Chapter Text
Michael is twenty-nine, and he thinks maybe this is what it’s all been for. Not that hardship and heartache are, like, necessary for finding happiness, or some shit like that. More like, he’s spent a lot of his life adrift.
First, he thought he needed to survive long enough to find his lost home in the stars. Then, he needed to take care of his sister. And after Halley, well. It’s all been for Her. But now, he thinks, maybe he can be done fighting. Maybe he did it. He fought and strived and survived and took care of his family.
Maybe he can be done, now. Maybe he can just… live.
Alex takes him and Halley on ice cream dates, and milkshake dates and petting zoo dates and picnic dates in the park. Halley takes it all in a stride. Once, when they’re all cuddled up on the couch watching a movie, and Michael’s falling asleep a little and Alex suggests that it might be time for bed, Halley sits up, and says accusingly “So you are a bird!”
Alex, forehead creased in confusion, replies “I… don’t know what that means”.
And Michael bursts out laughing, can’t help it. And Alex, with a helpless shrug, starts laughing too, and Halley looks affronted that they might be laughing at her, but he attacks her with tickles until they’re all shrieking with laughter, and he feels the happiness lifting him up up up until he can touch the stars.
Later, when Halley’s really asleep, and Isobel’s babysitting, Michael takes Alex out into the desert. Just to show him the sand and the sky, at first. They start driving out regularly, after a while. They don’t touch, really. Haven’t even kissed yet. Michael tells him The Bedtime Legend. Alex tells him that Flint was arrested for stealing classified files. Michael tells him about Noah and Rosa. Alex, quietly, not looking him in the eyes, tells him about his squad. Michael makes him turn around, sits back-to-back, and tells him about the priest. Tells him why this specific piece of the desert belongs to him at the price of blood and tears. They both cry a lot, on their so-called date nights. But it’s good. It’s freeing. Saying all the things he normally doesn’t even dare think about.
It's good. Going slow. Making room for one another. They’re not teenagers like they were the first time. And they’re not desperate and repressed like they were the last time. So they go slow. Go on dates. Take Halley to the park where Alex fumbles horribly with the notion of having to say no to a four-year-old whose affection he’s desperate for. He’s just standing there in front of the ice cream truck, looking so adorably conflicted that Michael can’t help but to kiss him. It’s soft and quick and like the most natural thing in the world. Halley doesn’t even stop whining about getting a popsicle. It’s perfect.
Alex turns to him, one night in bed, in the dark, and whispers that he doesn’t know what he’s doing, this whole fatherhood thing. That Manes Men have always been terrible fathers and how can he know, before it’s too late. Usually, Michael would just hold him and listen, but this particular silence feels like it requires words, not just touch.
“You don’t have to be a Manes, you know”.
Alex stills, and then turns all the way over in Michael’s arms. “What?”
Michael looks at his face, close and beautiful and achingly familiar in the moonlight.
“I know it’s probably weird, but I never used to consider you to be a Manes. I used to have this… this plan, these rules, about how I’m going to raise Halley, and point 5 was to not let any Manes near her. Obviously, I failed. But I never meant you, not ever”.
“Michael…” Alex says softly, entwining his fingers carefully in Michael’s bad hand, running his thumb over the scars. Michael hadn’t even noticed he was clutching it.
“And you see, this whole plan was really because I had absolutely no idea how to be a father, let alone a good one. Never had one myself, or if I did, a long time ago in a galaxy far far away, I don’t remember”. Michael huffs a short laugh, and brings their clasped hands up to press a quick kiss to Alex’s fingers.
“I don’t know were the orphanage got the name Guerin, but there are no other paternal histories connected to it, for me. The only “Guerin Father” is Halley’s dad, and he’s usually a pretty ok guy, I think”.
They both laugh at that, but then Michael’s expression turns serious. He squeezes Alex’s hand.
“So, if you don’t want to be a Manes Man, and you want to be Halley’s dad, you could just be… you know. A Guerin”.
Michael stops, and just looks at Alex as a smile slowly creeps across his face.
“Yeah?” Michael breathes.
“Yeah” Alex nods and leans forward to kiss him. “Yes, Guerin”.
Michael is thirty years old. He didn’t think he would get this far. Then he’s thirty-one and thirty-two. He’s going to be thirty-seven and forty-six and seventy-four and ninety-eight.
He can’t wait.