Endless Summer post-canon / Aleister x Grace / 2k words / kidfic / fluff with a side of bittersweet
getting a head start on my 400k celebration with a request from @marmolady who wanted more Grace and Aleister!
Fair warning: it tipped heavily into Aleister-being-a-dad. The man does have a pristine three-year-old and a great deal of feelings about mud. And other terrifying things.
No frogs were harmed in the making of the fic.
Aleister had never quite known what to do with children, which was a very awkward predicament for a man who had produced one on his own.
“It’s going to be different when it’s yours,” Grace had said. Aleister had nodded and then quietly began reading every parenting guide he could lay his hands on. And, to her credit, Grace had been right: it was different. Through a rigorous combination of peer-reviewed childhood development journals and more trial-and-error than he’d liked to admit, Aleister had successfully forged a deep bond with his son. It helped immensely that, in matters of character at least, little Reginald was his carbon copy: observant, cautious, and far more interested in leafing through proper, grown-up nature encyclopedias than anything brightly coloured that made a noise.
It was the other three-year-old children that remained a separate and very terrifying species, both to him and Reginald alike.
His son’s hand was tight in his since the moment they stepped out of the car. Grace was already far ahead of them, exchanging hugs with Taylor like they always did, as if no years and no ocean had ever come between. And hearing the car, the McKenzie boy came pelting round the corner of the house, barefoot, more mud creature than a child, too fast even for his own father to follow.
The boys had met before, three or four times now, but at three years old, it amounted to no acquaintance at all. They had told Reginald on the aeroplane and over breakfast and once again in the car that he’d meet his friend. His cousin, as Grace insisted. By what had to be a terrible joke at Aleister’s expense, the two families were now united not just by bonds of friendship, but by marriage as well. It was just his luck. As if it weren’t enough that fate had seen fit to give both boys the very same birthday, it had to also grant him Jake McKenzie clapping his back with familiarity that made him shudder, and openly calling him his half-brother-in-law, as if such a position existed.
And so when Grace saw his flight schedule, she insisted on carving out a few days for a birthday playdate. They had told Reginald that they’d visit an aunt and uncle with a son exactly his age, and he had nodded each time they reminded him. But Aleister could tell that the name had landed on nothing his boy could actually remember, and the cousin who came with it was a stranger by any measure that counted.
“Hi!” Mikey said with a big grin on his tiny face, already opening his arms for a hug. He’d been promised a friend, so a friend he was determined to make.
Reginald took a step back, saying nothing, but both his fists curled into Aleister’s trousers. And for one moment, watching his son hang back, Aleister was not in Louisiana at all. He was seven, and it was his own birthday, and someone from the staff—surely not his father—had arranged for the appropriate children to attend. Except he found himself standing in a corner of a room while the guests all played together, and he was just a strange child talking to no one. Odd, that one, he had heard a mother whisper to another, as though he could not hear. Peculiar fellow, he’d heard at another gathering, years later.
His hand dropped to his son’s curls as he murmured something soothing and encouraging, but his stomach lurched with a pure, animal dread. Please. Don’t let that happen to him too.
Mikey remained undeterred, staying a good foot from them, hands still outstretched as he opened his mouth and unleashed a booming string of syllables of what had to be further greeting. The words spilled out of the boy all at once, the way water comes off a roof in a storm, faster than the gutters could take it, sounds collapsing into one another, and Aleister, used to Reginald’s slow and careful diction, looked to Jake and Taylor with a plea for subtitles.
“Woah. Easy there, buddy,” Jake laughed and dropped to his knees in the muddy yard. “Remember what Miss Sarah said?”
“Slow,” Mikey said with a solemn nod.
“That’s right.” Jake beamed at him and ruffled his hair. “He’s got more to say than mouth to say it with yet,” he explained, looking to Aleister. “Speech lady reckons he’ll catch up. Kid came out of the gate runnin’ and figured talkin’ could wait.”
Mikey patted his father’s shoulder in return and considered the situation. His arms dropped to his sides as it came to him that the hug was plainly not happening. His brow furrowed with the same intensity Aleister had seen in the boy’s mother, and then suddenly his whole face lit up like a Christmas tree when he arrived at what was evidently his finest offer.
“Wanna see my frogs?”
The fists in Aleister’s trousers loosened as Reginald tentatively peered from behind him.
“Frogs?” he repeated. “You have frogs?”
“Mm-hm!” Mikey beamed and offered his hand once again. “Inna back. Green ones. A whole family. C’mon. Gotta see ‘em.”
And frogs, as it turned out, was the magical word, because Reginald let go of Aleister so fast he swayed.
“I know all about frogs,” Reginald said, tentatively taking his newly acquired friend’s hand. “Daddy got me a book about animals. A big one. With photos. But I never saw a real one.”
Aleister knew the book. He had read it to him hundreds of times, sitting on the floor in the nursery with Reginald in his lap and the big glossy pages spread in front of them. Reginald’s little fingers traced the photos while Aleister supplied the species names in both English and Latin. It was their time, their own little country in the middle of a big house in an even bigger world, where for one hour no one else was invited and no one dared to interrupt.
The two boys set off, and Aleister followed them without thinking. The garden in the back was—he searched for the right word, and arrived, reluctantly, at honest. It made no pretence of being anything other than a place where a boisterous three-year-old could do as he liked, with plenty of shade from old trees and a good view of the bayou, all enclosed by a tall and sturdy fence that even Aleister had to admit was a sensible one.
Mikey walked over to the edge of the lawn where a broad and flat leaf hung over the mud. He did not touch it with his hands. This much, Aleister noted with cautious approval, the child seemed to understand. Instead, he picked up a stick and flopped onto his belly without a thought, gesturing at Reginald to do the same.
Good lord, Aleister thought, watching his son’s pristine trousers make contact with the damp Louisiana soil. It’s contagious.
Mikey lifted the edge of the leaf with a gentleness that was completely unexpected from a creature moving at the speed of light. Underneath there was indeed a huddle of frogs, three of them, in various sizes, glancing at the visitors with an utter and complete lack of interest. Both boys stared back at them, holding their breath, too scared to spook the tiny miracle.
“Baby frog,” Mikey whispered eventually, pointing with his chin at the smallest one. “He’s huggin’ his mama, an’ the big one’s the daddy.”
Reginald shook his head. “The big one must be the mummy. Lady frogs are bigger than boys.”
Mikey slowly turned to glance towards his parents. From the corner of his eye, Aleister caught Taylor standing on her tiptoes to prove that such height difference was not limited only to amphibians, and he had to mask his chuckle with a cough when the child turned back with a nod.
“—and they have sticky toes,” Reginald continued like a tiny professor delivering a lecture. “For climbing trees. They eat and sing at night because they are…” His whole face scrunched with the effort of remembering the word. “Noc—nock—nocturnal,” he finished.
“They’re soo loud,” Mikey agreed.
“And they breathe through their skin.”
Mikey only stared at him with his mouth open. “…whoa,” he managed finally, his eyes wide with awe.
Aleister couldn’t stop the swell of pride blooming in his chest. He’d been so worried his son would be the odd one just like himself; but there he was, citing nature facts no average three-year-old had any business knowing, and the very oddness he had braced himself to defend his son against turned out to be the thing the other child found most worth having.
Grace’s hand slid into his without a word and squeezed it lightly as their son kept going.
“Can I touch them?” Reginald said, barely breathing. “I won’t hurt them. My hands are wet, the book says frogs need to be wet.”
Mikey let out a deep and very disappointed sigh. “Mama says no touchin’,” he grumbled, exasperated at the injustice. “Only lookin’. Or the frogs get sick.”
Aleister, who was already calculating the average salmonella load carried by an American green tree frog, also let out a sigh, but his was one of profound relief. At least the child’s mother still retained a modicum of common sense, even if his worry would have been for his own offspring first.
“Tell you what,” Taylor said, crouching next to the boys with an agility that was commendable considering she was expecting another swamp creature come summer. “Why don’t we let the frogs rest for now, and you and Reggie can play a little bit before lunch?”
“And cake?”
“And cake.”
With another deep sigh, Mikey let the leaf drop just as carefully as he lifted it, and looked at Reginald with his brows knit together.
“They gonna need a better house,” he managed eventually. “Whatcha think?”
“You want to build a house for the frogs?” Taylor repeated in an obvious attempt at providing a translation for Reginald and everyone else present.
“Mhm!” Mikey nodded. “Biig one. With rooms for ev’one. An’ a bathroom,” he giggled.
“And a pond,” Reginald added quickly. “Frogs need to be wet.”
Mikey’s hand landed in the mud with a loud splat.
“Wet,” he said with a grin that looked like someone copied it off his father and pasted it on the miniature face.
Before Aleister could utter a word of protest, Reginald raised his own hand and let it fall into the mud alongside his cousin’s. And then again, and again, and again, his delighted laughter rising in proportion to Aleister’s horror.
“Don’t look so panicked, sugar.” Grace’s hand moved up to his forearm. “It’s perfectly age-appropriate kind of play. He needs to learn to socialize with kids his age before he starts nursery.”
Aleister only sighed. Grace was right, of course. When was she not? He only wished the socializing happened in some cleaner place, or inside the house at least.
“You can think of it as a physics experiment,” Taylor offered him another reasonable explanation like a lifeline. “The mud here is a prime example of a non-Newtonian fluid.”
“Wet,” Reginald announced with a grin matching Mikey’s and slapped the mud again.
Right. Wet. That, at least, the state seemed to have in abundance. He could feel a drop of wet roll down his back underneath the shirt that was supposed to be made from a very breathable fabric, suitable even for tropical climates. As his half-brother-in-law would put it without any decorum, and Aleister would not in a thousand years confess to agreeing with him, tropical climate my ass.
“Just think of all the sensory processing that’s happening right now,” Grace chimed in.
“I know,” Aleister murmured. He sent her the article himself.
“Good.” Grace smiled at him, then turned to their son. “Reggie, sweetheart, take off your shoes.”
Aleister looked to his wife, completely betrayed. “Grace, please. He is going to—”
“He is going to work on his proprioception. You know, the sense that affects your balance and reflexes?”
“I know what proprioception is, Grace, I am intimately familiar with the developmental literature, but he is—”
“Then sit down and stop fretting,” Grace said calmly, completely unbothered by the fact that their son and heir to their names slipped in the muck, burying the last chance of ever seeing the linen trousers white again.
Aleister tried anyway. Hope always dies last.
“Do you think the stains would wash out?”
Grace only patted his knee and declined to lie to him.
A/N: Here is my first venture back into regular endless summer content. Please let me know what you think! I've always interpretated Aleister as a bit of an anti-hero and I've also wanted to flesh out Grace's character more. This fic is all about exploring that and my own version of their dynamic. Don't worry, I have Jake x Lo on the way, but I hope you enjoy this one.
song reccomendation - half a man by dean lewis.
word count: 1437
taglist: @endlessly-searching-for-you (if you would like to be added, please let me know :)).
Summary: After siding with his father for the group’s safety, Aleister had changed more than he thought. Finally, he’d managed to escape with everyone, but his reunion with Grace was not as sweet as expected.
Upon Aleister’s return to the group, the chill of his father’s presence seemed to follow him, unlike anything he had known before. This was supposed to be the end, a cathartic ending to a relationship that had plagued him all his life. Finally, he’d found the light at the end of the tunnel.
Grace.
At last, a new beginning was just at his fingertips. However, even with the gain of freedom, he was still endlessly pondering the constant danger he was n. The group had been nothing but welcoming to him, despite what he had done. Perhaps this was just built-up guilt, that was only leaking out then because he never really had the chance to feel it.
Meanwhile, Grace could sense that there was something different about her love. Could he even still feel it? What exactly did his father do to him in that compound? What did he make him do?
The estranged couple had avoided the chance to discuss anything until that moment, since the group’s first priority was finding a hideout for the night. As the moon found its spotlight in the sky, Grace spotted Aleister gazing at the night with curiosity, holding a desire to wait until he was ready to open up to her. On an island where time has no bounds, a peaceful twilight was hard to come by, and Aleister had taken full advantage of it.
Even though he should be reuniting with his friends, Aleister had never felt more isolated from his former self and the people he knew. The icy atmosphere in the air was thick, as Grace observed him from a mossy, stone wall. Usually, an unsteady wave of anxiousness would wash over her in these moments, because she knew she was the only person Aleister would open up to. However, she felt motivated to understand the events of the compound and why it was so difficult for him to tell the truth about it. Drawing on that flicker of courage, she stepped onto the damp grass, the faint rustle alerting Aleister of her presence.
“Everyone misses you in there.” Grace muttered, only to be disappointed when his head does not turn at the sound of her voice.
For a while, there was nothing but silence, as Aleister processed her presence and how he should handle the conversation he’d long dreaded.
“There are too many questions, Grace.” He finally began, eyes still fixed on the shadows he swore were around him. “There are too many questions that I want to answer, but I cannot.”
Grace’s nerves were lowered by the fact he was finally comfortable enough to speak. With that newfound but fragile hope, she took a step forward, delicate enough to not create any fear. “You saved them. Now, they just want their friend back.”
Something in her words caused a shudder to run through Aleister - a frosty feeling that was far too familiar now. In an instant, he flipped around to look her in the eye.
“What if I’m not the same person I was? Would they still want me then?” His voice carried loss, as if he was grieving a part of himself. Grace knew his hardships well enough, but this was something she had never seen before. Displaying a sign of understanding, she carefully took another step in his direction, her eyebrows furrowing with worry. “I know I was stupid to believe my father could protect us. I know that I defied him. I just cannot help but feel like he’s still influencing me. I feel so different.”
The distance between them was impossible to ignore, as if a colossal iceberg was blocking Aleister’s will to embrace Grace the way he did before he betrayed the group. All she could feel was him slowly slipping away from her.
“It’s okay to change. This island makes it impossible not to.” Grace reassured, hoping that was enough to bring him back down to earth. To her dismay, it only seemed to drive him further away, as the viscous frown he once wore on a daily basis returned to his lips. Frustrated, his hands balled into fists.
“It’s more than that, Grace. I let my father lock you in a cage. I did despicable things that I can’t bring myself to share with you.” Aleister admitted. To him, it felt like creating his own personal prison was the only way to atone for his sins. Grace searched for his gaze, a looming desperation in his pale, blue eyes. “I thought I was protecting you.”
Upon hearing those words she’d grown sick and tired of, Grace sensed her own frustration building. “How many times do I have to tell you that I hate being put on a pedestal? None of us ever needed protecting, Aleister. We had each other!” She snapped, a shock of regret hitting her as soon as her vent ended. In response, Aleister’s eyes widened, not because he had not witnessed this side of his girlfriend before, but because of her words.
“I’m not a hero, Grace, but I was thinking about the safety of the group when I did that.” Aleister clarified, hanging his head in defeat. “Now, it’s something else. I feel vengeful and lost. I want my father to fucking suffer.”
With that, it was like Aleister was frozen inside the iceberg between them, completely isolated from the rest of the world. It was up to Grace to bring him warmth, once she made that choice. After a deep exhale, she closed the space between them, cupping his cold face with her hands. From a short distance, she could not just notice his pain, she could feel every single grain of it. That same desperation lurking in his gaze was reaching out for her, like a ghost begging from the Underworld.
“You never needed to be the hero. You needed to trust us. Trust me.” As she spoke, Aleister carefully contemplated every word, losing himself in her honesty. Of course he trusted her; that fact she doubted it felt like a stab to his heart. In his mind, everything he did was for her, but somehow it changed him. However, was it for better or worse? “I’ve done things I’m not proud of. I didn’t even have a good excuse, just spite. I’ve had unthinkable thoughts about my mother, because of the way she treated me. I understand what you’re feeling. You just have to let me listen.”
Her assertive tone ensured that her words struck Aleister deeply. In response, he softly connected his hand to the one she held his face with, rubbing circles over her skin. Its purpose was to display his affection for her, but more importantly, to show how he was listening to her, which pleased her more than he could ever know. For a few moments, they just remain there together in silence, their foreheads knocking in unison. As time passed, Aleister slowly began accepting the warmth she brought to him. Finally, he raised his head to stare into her eyes, making sure she knew he meant his next sentence.
“I’m so sorry for everything.” The pain returned to his face momentarily, as he directed his hand so he was stroking the chestnut curls in her hair. “I never blamed you for hating me.”
Bewildered, Grace laced her fingers around her love’s neck, trying to combat his incorrect words with physical affection. “I was angry… but I never hated you. I don’t think I have it in me.”
For the first time in a while, a smile crept upon Aleister’s expression, their trust finally fulfilled. “Of course you don’t. You’re the embodiment of the sun.” He said with certainty and as much love as he could muster. With that, their lips meet, a desperation connecting them deeper than they had ever been before. Grace shifts her hand placement to his white hair, making the most of their reunion after so long apart. It was as if elements were colliding, creating the perfect balance of ice and fire. After a few passionate moments, they part, locking eyes once more.
“I love you, Aleister. I’ll never stop, no matter how much you change.” Grace promised, giving her words a moment to cut him deep so he completely believed them. That smile he gained never disappeared.
“I love you more, Grace Hall. My father will suffer for causing you pain.”
Sometimes having a freaking bad memory is worth it. I'm replaying Endless Summer like it's the first time, thrilled with every new discover, cuz I can't remember shit. I'm also doing everything different. I chose to save Raj but let Grace be captured because she looks so cute with the new look. And it's just so funny to me, because it's basically:
Man I am so glad that Nolan got the girl of his dreams finally after what Nick got last season. Plus can we talk about Nick and Nolan’s in white shirts being so cute?
