake from the plate Joel was putting them on, earning him a sharp thwack on the shoulder.
"These ain't for you." Joel said, pushing the plate further away from him. Tommy gave him a smile full of pancake in return.
"Anywho, been hearing more and more people getting sick. The flu is hittin' hard this season."
A soft moan from the couch has both their heads turned at once.
"Joel?" Maeve croaks, kicking the blankets off as a new heat wave welled up in her.
Quickly asking Tommy to watch the stove, he was at her side in an instant.
"I'm here." He said, helping her sit upright, putting extra support behind her head at the way it lolled due to the medicine. "How we feelin'?"
You old paternal bastard. Tommy thought with a fond shake of his head as he watched his older brother tend to Maeve with a care that he was convinced Joel had been born with.
Being a father ran in his blood. Came to him as easy as breathing.
Maeve rubbed at her eyes, making her look indisputably young. "Not... good." She slurred before she broke into a small coughing fit.
Joel eased her through it, offering her a glass of water once she was done.
He had her open her mouth to take her temp once again, writing down the 101º that blinked back at him.
He was really starting to debate taking her to the clinic whether she liked it or not, figuring she wouldn't put up much of a fight now half-high on drugs.
But he knew that would inevitably lead to her never taking any type of pain medication for the rest of her life and resenting him for the rest of his, so he held his peace.
"You up for some breakfast?"
That's when Maeve caught sight of Tommy at the stove and despite knowing that Tommy was a man she could trust, she still felt herself tense.
Thank you, David. Maeve thought annoyingly as Joel rubbed at her shoulder, subconsciously making her relax.
He sent her a small wave partnered with--what Joel called--his poster child smile.
"Better get over there, or he might just eat all the goods." Joel joked as he helped her over to the counter where Tommy was indeed stealing another pancake.
"It's the work fee." He mumbled with a mouth full of pancake as Joel hip-checked him away from the stove.
Back in control, he flipped a fresh one onto a clean plate for Maeve before sliding it over her way.
She made a futile attempt at grabby hands, making Joel send her a raised brow.
"Sssssyrup." She explained, her head lolling forward before she caught it with a hand under her chin.
"How could you forget the syrup?" Tommy shook his head, siding with a hilariously high Maeve just to piss Joel off.
"Right?" Maeve replied and they elbow-bumped in agreement.
Joel obliged because of course he did, sending a glare in Tommy's direction.
Tommy brushed him off, "So I hear you've got a case of the crud?" He said as he turned to Maeve who was currently trying to level a forkful of pancake to her mouth.
"The crud?" She asked, clearly confused and both Miller brothers had to suppress a laugh.
"It's what you get when you're sick. It's the crud." Tommy tried to explain, but his attempts were futile as Maeve's confusion didn't waver.
"Is that some weird Texan bullshit?" She said with a soft slur to her words.
"Language." Joel reprimanded with absolutely no heat.
Tommy laughed, "Yeah, it is some weird Texan bullshit."
"Language." Joel warned again to Tommy this time before helping Maeve get the food into her mouth after another failed attempt.
The rest of breakfast was filled with profanity-laced banter that had Tommy almost keeling over from laughter while Joel had to keep swatting at him to knock it off.
It was something he had missed--pissing his brother off through means of his child.
Eventually, Tommy had to go and do head-of-the-council stuff and got ready to leave.
"You feel better, darlin'." He said to Maeve who was currently trying to wipe off the sticky mess of residual syrup on her face. "Martha from the mess hall misses you."
"I feel just peachy keen." She replied, imposing another phrase of Texan bullshit he'd just taught her.
"If you feel anythin' like you look, I'd have to say you're lyin'." He teased, ruffling her hair as he made his way to their door.
"I'll cough on you." Maeve warned, giving up on trying to get rid of all the mess and leaving Joel to the task.
"Chemical warfare is a crime, little miss." Tommy said as he walked out the door, sending a small nod to his brother before taking his leave.
The sun had set when Joel announced he was making soup.
Maeve had only ever had the tomato soup that was served with grilled cheese in the mess hall and Joel was quick to inform her that this wasn't that.
It was supposedly his family's secret recipe, chicken noodle soup.
It meant something that was passed down for generations or however Joel had explained it.
Tommy had dropped by earlier with the ingredients and the tantilizing smell of sautéd onions that filled the kitchen had Maeve's mouth watering.
The medicine had worn off at this point and while she was still feeling achy and her nose was still running uncontrollably, she hadn't thrown up yet today.
And now that she had less time to focus on keeping food in her stomach, it meant that she had more time to think about how guilty she felt in making Joel take care of her.
After an hour of Maeve's silent contemplation while Joel floated about the kitchen, coming over once to take her temperature--dinner was served.
They sat at the table and Joel presented her with a bowl of some delicious smelling soup, steam still rolling in droves off the top.
"Might need to wait just a second for it to cool." He said, dropping a couple ice cubes into her bowl.
Maeve nodded, her head still spinning with remorse. She figured the best way to go about making it up to him would be apologizing, so she built up the courage to tell him sorry as soon as she tasted the soup.
She brought a spoonful of it to her lips, blowing on it a couple times as she'd seen Joel do, before slurping it down.
It was warm and perfect and so so delicious.
Maeve said a silent thanks above to whichever grandma Joel had said started the recipe.
And whether it was the fever, the shame of making Joel take care of a sick kid who wasn't even his own, or just the incredibly nice gesture of him making soup for her when he didn't have to--she didn't know, but she started to tear up.
Joel was trying to gauge her reaction, and his interest turned to worry as he saw the wetness pooling on her waterline.
"Baby, what's wrong?" He asks, thinking he's messed something up with the soup.
What she says next really throws him for a loop.
"I'm sorry." She cries out and Joel has her in his arms before she can get out another sob. Her tears and snot soaking his shirt instantly.
Okay, he's really missing something here.
"For what, kiddo?" He asks, stroking the back of her head soothingly.
"For being sick." She all but blubbers out, pushing her face further into his shoulder.
So it isn't the soup. Joel thinks, partly relieved.
"Oh, babygirl." Joel coos, holding Maeve up before tapping on her chin gently. "Look at me."
Maeve obeys, her face flushed and splotchy-red. He rubs the pad of his thumb over the tear tracks on her face.
"You feel guilty because you're sick?" He asked, just trying to fully understand how she was feeling.
It was moments like these where he needed exact clarification because there were certain things FEDRA had instilled in his sweet girl that he was still working to undo and he assumes this might be one of those instances.
"And you had to take off work, and you-you made soup, and I'm not even your ki--"
"Maeve." Joel cut her off with her name, getting her attention back on him.
It was another thing he knew she dealt with--insecurity about feeling like she was a placeholder no matter how much Joel tried to reassure her that her place was her own.
"You are not a burden." He started, and he could see an ounce of the worry dissipate from her face.
"People get sick all the time. It's no big deal." He continues, placing a gentle hand under her chin when she attempts to look back down.
"Sick or healthy, dirty or clean, you are mine." He pauses, putting emphasis on his next words. "My daughter."
"It is a privilege to get to take care of you and even if you were vomiting and coughing and too hot but then too cold on a daily basis, it wouldn't change a thing."
Maeve almost has to pinch herself, the words feel so surreal.
The idea that someone could care about her that much seemed like a distant dream--something you yearn for but never actually receive.
"I take care of you not because I have to, but because I want to." He looks her straight in the eye, thumb gently stroking the apple of her cheek.
Maeve breaks and sobs softly into Joel's chest once again. Her small arms wrapping around as much of him as she can.
Joel plants a soft kiss on the crown of her head.
"I love you too." She almost whispers, but Joel catches it.
And if his eyes are a bit glassy at the sentiment, well, it's not like anyone else is there to see it.
Once Maeve calms, they return to their soup.
"it's really good by the way." Maeve says, slurping even louder although Joel just informed her that that's not exactly proper manners.
But from the way he shakes his head smiling, she knows he's the farthest things from mad at her.
After another spoonful, she asks, "So, like, what's really in it?"
"If I told you, it wouldn't be a secret."
Maeve looked at him deadpan, "Seriously, dude."
But Joel just smirked smugly, putting a finger to his lips prompting a dramatic eye roll from her.
Witchcraft is what she chalked it up to.
Joel came from a family of witches.
And she was okay with that because it was now her family too.
First one-shot complete!!
I honestly just love writing mushy Joel. Like yes king! Care for your sick child! Pop off!
Also Tommy and Maeve are an absolute power duo and you can't tell me otherwise.
Okay, that's all from me now, if anyone has any requests or constructive critiques, I am all ears!!
