Archive of Our Own ^beta

Ted is seven years old when he understands that his gender is governed by rules. His father comes home one night, ranting about those queers and telling Ted sternly that he expects him to grow into a proper man.

Ted doesn't know why these things preclude each other, but he nods and promises to become a man. What else could he even become, he wonders? He had always taken it for a fact that he would one day be a man, everybody had told him so, and now suddenly he is faced with the harsh reality that this is apparently something he can fail at. He doesn't have the courage to ask his father what exactly he must do to become a proper man. There are rules, but what they are nobody seems to be willing to tell him, and secretly, Ted is terrified of breaking them.

**

Ted is eleven years old when he sees a boy being beaten up at school for being a fucking faggot. Bill is standing next to Ted in the hallway, and they both seem to be frozen. Being unable to help feels horrible, like a dark pit in Ted's stomach, but the boys who are doing the beating are in the eighth grade and a lot bigger than two scrawny eleven-year-olds. Ted isn't even sure what a faggot is, he just knows it must be something bad and disgusting; his father thinks so, anyway. Bill takes him by the hand to lead him away from this, and Ted can feel the trembling in his fingers.

And this is when the older boys spot them.

"Oh look, two tiny baby faggots! Want to help your friend?"

The boys laugh and Bill lets go of Ted's hand as though he's been burned. Ted understands: touching another boy is bad. Disgusting. Forbidden.

Later, he tells himself he didn't even like the feeling of Bill touching him, he didn't want to hold his hand. The more he repeats it, the more he believes it.

**

Ted is thirteen years old when he thinks of kissing Bill. Being thirteen isn't exactly easy to begin with: he is horny all the time, curious about what it would be like to be touched by a girl and yet utterly terrified by the mere thought of going near one, constantly afraid that his father is going to find out that he touches himself at night. Usually, his fantasies are vague ideas of being held, of being caressed by nameless, faceless girls, but one time, he thinks of kissing Bill. The idea is crystal-clear in his mind, and in his fantasy, Bill is smiling and pulling him closer and Ted hits his own thigh with his fist, very hard, to make himself stop being a faggot. He's learned what it means by now.

Ted tells himself this was just a fluke—he was tired and Bill's face just happens to be the face he knows best, so his brain made do with what was at hand. He's not a faggot. Not at all. Every time he catches himself thinking of that forbidden and disgusting thing again, he punches himself.

**

Ted is fifteen years old when he finds out about gay sex. He and Bill stole some magazines—well, borrowed, they fully intend to sneak them back—to look at pictures of naked girls, but that's not all they find. One of the magazines is about naked guys. They're both cackling and daring each other to look, and call every picture gross and disgusting.

There is a part inside of Ted that is intrigued by these men, though, by the way their bodies are depicted: as something to be desired. He wishes he could hit himself but Bill is right next to him and he can't, and so he makes sure to be especially vocal about how vile all of this is.

He punishes himself later, though. A lot. The next day in the locker room, Bill asks why there are bruises on his thighs, and Ted tells him he doesn't know, his skin just bruises easily. He's pretty sure Bill knows he's lying, but Bill never openly questions his answer.

**

Ted is seventeen years old when he falls in love with a girl. A princess, as improbable as that is. More than anything, Ted feels relief: he's normal, thank God, he isn't a fag, he's in love with a girl. It's unlike anything he's ever felt, very different from his feelings concerning Bill: there are butterflies in his stomach and he wants to hold her hand all the time and kiss her and take her into his arms and make her feel safe. He finds he doesn't mind that she is most chaste: she's a princess after all, it is to be expected. And the way their relationship progresses suits him just fine.

He feels great showing her all the wonderful aspects of modern life: finally, here's somebody who doesn't look down on him for being the way he is, who thinks what he has to say has merit. The only other person who's ever treated him like this is Bill.

They hang out a lot, the four of them, practicing their instruments in the garage, going to the mall together, trying to land gigs. It's a lot of fun, but different than it used to be, when it had just been Bill and Ted. Ted doesn't usually mind, except sometimes, when he sees Bill and Joanna together, grinning at some private joke, kissing each other, holding hands. In these moments, there is a feeling inside him he can't quite put into words, like a hot iron to his soul, burning him from within. In these moments, he wants to grab Bill and pull him away from Jo, wants to have him all to himself. Ted pushes this feeling deep down inside him every time, hoping it will go away at some point if he just ignores it hard enough.

**

Ted is twenty-two when he realizes he can't live without Bill. When they're lying in the middle of the desert, their bodies very dead, Ted experiences for the first time the fear of losing Bill, understands it as a possibility. Somehow, the thought had never crossed his mind. They belong together, that's just a fact of life to Ted, like the fact that the sky is blue. It's not something that can be changed.

Dying, that somehow pulls into focus the harsh reality that fate might not be of the same opinion. Even weeks later, the thought is just as horrible and just as scary as it was in the emptiness of the desert. This time, they were lucky, they died together—and came back together. But what if, next time, it's only Bill? Ted isn't at his side all the time, what if something were to happen to Bill without Ted present?

Ted can't imagine life without him. Doesn't want to imagine life without him, wishes he could pull the very notion from his mind and forget it altogether. He doesn't know what he would ever do without Bill.

**

Ted is twenty-two when he marries Elizabeth. They went back to the seventies in order to learn to play their instruments before their first big concert, and the marriage ceremony takes place out in a field, surrounded by hippies who all cheer at their vows. It's a lot like their proposal: Bill and Ted speak at the same time, their vows to their brides identical almost word-for-word. But this time, Bess and Jo are prepared for this, and they recite their vows at the same time as well. Ted is pretty sure they rehearsed them together, and he's so happy he's crying, this is the perfect wedding: he's standing next to Bill, and Bess is facing him, holding his hands, just like Jo is holding Bill's. It doesn't feel like two marriages, it feels like one marriage for the four of them. It feels right.

**

Ted is twenty-two when he has sex for the first time. It's awkward and weird and at times extremely funny, and Ted really doesn't know how he would have survived this ordeal if not for Elizabeth, who laughs easily and is just as clumsy and fumbling as him. It takes them a few tries to really get the hang of it, and then they basically live in their hut for two whole weeks, not doing much else besides having sex. This is the longest Ted has ever gone without spending time with Bill ever since they became friends. They see each other sometimes, sure, they still have to eat after all, and the hippie commune isn't exactly big. And when they see each other they high-five and air-guitar and grin and don't do much talking, not like they used to do, anyway; and Ted staunchly ignores his own burning desire to pull Bill into his bed for once, instead of his wife. No, not instead of: in addition to.

Ted is terrified of this urge and his solution is to go back to Bess, to make her come again and again, secretly hoping to make up for the fact that she isn't the only one he desires.

**

Ted is twenty-two when he sees a gay couple openly loving each other. The four of them are living in that same commune, still, and slowly but surely getting the hang of their instruments, too, when one of the guys introduces them to his new boyfriend. They're holding hands and kissing and nobody minds, nobody calls them fags. Ted wants to, for a vicious moment, wants to sour their happiness because they have something that he wants and that he can't have, and Ted hates himself for almost opening his mouth, for almost ruining their joy. That's the polar opposite of being excellent to each other. Ted didn't know he was even capable of such a thing, and the fact that he could be makes him feel sick. Makes him want to do everything he can to not be that person.

That evening, he cries in Bess's arms, and he doesn't know how to tell her what's wrong, doesn't know where to even begin.

**

Ted isn't sure how old he is when he learns he's going to be a father. They stopped counting the days at some point, because keeping a record is tedious and ultimately pointless, and Ted is pretty sure that if he'd been in a linear timeline, it might have been his 23rd birthday already. But they're not in a linear timeline, so it really doesn't matter—they'll start counting again once they get back to their own present.

He kisses Bess and hugs her and can't help thinking about his own father: he's going to do everything he can to become the exact opposite of him.

**

Ted is probably twenty-three when he becomes a father. Being a parent is, most of all, stressful. They're very lucky they're four people taking care of two babies: this way, at least every one of them can get some sleep from time to time. Jo, practical as she is, establishes a system for who is in charge of childcare at any particular time, and soon, her and Bess get into the habit of taking turns looking after both boys at night, so that one mother can get a full night's sleep while the other wakes up several times to nurse one or both of the babies, depending on who's hungry.

Ted learns a lot in a very short amount of time, and he's a little surprised he's capable of this: his school teachers never gave him the feeling that he might be good at learning.

But crucially, he wants to take care of his children the best way he can, more than he's ever wanted to learn anything at school (and it's impossible not to think of them this way: they're his children and Bill's children and Bess's children and Jo's children). He learns to hold them, to calm them, to talk to them, to sing to them, to play with them, to change diapers and to clean up messes, to wash them, to clothe them, to be a father.

And when Bill tells him, "Dude, your fatherly skills truly are most excellent," Ted feels so proud that his chest seems to glow with happiness.

**

Ted is officially twenty-two when the six of them move into a house together in their present timeline. The Wyld Stallyns are selling albums and filling stadiums and money isn't an issue. Bill, Ted and Elizabeth are all very happy to leave the book-keeping to Joanna, who has both the education and the knack for this sort of thing. Of course, she and Elizabeth were instructed in the art of managing entire castle households, so taking care of their band's and their family's finances seems trivial in comparison. Then again, they didn't have tax forms in the fifteenth century, so Joanna still feels reasonably challenged. She likes doing this, though, which the three others all find equally baffling.

Nobody ever questions the fact that the six of them are one family, that Joanna manages all their finances, that they all take care of the house together, that their work and their home life tend to mingle in fun and interesting (and sometimes exhausting) ways.

**

Ted is twenty-four when he stands his ground with his own father. Bess and Ted are visiting him with little Bill and little Ted, so that Bill and Jo can have a quiet evening all to themselves—the four of them know painfully well how rare those opportunities have become. For some reason, Ted's father didn't expect them to bring two toddlers, and Ted can't understand this. They're his children, why shouldn't he bring them? Does his father really hate Bill so much that he wants to ban one of their children from his house, just because his biological father happens to be Bill?

And this, this is when Ted shouts at his father for the first time in his life. Because this isn't just about Bill—he's used to his father hating Bill. No, this is about his children. His sons, who Ted loves and cherishes equally, who are part of his family, part of him. Bess's hand is between his shoulders, a quiet but invaluable support, and suddenly, Ted pities his father. For being such a narrow-minded man. For being unable to accept people who are different from him. For not being able to love his own son the way he is.

After the fight, Bess and Ted take their children and leave the house without staying for dinner, and Ted's whole body is shaking. He feels both horribly guilty and strangely free.

**

Ted is twenty-four when he decides to accept himself the way he is. Ultimately, this is his father's doing: in Ted's quest to become his father's polar opposite, it seems the next logical step.

It's a step that presents some challenges, though. Ted knows full well that there are feelings inside him that could make all of their lives more complicated. He doesn't think being honest about them would be enough to break up their family, but inwardly, he's still terrified of this possibility. If he were to lose Bill, or Bess, or one of his sons... Ted has nightmares about this, can hardly sleep some nights.

Two weeks after Ted's fight with his father, he decides to tell Elizabeth—rationally, he is sure that she will love him no matter what, but he's still trembling when he says he needs to tell her something. The boys are sleeping, Bill and Jo have gone to bed. The house is very quiet.

"Sure, Ted. What is it?"

Ted's mouth is dry, suddenly. Fag, a tiny voice inside his mind mocks him, fucking fag.

"I—uh. There's something... I don't know."

Bess takes his hands.

"You're shaking," she observes quietly, her eyes very kind. "Did something happen?"

Ted shakes his head mechanically.

"No, no. It's me, Bess, it's me, I'm—"

He can't go on. Elizabeth pulls him close, embraces him tightly, and Ted presses his face into her shoulder, trying not to cry. Maybe he shouldn't tell her. Maybe it would be better for all of them if he just kept hiding this part of himself.

"Shh," Bess whispers, "it's alright, I'm here."

"I'm afraid," Ted admits, shivering in her arms. "I don't want to lose you."

When he says you, he means the whole family. But especially her. And most of all, Bill.

"You're not gonna lose me," Bess promises.

"What if I lose Bill?"

Bess gasps.

"Bill? What could you have possibly done to lose Bill? Did you kill someone?"

Startled, Ted sits up straight to look at her.

"What? No! Of course not!"

They look at each other for a moment, both utterly perplexed. Then, Bess smiles unexpectedly.

"You know, I don't think you'd lose Bill even if you killed someone. Not that I'm saying you should push your luck, but I'm fairly certain that it wouldn't be a deal-breaker for him."

When she puts it like that, Ted's actual problem seems almost inane. Bill is his closest, best, most excellent friend in all the world—would he really think worse of him if he knew about Ted's feelings?

"I love Bill," Ted blurts out unceremoniously, can feel the blood rushing into his face after the words are spoken.

Bess looks at him, uncomprehending.

"Yes," she says simply.

"No, I mean, I'm in love with Bill."

Bess still looks at him with that same expression.

"Yes, of course."

Ted can feel his mouth hanging open and closes it, but doesn't quite know what to say. It feels like his brain can't really catch up. Not that this is a new feeling for Ted, but he usually doesn't experience it with any members of his family, except when Jo talks about taxes.

"You don't mind?"

Bess takes his hands again.

"Why would I mind? That's the only way I've ever known you to be."

And suddenly, Ted is crying. His emotions are a mess. He feels like such an idiot, taking years to figure this out when Bess apparently knew the entire time—but he's also so happy that she fell in love with him despite knowing this—but he's been such a coward in dealing with his own feelings—but he's working on accepting himself now, isn't he? It's never too late for that.

He clings to Bess as sobs shake his body, and his wife holds him tight, caressing him gently. He feels so lucky to be with her, to be the husband of an amazing babe like her.

Ted feels exhausted when he's finished crying, but also a little lighter inside.

"I love you," he says, voice a little hoarse. "I love you both. You know that, right?"

Bess smiles.

"I do. And I love you, too."

She kisses him. Her lips are very soft.

"You think I should tell him?"

Bess looks at him, and he knows that this expression means she's baffled but doesn't want to show it. She never quite manages to hide her true feelings.

"You've never told each other?"

Ted shakes his head, then belatedly realizes that she said each other. Does she think Bill loves him, too? Does she know this, like she knew with him? Before he can ask, Bess continues.

"Yes. Yes, I think you should tell him."

"What if—" Ted splutters, hardly able to imagine this glorious and terrifying possibility, "—what if he kisses me?"

"Don't you want him to?"

Ted shakes his head, feeling entirely overwhelmed.

"Yes! Yes, I want him to, I—" His voice fails, and he makes himself take a deep breath. "But I'm married to you."

Bess takes his face in her hands, kisses his forehead.

"Ted, I know things are done differently here," she tells him gently, "but when I come from, it was pretty common for married people to take lovers. Especially royalty. To me, this is normal." She smiles again, her eyes shining. "And like I said, I don't know you any other way. I fully expected this to happen sooner or later."

Ted takes a deep breath. He is going to need time to process all of this before he can even think of talking to Bill. But knowing Elizabeth will be supportive of him makes things a whole lot easier.

**

Ted is twenty-four when he doesn't know how to broach a subject with Bill. This is a first, and an uncomfortable one at that. He finds himself avoiding his best friend; he can't concentrate during rehearsals, isn't able to contribute anything to their new album other than nodding each time someone makes a suggestion.

The only thing that still comes easy to him is taking care of the kids. Little Bill and little Ted give him genuine joy, even when everything else in his life seems to be hanging by a thread, even when he knows his heart might be broken beyond repair very soon (he doesn't want to think about this possibility too hard, but this fear is the main reason why he hasn't talked to Bill). He finds himself hugging little Ted tighter than usual, scared that he might not be able to at all any more soon, if his own feelings should bring about the end of their family as they know it.

This goes on for a week, and then it's Bill who sits Ted down for a conversation.

"Duder, are you alright?"

Ted nods, a tight knot in his stomach.

"Of course, dude. Why d'you ask?"

Bill looks at him with that gaze he has, the intensity of his dark green eyes making sparks dance down Ted's spine.

"I've just never seen you like this. You barely talk, and it's like you're not even with us at band practice. I'm worried about you, Ted."

There's a gentleness in Bill's voice that makes Ted want things; crave, yearn, lust for things that seem impossible. His throat is dry.

"I—uh."

The sentence stops there. It wasn't supposed to, but it does. Ted can't go on. The pause stretches uncomfortably. He avoids Bill's eyes.

It's been ten years. Ten fucking years, and he can't even say it.

"Ted?" Bill puts his hand on Ted's shoulder, a soft touch. "You don't have to tell me, dude. I just... You've never not told me anything."

Ted looks up at Bill, who sits horribly, wonderfully, nerve-wrackingly close, and in his face there's so much confusion, such a deep sense of distress that Ted wishes he hadn't looked, he can't stand seeing Bill like this, it's not right. And it's his own fault.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, not quite trusting his voice. "I haven't—we've never... I don't want to lose you."

"Lose me?" Ted has never seen Bill so utterly perplexed, which is saying something, because their lives haven't exactly been normal. "Ted, dude! It's me! Bill S. Preston, Esquire! Do you remember me?"

Now it's Ted's turn to be confused.

"Course I remember you. What?"

Bill looks him over critically.

"I just thought, maybe aliens took your brain or something. You aren't ever gonna lose me, dude. I love you."

Ted's heart skips a beat. And even though he knows Bill can't possibly have meant it like that, his brain short-circuits and he answers before he can stop and think.

"I love you, too, dude. I mean, I really love you. I love you. Bill, I love you."

Ted bites his lip nervously. Overkill, that was complete and total overkill. And he didn't even say any of the things he'd wanted to say like he'd planned.

Bill's hand is still on his shoulder, and it seems heavier than ever.

"Like, love-love?"

The only thing Ted manages is a sheepish nod. His eyes are firmly glued to his own knees. His hands are shaking.

"Oh," Bill says simply and leaves it at that. Ted believes he's hearing wonder in his voice, but that might just be his own brain making stuff up.

"I'm not—like, expecting anything." Ted stumbles through the words like his vocabulary is being thrown around on a ship inside a massive storm. "If you want, we can pretend I never said anything. Just—just don't leave me."

"Dude, I'm not leaving you! Where did you even get that most heinous idea?"

"I don't know."

Bill sighs, squeezes his shoulder more tightly.

"Does Bess know?"

Ted nods again.

"She knew before I even knew myself."

"Excellent." Ted can hear the smile in Bill's voice. "Well, Jo has known for years, so I think we can work something out."

Now Ted can't help but look at him. This might be a mistake: Bill is smiling and he's absolutely gorgeous and Ted wants to grab him and kiss him—but his confusion is greater than his desire.

"Jo has known for years that I'm in love with you?"

Bill shakes his head, grinning even wider now.

"No! Dude, that I'm in love with you!"

This makes Ted's mouth fall open.

"You are?"

"Most certainly."

They look at each other, and it takes a moment for Ted to really get it all; like his brain is once again lagging behind a little. Then, he smiles and smiles and smiles and thinks he's not ever going to stop. His happiness is warm inside him, spreading from his fast beating heart inside his whole body, little tingles and shivers of bliss on his skin. Bill is smiling back, and he's so beautiful with his kind eyes and his wild blonde curls and his cute nose and the one dimple that's not really a dimple.

And then, suddenly, they're on the same page again, like they usually are.

"Excellent!" They say at the same time, then they air-guitar. "We got to talk to the babes!"

Ted feels like he's floating through the house when he goes to find his wife.

**

Ted is twenty-four when the four of them negotiate the new parameters of their relationship. Ted is still smiling so widely it almost hurts, and Bess is holding his shaking hand, and the atmosphere in the room is very giddy. Jo has an arm around Bill's shoulders, and Bill is leaning into her touch while grinning at Ted, and Ted can't help but wonder how he could ever possibly think that his feelings would destroy their family. This family is way too amazing for that.

"I'm glad you finally told each other," Jo says. "Unspoken love makes everything so much more complicated."

"Yeah, we're glad, too," Ted says, still grinning at Bill.

"I think we should turn the empty nursery into a third bedroom," Jo continues, practical as ever.

"Why would we need a third bedroom?"

"What if we have another kid?"

The babes share a look. Then, Bess speaks, addressing the first part mostly to Bill.

"I already told Ted that when we're from, taking lovers was pretty common for royalty. Jo and I aren't new to this, we've seen how this works our whole lives. And this can only work if you have your own bedroom. Trust me. If you don't and end up making love in one of our beds, robbing one of us of the chance to sleep, that will lead to resentment. That's the last thing we want."

Ted is once again in awe of his wife. She's so smart, always thinking of everything.

"We can make other arrangements for the time being," Jo adds, "as long as we agree to set up the new bedroom as soon as possible. I don't mind sleeping over with Bess for a couple of days, but I'll want my own bed back by the end of the week."

"If we ever have a third child we'll work something out then," Bess adds.

Bill and Ted communicate with a single look: the babes are amazing.

"Excellent!"

"And," Jo continues a little more sternly, "we'll still be your wives, and we expect to be treated as such. If you find so much joy in each other that you completely forget about us, we're going to have a problem."

Bill kisses her on the cheek.

"Don't worry, princesses, we love you."

"Yeah," Ted agrees with a smile at Bess, "we love you so much."

**

Ted is twenty-four when he kisses Bill. It's nothing like kissing Bess. It's all new, all different, and even though Ted doesn't want to draw comparisons, he can't help himself. Bill is taller than Bess, although not by much. Bill touches him in a way that is so entirely different from Bess that Ted feels as nervous and as giddy as the first time he did this with his wife, which is both funny and terrifying. Well, there's one crucial difference: Ted has learned a lot about himself over the past couple of years, is a lot more secure in his own body than he was when he got married. He doubts this is going to be anything like his first time with Bess.

Bill tastes completely different. He smells different, he kisses different, he moves different, and the things Ted feels are also different. Being in love with his wife feels nothing like being in love with Bill, to a degree that Ted can't even put what he's feeling into words, and yet he knows with absolute certainty that he is in love with both of them. Thus is the strangeness of life, Ted supposes—ultimately, all these musings are irrelevant now, because Bill is in his arms, and Ted can kiss his soft lips and touch his hot skin and breathe in his gorgeous scent and run his fingers through those blonde curls and grin against his mouth and feel Bill grinning back.

"I love you," he breathes, "Dude, I love you so much."

Bill buries one of his hands in Ted's hair, pulls a little, making a spark travel down Ted's spine, and gives Ted's now exposed throat a lick, which makes Ted's dick twitch in his pants.

"I've wanted to do that... for such a long time," Bill admits, almost playfully, and Ted wants him, craves him, yearns for more of him, for all of him.

"Ever since I was thirteen," Ted tells him—there are a few chunks missing to make that sentence make sense, but Bill understands, and he laughs.

"Dude, you're way behind. I was eleven."

They look at each other for a moment, both exhilerated and shocked. Ted vaguely remembers Bill taking his hand at school so many years ago, how much he'd secretly wanted Bill to hold his hand even back then.

"Bill," Ted says when he's found his voice again, "we could have been doing this for so many years."

Bill nods gravely. "Gotta make up for all that lost time now."

"Most definitely."

They do. By the end of the week, nobody even questions the need for a third bedroom any more.

**

Ted is twenty-five when the four of them have established a routine. During the week, Bill and Ted spend their nights with the babes, on the weekends with each other. Ted isn't exactly sure whether he likes this or not, it's not really bad, and the certainty of the arrangement gives a little much-needed structure to his life, but he feels like this isn't the best solution. He doesn't have a better one, though, so he doesn't complain.

Raising two kids isn't exactly a walk in the park (although they do take many of those), but Ted loves his children more than life itself. Jo and Bess are adamant about the boys getting to experience many different things and learning new skills, and between playgroup, yoga (which was actually Bill's idea, for some reason), story time, animal hour (which Ted privately thinks is an awful name, but what can he do), and Dalcroze Eurhythmics, it feels like these toddlers have more appointments per week than Ted has ever had in his life.

And then there's the band, which takes up all of the remaining time. They've hit a bit of a wall, somehow, in their quest to save the world, and album sales haven't exactly been great. They should really give a tour, but all four agree that it would be a bad idea to take the boys with them on the road, and none of them can stand the idea of leaving their children in someone else's care for such a long time. There's a general sense of worry, though, both about world peace and about their own future. Most nights, Ted is just happy to get some sleep, and he likes doing that in Bess's arms just as much as in Bill's.

**

Ted is twenty-six when he learns he has a daughter. Originally, he just wanted to know whether Bill was still a dragon or not.

"No, daddy, I'm a girl!"

Little Bill says this with the same amount of enthusiasm he used when he proclaimed he was a wild, fire-breathing beast the day before. Ted smiles.

"Alright, my mistake. Are you a princess like mom and mommy?"

Bill thinks about this for a moment, his little face adorably serious.

"No. I'm a regular girl."

Little Ted looks up from his legos.

"Billie's a most regular girl, daddy."

Little Bill—Billie, today, apparently—nods importantly. Ted doesn't think too much of it; after all, Bill didn't stay a dragon for long, either.

**

Ted is twenty-six when the Wyld Stallyns' new album completely bombs. Jo starts being visibly worried about finances: they paid for most of the production out of pocket and that money is now gone. They've still got a little saved up, so they're not in immediate danger of starvation or anything as drastic, but there's little hope of producing a whole new album if they don't sign with a label. And there are labels that are still interested in signing them despite their recent failure. Ted is torn: he refuses to go that route on principle, then again, if it's to make sure his family, and especially his children, are well cared for? He hates having to make this choice, utterly hates it.

Bill is mostly silent on the issue, and Ted can see why: Jo is worried, Jo is advising them to play it safe, while Ted maintains that they can't save the world if they're selling their souls to capitalists who don't care about world peace, only about making money off of their art. Bill loves them both too much to want to be caught in the crossfire, but Ted knows that ideologically, Bill is on his side.

Bess is the sort of person who tries to stay positive and spread hope, who gives everyone hugs and pats and tells them it'll get better soon, and Ted loves her for it, even though her approach is utterly unhelpful in actually solving the issue at hand.

After a few weeks of misery and indecision, the four of them have a family meeting and decide to simply vote on it. Ted is out-voted two to one (Bill abstained), and he's fine with that. His first priority will always be his family, and if this is what his family needs, so be it.

And so, they sign with a label and start making music just for the money.

**

Ted is twenty-seven the day before little Ted and Billie's first day of kindergarten. He is worried sick and tries not to show this in front of the kids, but Bess squeezes his shoulder during dinner and Bill gives him a meaningful look—they know him too well.

They'd talked to the school ages ago, had even had a meeting with Billie's future kindergarten teacher to make sure Billie would be called by the right name, that the staff would use the right words for her, even when they don't match her birth certificate. The four of them had all had a good feeling about the place and about the teacher, but Ted can't help but be worried: after all, a school doesn't just consist of teachers. There are students, too.

Billie babbles happily about the purple dress she's going to wear (she and mommy picked it out specially) and how excited she is and how much she's going to love kindergarten. Ted's whole body feels taut. Fucking faggot, he remembers, and want to help your friend? He doesn't want Billie to hear these things. Doesn't want her even knowing that these things exist in the world. Doesn't want her becoming the target of bullies like that. But it's not within his power to protect her from reality.

After dinner, he takes Bill aside, because Bill is the only one besides Ted who knows what going to school is like.

"Billie?"

Bill asks, as soon as they're out of earshot. Ted nods, a terribly tight feeling inside his stomach. Bill pulls him into his arms and holds him until Ted can breathe evenly.

"I'm so worried about her," he whispers. "I don't want her to grow up feeling like I did. Ashamed of who she is."

"I know," Bill answers, running his hand through Ted's hair, a soothing motion. "But she won't."

Ted closes his eyes for a moment.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Dude, she has us, and the babes, and little Ted. In this house, we'll always love her for who she is. And that makes a difference."

Ted sighs.

"I hope you're right."

They hold each other for a while, both thinking about their daughter, her beautiful spirit and the challenges she's going to have to face.

"You think we should talk to her? Prepare her?"

Bill sighs. Ted can feel Bill's hand shaking against his shoulder, can feel him nodding.

"Both of them."

**

Ted is twenty-seven when he has a conversation he'd hoped never to have to have with his children. Maybe, if the Wyld Stallyns had already come up with the song to bring about world peace, this needn't have happened. But the world is still a pretty shitty place, and the kids need to know what's waiting for them out there.

Both Billie and little Ted seem quite intimidated at how serious their dads are being, it's not exactly something that happens often. Or at all.

Ted glances at Bill for moral support, takes a deep breath and starts speaking.

"We wanted to talk to you about school."

"Is it secretly very bad?" Little Ted asks, his eyes wide. This breaks the tense atmosphere, and Ted can't help but smile.

"No. No, it's not. It can even be a lot of fun. But there are things you need to know about people—about how people can be."

Billie climbs onto Bill's lap and Bill brushes a curl of dark hair out of her face. Ted's entire soul feels soft—he wishes they could just keep their children here, but he knows neither him nor Bill nor the babes have the ability to home-school anybody in the long run.

"What people, daddy?"

Little Ted apparently wants to be held as well, raising his arms so that Ted can lift him and set him down on his own lap.

"There are people in this world who look for excuses to hate others. Who make fun of how others look, and how they behave, and who they are."

"Why, daddy?"

Isn't that the fucking question. Ted looks at Bill for help, but Bill seems to be at a loss for words. Ted wishes he could hold him, as well, but he only has the two arms, unfortunately. He'll hold Bill later.

"I don't know, sweetie. Maybe they're really unhappy and are looking for someone to blame. Maybe they just like treating others badly. The point is, some people have very strict ideas about gender—"

"Dad, what's gender?"

Bill smiles at Billie.

"You know how you're a girl and little Ted's a boy? That's gender. When you were born, we made a mistake and thought you were a boy, too, but you told us you're actually a girl. That's gender, too."

Billie shrugs.

"Okay."

Ted continues his explanation.

"Some people think that nobody should get to decide for themselves. And they get very mean when somebody does."

Little Ted looks up at him.

"But what if someone makes a mistake, like you? Dad just said so."

"Well, those people believe that there are no mistakes when it comes to that. But that's not true, as we all know." Ted looks into his daughter's eyes, wants her to know how important this is. "We just want to make sure you know that if anyone ever tries to make you feel ashamed for deciding for yourself, Billie, that that's not your fault. That's their fault for being a narrow-minded bigot."

"And if that happens, you tell us or mom or mommy immediately, alright, sweetie?" Bill adds.

Billie hides her face in Bill's shirt, clearly overwhelmed by this new knowledge, and Ted's heart breaks for her. But there's nothing he can do to protect her from this. Bill holds her shoulders with one hand, pats her dark, unruly curls with the other.

"I'll tell the narrow-minds you just made a mistake," little Ted proclaims, fearless as always when it comes to protecting his sister. "Anyone can make a mistake, and we all know Billie's a girl."

**

Ted is twenty-eight when he utterly resents working for the label.

"I don't think I can keep doing this," he tells Bill one night, an awful feeling of guilt plaguing him. Is he being disloyal to his family by saying this? Does this make him a bad father?

"Doing what?"

"The band. I hate it." He is shocked by his own words. "No! I didn't mean it like that. We're most excellent. But the lyrics they make us sing, and how all our ideas are so much fun, but just not right for our image right now..."

When he imitates the voice of their producer, Bill snickers. He hugs Ted closer.

"Dude, I know. It's heinous."

"Remember how much fun we used to have? Back in the garage, just the four of us? Just doing whatever we wanted?"

They both sigh at the same time.

"Oh yeah, the good old days. But now, with Billie and little Ted..."

"I know, I know."

They want what's best for their children, of course they do. They want to give them a stable home and a good education and support their hobbies—Billie just discovered her love for dancing, and little Ted is enrolled in a karate class, and they still do yoga twice a week, and they were promised that with the start of first grade, each of them would be allowed to pick an instrument to learn, whatever instrument they want. Those lessons don't come cheap, and neither do new instruments, for that matter.

"I'm sticking it out for them," Ted tells Bill. "But I hate that there isn't any other way."

There really isn't. None of them have a formal education, or any degrees besides high school diplomas, and in Bess's and Jo's case not even that. Ted is also pretty sure he doesn't have any talents besides making music and taking care of his kids, so his options are severely limited.

"Yeah, duder," Bill sighs against his skin, and his sadness is palpable, "same here."

At least there's one thing he'll always have: his family. Especially Bill: no matter what happens, he'll be by Ted's side. They even went into hell together, and if that wasn't enough to separate them, nothing else will. At least, Ted chooses to believe that this is how the universe works. Every alternative would be most heinous.

"I love you," Ted whispers as he pulls Bill closer.

"I love you, too," Bill replies.

**

Ted is twenty-nine when he has a fight with his father that threatens to be the end of their relationship.

"Supporting him in his delusion," Captain Logan rages, and Ted has to stop himself from physically attacking him. "That's no way to raise a child, Theodore."

"My daughter is not deluded! She's just being who she is!"

"You know what I would have done if you'd come to me with such nonsense?"

He doesn't have to say it, they both know the answer very well.

"You'll be very happy to know, then, that I never would have trusted you like Billie trusts me. And I still don't. You don't know shit about me and my life, dad."

There's a rather ugly look on his father's face.

"Oh, really? Don't you think I know what you get up to? Living in one house, the four of you, like hippies! Making your son believe he's actually a girl, that's what I call sick! He probably gets it from you!"

The accusation that Billie somehow wasn't the one who told Ted she was a girl is so incredibly far removed from reality that Ted doesn't know how to even react.

"Probably can't even keep your wife in your own bed, huh? I hardly dare to imagine what goes on in that house of yours."

And this, this is the thing that makes Ted laugh, more out of anger than out of joy. Again, he feels pity for this man, but not in a way that makes him have sympathy for his father. Rather, he feels disgusted by him and by his hateful, violent view of the world.

"Well, let me put your worries to rest," Ted says finally, almost coolly. "My wife isn't fucking Bill, I am. With Bess's permission, of course. And until you accept my daughter for who she is, I don't want you to contact her again. Or me, for that matter."

Ted leaves. In this moment, he doesn't expect to see Captain Logan ever again.

**

Ted is twenty-nine when his daughter cries because of Captain Logan's cruelty.

"Does grandpa hate me, daddy?"

Ted takes her into his arms, hugs her very close on their way out of the house.

"Sweetie, you heard that?"

She was supposed to wait in the car, but of course she didn't, she never does. Billie doesn't answer, she's crying against Ted's shoulder, and Ted resents his father more than he's ever resented him before.

"He called me sick."

Ted's own eyes are wet. He doesn't know how to deal with this. Talking about it in the abstract is one thing, but hugging his crying daughter because her grandpa is a bigoted asshole is quite a different story.

"He's wrong," Ted assures Billie. "You're not sick, sweetie."

"Promise?"

"I promise, Billie, cross my heart." Ted can't help but remember his own childhood, fucking queers, be a real man, and what he'd wanted his father to say instead, words he never got to hear from him. "I love you just the way you are. I love you so much. And so do dad and mom and mommy and little Ted."

He kisses her, then sets her down and opens the car door for her.

"Come on, let's go home."

Billie is still sniffling, but already calmer. Ted admires her strength—and at the same time, he fears that this strength must come at a price. He remembers vividly how he survived living under that roof, with that sort of hate, it made him hurt himself, made him numb his own feelings at all costs. Ted can't let that happen to his daughter.

After a bit of silence, Billie speaks up again.

"Daddy, what's fuck?"

Ted feels like he's having a heart attack. Why didn't he make sure she was actually inside the car before he talked to his father? It probably wouldn't have done any good in any case: Billie is much too curious to let that stop her. Ted firmly keeps his eyes on the road.

"It's something that grown-ups do when they love each other very much," he says, dying a little on the inside. But he believes in telling his children the truth, and he will, no matter how uncomfortable it makes him feel. "Please don't repeat that word, though, a lot of people don't like to hear it."

"But you said it, too."

Ted can't help but smile at her observation.

"Yes, because your grandpa doesn't like to hear it."

Billie seems to be deep in thought for a moment.

"Is it bad that you and dad love each other?"

Ted sighs. Here he is, trying to raise his children without any prejudices, and as soon as his father enters the picture, this lofty goal is shattered. Typical.

"There are people who think so," he admits, a painful twinge in his stomach. "Your grandpa is one of them, unfortunately."

"But why?"

"He's afraid, I think," Ted says slowly. "He has a certain idea about how the world is supposed to be, and when somebody doesn't fit into this concept, that scares him."

"Like I scare him?"

Ted stops at a red light, turns his head so he can look at her in the back seat.

"We both do, sweetie."

After a long moment, somebody starts honking behind them, and Ted has to keep driving.

**

Ted is twenty-nine when Billie comforts him. The evening hasn't been exactly fun: Billie told Elizabeth that grandpa Logan had called her a boy, and Bess told Jo, and Jo told Bill, and then Billie cried again (this time in Bess's arms), and little Ted shouted that he hated grandpa Logan for being mean to his sister, and Bill tried to calm him down, and Ted was standing in a corner, feeling small and powerless against the cruelty of his father, so far-reaching even here, even now.

Jo came up to him and squeezed his shoulder. She's not a very emotional sort of person, really, not like Ted and Bill and Bess, but she can always sense when somebody needs help. Ted appreciated the gesture very much.

Much later, after reading the kids their bed-time story, Ted is glad to finally put this horrible day behind him. He just wants to be held by the people he loves right now.

He tucks little Ted in first, then Billie. They each had their own room, originally, but decided ages ago that they wanted to sleep in one room together, and that's been the arrangement ever since.

Out of the blue, Billie asks a question.

"What did grandpa mean, about you coming to him?"

Ted is stumped.

"Coming to him?"

"He said he would have done something, what did he mean?"

Ted racks his brain. He doesn't have a clue what she's referring to—until he does. His heart sinks.

"He meant he would have beaten me," Ted explains to his daughter, trying to say this as calmly as possible.

Her eyes are big with shock.

"But that's not allowed," little Ted says reasonably. "You could have gone to the police."

Ted musses his son's hair gently, and his heart feels like it's about to burst with love for his children, who deeply believe the world should be fair. He wishes they were right, he wishes he could have given them world peace already. He wishes the truth wasn't as ugly as it is.

"Grandpa Logan is a police officer," Ted explains. "The police wouldn't have believed me, they would have believed him."

Two seven-year-olds stare up at him in indignation.

"But that's wrong!"

"That's unfair!"

"They should have fired him from the police!"

Ted has to bite back his laughter. It is really very cute when a blonde seven-year-old boy shouts this while lying in bed.

"Maybe they should have," he says.

"Did he really beat you, daddy?"

This changes the atmosphere in the room considerably. Little Ted seems both scared and curious to hear the answer, and Ted looks straight at him when he replies.

"Yes."

"Why?"

Ted takes a deep breath.

"He didn't like the person I was. He wanted me to be different."

"Did it make you different?"

"Yes, but not in the way he wanted."

Billie crawls out from under her blanket and throws her little arms around Ted's shoulders. Ted rests his head against hers, closes his eyes as she hugs him. It's strange: for all her life, he's been the one to comfort her, never the other way around. When he blinks, he realizes that his eyes are wet.

As much as he loves his children, they are children. What Ted needs right now is to talk to his partners.

**

Ted is twenty-nine when he talks about his childhood. Really talks about the time before he met Bill.

They're sitting in the living room, all four of them, piled together on the sofa. Ted is sitting in between Bess and Bill, naturally: Bill has his arms around him, Bess is holding his hand. Slowly, haltingly, he searches for words. He says, I was really scared. He says, I hated my life so much. He says, I don't know where I'd be without you, dude. Bill kisses him. They're both crying, somehow, and then Bess is crying too, and hugging him, and Jo says, She always got the worst of it when our father was angry, and then they're all crying and holding each other.

Ted thinks about how he was never the son his father wanted, how his father gave him up as a lost cause after his brother was born, thinks about how much he simply wanted his father to love him. To just accept him the way he was. How much he still wants that, deep down.

But the damage has been done, and the only thing Ted can do is make sure that his children never, ever know what it feels like to have a father like that.

**

Ted is twenty-nine when he doesn't want to make a decision about who to go to bed with. He doesn't want to let go of Bess and he doesn't want to lose Bill's warmth next to him: the loss of either would be like a punch in the stomach, like a fist squeezing his soul. He loves both of them, loves them with all his heart, with all his being. Choosing is impossible.

"Can we..." Ted gathers the courage to ask for what he wants, it's still hard sometimes, even now, even when he's among people who love him. "Could we all go to sleep together? Would you—would all of you be okay with that?"

It takes just one look at Bill to know that Bill feels the same as him, so they both turn to their wives. Ted caresses Bess's face, looking into her eyes, pleading with her wordlessly, soundlessly, to let him have this, to let him have everything.

After a moment that feels like an eternity, Bess exhales slowly and nods. Ted takes her into his arms, kisses her cheek, whispers thanks into her ear.

"No sex, though," Jo says evenly. "We'll still use separate bedrooms for sex."

"Totally," Bill agrees, and Ted nods.

It's a reasonable expectation, and Ted hadn't been thinking about having sex this evening, anyway. He just wants to be held, just wants to fall asleep in between his wife and his partner.

The bed ends up feeling quite crowded even though they're in Bill and Jo's room, and their bed is a few inches larger than the others they have around the house. Ted doesn't really mind that they're all so close, it's not like he isn't used to holding someone while falling asleep, or being held. Now, he has both at the same time. It takes them all a long time to settle down: someone will start giggling inexplicably, and then they're all wide awake again and giggling, too. It feels a bit like having a sleep-over as kids. And it feels not like that at all, but like something that's entirely different, something that's much more important.

When Ted is close to falling asleep, there's but one thought on his mind: he could get used to this.

**

Ted is thirty when they remodel the bedrooms. Bill and Jo's former room officially becomes the room where they all sleep, with a bigger bed and a strict no-sex-only-sleep policy, and the other two bedrooms provide space to have said sex. Well, sometimes they still sleep as separate couples depending on their mood, or three people in Bill and Jo's room (which they're still calling that although it's technically inaccurate now) and one person in one of the other rooms. Everybody needs their space sometimes, naturally; but most of the time, the four of them spend their nights together. They don't always sleep in the same constellations, either. In the beginning, Bill and Ted were usually in the middle, then for almost one week straight the babes slept in the middle, then they started mixing it up more. Ted has been surprised to learn that he likes sleeping next to Jo, she has a very calming aura about her. And he also likes it when Bess is lying between Bill and him, because this way he can hug her and touch Bill at the same time.

Ultimately, Ted is extremely glad he made this suggestion: this feels true to what he wants in his relationship with his partners, and over time, sleeping next to each other seems to make them all grow closer, too, if that's even possible.

**

Ted is thirty-one when he can't keep working for the label. The music the Wyld Stallyns make has become personally offensive to him—it's all commercial crap, nothing that would ever bring about world peace, not in a million years. One Thursday during practice, he puts down his guitar and can't pick it up again. He physically cannot bring himself to do it. Bill looks at him, and when their eyes meet, Bill knows, like he always does, and with a sigh, he sets down his guitar as well.

"So, this is it, then?"

"Dude, I can't keep doing this."

"I know."

Bill gives Ted's shoulder a gentle squeeze, turns around to the babes.

"We can't make the new album."

Jo frowns.

"We're under contract."

"I know, but we can't."

"They'll sue us into oblivion."

Bill and Jo look at each other tensely. They both know the other one is right—and they both know the band is fucked either way.

"Does the contract state that all four of us have to be on the album?"

They all turn around to Bess, who looks at little flustered but determined. It takes a moment for Ted to get what she's saying, and when he does, he wants to get down on his knees and thank her. (He decides against it for the moment—this is something he will do later, when they're alone.) The possibility wouldn't even have occurred to him: as far as Ted is concerned, the four of them are a unit. He never thinks of them as anything else.

"I'll have to check. Come on."

They all follow Jo as she heads to find the documents, they're not going to get anything else done in rehearsal anyway. Jo studies the contract for a long time, sitting at their living room table. Ted makes coffee for the four of them. Bill stands next to him while he does, humming a melody Ted doesn't recognize, his hands restless. Bess is sitting very still on the sofa, her hands neatly folded in her lap. Ted can't help but be so incredibly fond of them, seeing these two people he loves, who act so incredibly differently when they're stressed, and who need different things, as well. He pulls Bill into his arms, kisses his temple, hugs him until he's calmed down. He knows not to touch Bess at all.

"I can't find a clause anywhere that specifies that all songs need to be recorded by the four of us. We're defined as band members in the first paragraph, but it never says outright... I think Bess and I could do it."

Bill and Ted breathe out in relief at the same time. Then Bill goes to give Jo a hug and Ted kneels down next to Bess, who's not quite as frozen anymore. He offers her his hands and she takes them firmly.

"Thank you," Ted whispers, "thank you, thank you."

**

Ted is thirty-two when his daughter doesn't want to shower. Billie has been moody lately, and short-tempered, and one day, she starts shouting when Bess tells her quite casually that it would be a good idea to take a shower before bed. Billie yells that she hates it, then runs upstairs and slams the door of her and little Ted's room. None of her parents understand this outburst, because she usually values cleanliness. She's often messy, true, but not when it comes to her appearance.

After a few days of screaming fits, and Billie smelling like she hasn't showered, the four of them decide to broach the subject with her, since she's apparently unwilling or unable to come to any of them of her own accord (which in itself is unusual)—Ted is the one who's the natural choice to ask her what's wrong. So, that afternoon, Bill goes outside with little Ted to shoot some hoops in their backyard, and Ted goes to talk to their daughter. She's strumming on her guitar rather aimlessly, and sets it down when Ted comes into the room.

"Hey, sweetie. You got a minute?"

"Sure, daddy. What's up?"

Ted closes the door, then sits down across from her, so that they're at about the same eye level. Ted remembers just how much he hated his father talking down to him standing up, and takes care never to talk to his own kids this way.

"You haven't taken a shower in over a week," Ted informs her gently, not beating around the bush. "Your moms and your dad and I, we don't really understand why that is. Can you explain it to me?"

Billie blushes a little, but just shrugs, making her mass of unruly dark curls bounce around her head.

"I hate showering."

"Why do you hate it?"

"I don't know," she says sullenly. "I just hate it."

Ted looks at her, trying to exude calmness even though he's worried: this just isn't like her.

"What exactly do you hate about it?"

"Everything."

"Really?" Ted wants to make this sound humorous, but his quip doesn't have the desired effect of making her smile.

Billie stays silent, and isn't quite meeting Ted's eyes. Ted is dead certain that something is wrong, now, and a thousand horrible possibilities pop up in his head. Maybe something happened at school? Maybe somebody hurt her? Ted takes a deep breath to calm himself. He needs to be someone that Billie can trust right now, he needs to be strong for her.

"Do you hate the feeling of the water on your skin?"

"No."

"Do you hate the societal expectation of mandatory personal hygiene?"

Now, Billie looks at him, frowning.

"Don't be weird, daddy."

"Sweetie, I just want to understand what makes you so upset."

Billie starts crying suddenly: big, round tears rolling down her cheeks. She gets up, sniffling, and Ted lifts her into his arms and hugs her tight. Billie presses her face into his shoulder.

"I don't want to grow up," she whispers in between sobs. "I'm not going to be a girl when I grow up. Daddy, I don't want to."

Oh.

Billie is almost eleven years old—her body is starting to change. Ted had never really thought about it: the kids seem to be growing so fast, and yet they've always been kids. The onset of puberty hadn't even been on Ted's list of possibilities.

"Sweetie," he soothes her, patting her curls, "we'll figure something out, alright? We will."

He holds her until she's finished crying.

"Am I allowed to tell the others? So we can find a way to help you?"

Billie thinks about this.

"Can't you fix it, daddy?"

Ted sighs soundlessly.

"You know I'm not good at coming up with solutions. If anyone can figure this out, it's mommy." It's true: Jo is the one who walks into parent-teacher conferences like she owns the place, she's the one who files taxes and reads contracts before signing—and sometimes after. The family would be a mess without her. "I don't have to be the one to tell her, if you want to talk to her yourself."

"Okay," Billie says. "But only if you're there with me, daddy."

"Always, sweetie."

And so, they go to talk to Jo.

**

Ted is thirty-two when Jo phones seventeen different doctor's offices and clinics within two days. She's magnificent: not for the first time, Ted can see why Bill loves her. He loves Jo, too, but in a different way, the way you love a very close friend. And more than that: she's one of his partners, even though they don't have a romantic connection. They're family, plain and simple, parts of a whole.

In the end, Jo finds someone who's willing to prescribe hormones for Billie even though she's so young. This isn't covered by any health insurance, however, and they'll have to pay for the treatment out of pocket. Ted doesn't mind: he would rather starve than see his daughter suffer.

**

Ted is thirty-two when he learns that he, in fact, has two daughters. A week after Billie's first appointment at the clinic, little Ted clinks his spoon against his glass during dinner: he's seen this on some TV show and has taken to making announcements this way.

"Moms, dads, Billie," he states pompously, "I've decided that I want to be a girl, too."

This is met with a surprised moment of silence, then Billie claps her hands and squeals.

"We can get treatments together! As sisters! We're going to have the most excellent time!"

The four adults meet each other's eyes, then Jo raises her glass and proudly says, "To our new daughter!"

They all repeat the sentence and cheer and drink. It's just juice, not wine, but the effect is the same.

"What's your new name?" Billie asks excitedly. "Teddie?"

"Theodora," Theodora says importantly, smiling wider than Ted has ever seen her smile.

After dinner, Billie drags Theodora away to try on dresses with her, and the atmosphere among the adults is a little giddy when they clear the table and wash the dishes. Bess says, I'm so proud of her, Bill and Ted repeat Two daughters! every time they look at each other, air-guitaring each time, and Jo is smiling quietly.

Later, they all have an impromptu jam session in the music room. Theodora is wearing her own clothes again because she doesn't like dresses very much, apparently, but she looks happier than Ted has seen her in a long time. It does feel like the perfect celebration. Ted is so happy for his new daughter: this is exactly what he wanted for his kids, to be able to be who they want to be, to be able to celebrate who they are. He thinks back on the shame he used to feel just for being in love with his best friend, and it seems like so long ago now, lifetimes ago.

Later that night, when the kids are sleeping, Ted grins at Bill.

"Bill, my dude?"

"Yes, Ted, my dude?"

"We have the most excellent children."

"We most certainly do."

**

Ted is thirty-two when Theodora cries after karate class. It's the week of her coming out: she's asked everybody she knows to call her by her new name and refer to her as a girl. It all goes very well until karate class on Friday. When Ted picks her up afterwards, her eyes are red and puffy and she runs up to him to be hugged.

"Thea, darling, what happened?" (The name Theodora lasted for about a day at home before being shortened for convenience's sake. Thea said she doesn't mind.)

Thea shakes her head against his shoulder, clearly distressed. Ted pats her blonde hair and carries her and her karate gear to the car. She's really getting too big for this kind of thing, and Ted just knows his back is going to be hurting like hell from this, but that's a small price to pay for taking care of his daughter. He sits her down in the car, kisses her forehead.

"Are you hurt, darling?"

Thea shakes her head, fresh tears welling up in her eyes.

"Did something happen during class?"

Thea nods miserably.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Two tears are rolling down her cheeks, one on each side of her face. Ted takes her face into his hands gently, brushes the tears away with his thumbs. Thea shakes her head.

"That's alright, darling. I'll get us home, okay?"

It is hard having to hear his daughter's small sniffles on the way home, the sound tugs at Ted's heart in a horrid way. He wishes she would tell him what happened so that his brain doesn't have to keep presenting increasingly horrible and outlandish scenarios to him, but the decision is Thea's to make. The last thing Ted wants is to push her to talk when she isn't ready.

When they get home, Bess is the only one in the house: Billie is at a friend's and Bill and Jo are out buying groceries. Bess looks up from her book when her husband and daughter walk into the room, Thea with red eyes and trails of tears on her cheeks and Ted feeling quite miserable himself. Her eyes meet Ted's in shock, and Ted shakes his head slightly so she'll know not to ask any questions.

"Oh, Thea, baby," Bess sighs with audible sympathy. "Come here."

Thea sits down on her lap, and Bess takes Thea into her arms, rocks her gently. Ted sits down next to them on the sofa, one arm around Bess and the other around Thea.

"Mom, Hank said I'm not a real girl," Thea suddenly sputters, her voice hoarse from crying. "He called me a—" She says a word that makes both Ted and Bess wince— "and he said I'm sick in the head."

Bess holds Thea until she's finished crying, gently soothing her with I'm so sorry you had to go through that, darling and I love you so much just the way you are, baby, so much, and Ted holds them both. His own eyes are wet.

"Do you want us to do anything, darling?" Ted asks. "Call his parents? Find you a different class?"

Thea shakes her blonde head.

"I already beat him up. I'm way better at karate than him."

Ted and Bess exchange a glance: this is not exactly what either of them expected to hear—then again, it's very in character for Thea. Once, she'd hit a kid at school for calling Billie dumb, and it had taken Jo a three-hour meeting with the principal and the kid's parents to convince them that Thea shouldn't be suspended.

"It's his own fault for being a narrow-minded bigot."

These words jog Ted's memory.

"Darling, I get where you're coming from, but I never said you should use violence as a response to stuff like that."

Thea looks up at him.

"Why not? If he doesn't want me kicking his ass, he shouldn't insult me."

Ted smiles at her despite himself—even though her actions contradict his own pacifist values, he can't help being impressed with her defending herself, demanding respect for herself. He cannot fault her for that.

He doesn't need to say anything: Thea's own lips curve into a little smirk in response to his smile.

"I know, I know. Be excellent to each other. Well, I will, but only if he's excellent to me, too."

"I think that's most reasonable," Ted agrees.

After all, their catchphrase isn't Let people walk all over you. Being excellent to each other requires good intentions on both sides.

**

Ted is thirty-two when the Wyld Stallyns are, once again, an independent band. They write a whole new album in four weeks, elated by the knowledge that they can do whatever they want creatively.

The album ends up doing reasonably well commercially when they release it, but critics hate it. It's different from their older releases, there's some experimental stuff on there that they knew from the start wasn't going to be everyone's cup of tea, but that's the whole damn point, isn't it? To make something that feels true to them, that feels meaningful to them? Ted stops reading the scathing articles about their work, but it keeps bugging him. For years, he was forced to make music he hated and the critics celebrated that crap, and now that he makes music he loves, music he feels, nobody seems to have anything positive to say about it.

And they haven't saved the world, yet, either. Ted can't really understand it, Rufus said they would! Or did he? It's been almost fifteen years now, and his memories of his and Bill's history presentation have started to blur a while ago. Maybe Rufus meant something completely different and they misunderstood him, Ted wouldn't exactly be surprised.

**

Ted is thirty-four when Bill gets really into MySpace. He keeps telling his family that it's the next big thing, and that this is exactly what their music needs: a way to reach people all over the world.

Bill spends a lot of time curating their online profile, and his partners all try to be supportive, but none of them really see the appeal. Even Ted doesn't get it, and he usually gets the things Bill's into.

There are two things that curb Bill's enthusiasm: one, that Ted isn't sharing his excitement, and two, that the Stallyns aren't garnering a particularly big following online despite all of Bill's efforts. There are a handful of people who love them and who write them beautiful messages, but even though it's good to hear from people who like their music for a change after all the negative press, that's not exactly the reaction Bill had been hoping for.

"Dude, I'm sorry," Ted once tells him in the dead of night, when it's just the two of them sharing a bed for a change.

"What? Why?"

Ted gently kisses the back of Bill's neck, his bare shoulder.

"I feel like I'm being a most unsupportive partner."

Bill snorts, turns in Ted's arms so he can look at him in the semi-darkness.

"Wait, are you serious? Dude! I've never thought that! What gave you such a heinous idea?"

"I just... You're putting so much effort into promotion and getting the Stallyns out there, and I feel like I'm no help at all. I'm sorry."

Bill's eyes appear dark at this late hour, with the pale moonlight as the only light source; dark and also magical in a way.

"If you're not feeling it you're not feeling it. I would never want you to pretend to be into something you're not."

Ted sighs.

"I know, I just... I just wish I could do more."

Bill smiles sleepily.

"Dude, you're doing so much, every day. You're holding me in your arms right now! You are most supportive."

Bill's kiss is tentative, slow, middle-of-the-night kind of tired, middle-of-the-night kind of gentle. His lips are soft, and Ted's eyes fall shut at their touch. He holds Bill tight, his heart full of love, a love so strong that it has defined Ted's existence for twenty years, that will continue to shape his whole life. He has no doubt about this.

When they break the kiss, Ted whispers against Bill's lips.

"I wouldn't even know what it is to be loved without you. What is it to love. Bill, without you, there would be no me."

They look into each other's eyes, and for one long, silent moment, the world seems to stand still. In that moment, they're the only two beings in the universe.

"I feel the same way," Bill replies, his own voice so quiet Ted can barely hear it. He doesn't need to hear it, though. He knows it. Their fates, their lives, their existences are interlinked—without each other, they have no place in the world.

**

Ted is thirty-four when the Stallyns give their first tour since... forever, basically. It's a small tour, only for a week and a half, while the kids are at summer camp, but all four of them are very excited. They've played venues around San Dimas and other nearby cities over the past few years, but that's not quite the same.

It's strange. People don't really seem to connect with their music—there are always a few fans who cheer in the front row, and who line up for autographs after the shows, but the overwhelming majority doesn't look too impressed. This lukewarm reaction makes Ted doubt the band, and himself most of all. They're doing something wrong, he's doing something wrong, Ted is sure of it: the Wyld Stallyns are destined to bring peace and hope and love to people! Why isn't this what's happening?

What makes the whole thing even more complicated is that Bill and Jo and Bess and Ted are perceived as two distinct couples, not as one family. Not that people come right out and say this, but Ted can feel it in the little things, the choices of words, the jokes, even the compliments. Sure, the four of them are very private and have never discussed their home life with anyone really, even back when the label pushed them to do interviews and stuff on the regular. And even though Ted doesn't want to stage a whole coming out—because it's none of anyone's business, really—all public interactions between the four of them feel stilted and weird and like they're hiding something. His love for Bill is nothing to hide, nothing to be ashamed of, and yet the way it's being hidden by default is something that gnaws at Ted's soul.

After the tour ends, he's glad to be back home, where he can be himself.

**

Ted is thirty-five when Thea falls in love for the first time. Ever since Marcus joined her karate class, she can't stop talking about him with a dreamy look on her face, and when she's not talking about him, she's usually playing random melodies on the piano absentmindedly. Marcus is a year older than her, and apparently he has beautiful brown eyes and gorgeous hair and super cool shoes. Ted isn't quite sure what his daughter sees that he can't see: to him, Marcus looks like an average fourteen-year-old, a little gangly, the proportions not quite right from being in the middle of a growth spurt, an awkward face that's not quite child and not quite adult. However, Thea is an awkward teenager as well, so he guesses it makes sense to her.

Billie likes to make fun of Marcus and what she calls his "emo hair" (again, Ted can't really see the difference: all teenage boys seem to be sporting the same hair cut these days, covering half their faces). One evening during dinner, Billie and Thea keep bickering until Thea runs off in anger, slamming the door behind her. Jo gives Ted a subtle nod, and Ted goes after her, knowing that Jo's going to talk to Billie about calling people names.

He finds her in the music room, which is not difficult: she's playing the drums aggressively, and the sounds carry. Ted sits down to watch her, to listen to her play. It's not a bad way of dealing with anger, he muses, and she also happens to be a really good drummer. Maybe music is even the best way of dealing with such difficult emotions—at least, that's how Ted copes with things. Making music isn't just his job, it's also his way of dealing with the world.

Some time later, Thea puts down her drumsticks and moves across the room to slump down next to Ted. She leans towards him and Ted puts an arm around her.

"Billie makes fun of me all the time, daddy," Thea whines accusatorily. "And of Marcus! Just because no boy ever smiles at her! She's just jealous!"

"I'm not sure that's what she's jealous of."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, he's getting all of your attention. You haven't jammed with your sister in ages, and you hardly even listen to what she has to say."

Thea doesn't say anything in response. Ted squeezes her shoulder gently.

"Being in love is wonderful, believe me, I know," he says with a smile. "But your sister loves you, too. And I think she misses you."

Thea sighs against Ted's shoulder.

"But making fun of Marcus is mean and she does it all the time."

"Billie isn't perfect," Ted says gently, "nobody is. Sometimes when you love somebody, you have to be the bigger person even when they aren't being excellent. Tell her you love her. Make time for a jam session with her. I'm sure she'll come around."

Two days later, Billie and Thea are in the music room for two hours, and it sounds like they're simply competing to see who can scream the loudest and the longest, mics turned to full volume. It's a torturous two hours for every adult in the house, but after this, the girls are thick as thieves again, and when Thea talks about Marcus's gorgeous hair, Billie doesn't say a word.

**

Ted is thirty-six when Billie clinks her spoon against her glass during dinner. They all turn to look at her: this is the first time she's copied Thea's move.

"Moms, dads, Thea," Billie announces, visibly excited. "I have a girlfriend!"

All at the same time, Bess says, "That's wonderful, sweetie!", Bill and Ted say, "Excellent!", Thea says, "You didn't tell me she said yes!"

Billie grins at Thea.

"Well, I wanted to tell everyone at once, so I couldn't tell you, obviously."

"So, who is the lucky girl? What's her name?" Jo's voice sounds a little more stern than the others, but Ted knows her well enough to know that she's happy for Billie, too.

"Her name's Sarah," Billie tells them, "she sits next to me in biology class. And today, I asked her if she wanted to be my girlfriend and she said yes!"

"Why don't you invite her over for dinner this weekend," Bess suggests with a smile, "so we can get to meet her?"

"Only if mommy promises not to ask any weird questions."

Jo looks mildly offended at this.

"I don't ask weird questions. I ask pertinent questions."

"No," Thea says lightly, "Billie's right. Your questions are always weird."

Jo looks to her partners for support.

"Can you give an example for a weird question that mommy's asked?" Bess asks gently.

Billie sighs.

"Just now, like, what's her name. That's weird."

"What! No, it's not! That's the first thing anybody wants to know!"

"But mommy," Thea explains to her, like she's talking to a child, "the way you said it was weird!"

Jo shakes her head.

"I'll try not to say anything at all, then," she says rather gruffly. Bill lays his hand on her shoulder for emotional support.

"Mommy," Billie drags the word like it's a piece of gum. "Don't be like that. I didn't say you can't say anything, I just said I don't want you to ask any weird questions."

"Like what's her name."

"Yes." Billie seems to be quite serious about this.

Ted exchanges a glance with his partners: they all love their children dearly, but now that they're teenagers, their behavior is sometimes utterly incomprehensible.

**

Ted is thirty-seven when the whole band are starting to worry about not being able to save the world. Well, that's not exactly true: Ted is mostly concerned with saving the world while Jo is mostly concerned with being able to pay for groceries in the near future. Bill is worried about both and Bess is trying to make them feel like everything is fine. It's not, though: album sales have been abysmal, their savings are almost depleted and none of them have any idea how to fix this. They're not going to sign with a label again. None of them have ever done anything besides making music.

As usual, it's Jo who suggests the most practical solution: they've got to get jobs. Real jobs.

The idea is repellent, but what can they do? They desperately need the money.

The first step on this harrowing journey is to learn how to apply for a job—none of them have any experience in this regard. Bill used to have a part-time job at a corner store as a teenager, but that was ages ago and he didn't even write an application for that, his aunt knew the guy who ran the store.

Bess goes to the library and returns with a stack of handbooks, how to guides and self-help literature. Jo starts cutting help-wanted ads out of the newspaper. Bill calls his aunt and asks if she knows someone who might be willing to give one of them a job. Ted seriously wonders what he could possibly be suited for besides being in a band.

When he voices his concerns about having no real talent other than music, Bill looks at him, eyes wide and sincere.

"But, dude! You're great with kids! Remember when Billie and Thea were little? They always went to you first when something happened... Half the time, I didn't even know what was going on with them until you told me."

Ted thinks about this. Really, seriously thinks: it's one thing to raise his own children, it's quite a different thing to take care of a bunch of strangers' kids. But the longer he contemplates it, the more intriguing the idea becomes. Maybe he really could be good at that.

Ted knows what his father would say, if he knew about this line of thought: Captain Logan thinks that male kindergarten teachers, like male nurses, aren't real men. And this knowledge is the thing that makes Ted decide to give it a try, if only to spite his father, should he ever hear about it. If it turns out he's not suited for the job, at least he will have learned something valuable about himself.

Apparently, you need a bachelor's degree to work as a kindergarten teacher, but a high school diploma is fine for some preschool positions, and so, for the first time in his life, Ted starts applying for jobs.

**

Ted is thirty-seven when all four of them are working away from home. This new situation is very strange and a little scary and also kind of exciting. For fifteen years, they'd basically been doing the same things with the same people, and Ted now realizes that that may have stifled their creativity somewhat. Now, they actually have stuff to tell each other—put like that, it sounds like they didn't before, but that's not quite true. They talked more about little things, before, about details. Now, more often than not someone brings home a story from work, something funny that happened or something infuriating, and their dinner table is a lot more lively for it.

Thanks to Bill's aunt's recommendation, Bill is working at an auto repair shop that looks dubious from the outside but his colleagues are actually really nice. Bill isn't exactly good with cars, but he is extremely good with people, which does come in handy when dealing with customers.

Jo has become some rich guy's personal assistant. He's over 80 years old, working on his memoirs, which he writes by hand and needs Jo to type out for him. Also, she offered to do his taxes, because of course.

Bess is working at what is called the "Spiritual Arts Center". Thea keeps saying that this sounds a lot like a cult, and warning Bess not to accept any food from her co-workers, and the whole family are wondering how that place can stay afloat in the first place. But Bess's job is really cool, actually: basically, she makes music with people, and creates art with people, and works on little theater productions. It's all supposed to foster spiritual healing, and Ted thinks that it's the perfect job for his wife. He keeps his fingers crossed that the Spiritual Arts Center itself is just a money laundering scheme and not a front for an actual cult.

Ted himself works part-time at one of the preschools in their neighborhood. It's challenging and stressful but also rewarding in a way that's completely different from making music. Ted finds himself looking forward to his shifts, which is something he never would have expected, working what he used to derogatorily call a "real job".

Their new morning routine is quickly established: after breakfast, they all cram into the old, banged-up camper-slash-tour-bus-but-not-really-because-they-never-go-on-tours, Jo behind the wheel. She drops them off, one by one. First of all, the kids at school, then Ted at preschool, then Bill at the auto repair, then Bess at the arts center. Whoever leaves the car kisses everybody else goodbye. It's a bit silly but none of them would have it any other way.

**

Ted is thirty-eight when Thea brings home her first boyfriend, Cornell. He's a very polite young man and he and Thea seem to be genuinely happy together. It's a little surreal: Ted wasn't much older than Thea is now when he first met Bess. The passage of time is something that is both so inane and so frighteningly incomprehensible that Ted would rather not contemplate it for too long.

Ted has sort of given up trying to stay on top of Billie's relationships. Ever since the girls got their own smartphones (which happened only after a series of very long discussions—everybody at school already had one, apparently, while Ted and his partners failed to see the appeal entirely), Billie is constantly texting people. Her dating life seems rather daunting, truth be told: Ted keeps confusing the names of her ex-girlfriends, and Billie always laughs when he does and corrects him gently. She tells him a lot about the girls she's seeing, and Ted dutifully tries to remember all the details, but he still gets the names wrong every now and then, and he's not always entirely sure in what order the events he knows about actually happened.

In contrast, Thea and Cornell's relationship lasts. Cornell is a frequent guest at their house, and after about a month, Thea starts sleeping over at his place. Ted isn't worried: he knows that if there were anything to worry about, Thea would tell him or one of her other parents.

As it happens, Thea chooses to talk to Ted when she does have a problem.

"Daddy, have you got a minute?"

"Sure, darling," Ted answers, looking up from the potatoes he's currently peeling.

Thea closes the door and then sits down opposite him at the kitchen table. This usually means it's serious. Ted puts down the half-peeled potato he's been holding.

"Everything alright?"

"Yeah," she says with a nervous laugh. "I don't know."

Ted doesn't push her to talk. She always opens up in her own time.

"Can you not tell the others? It's sort of private."

"Course, Thea. Your secret will be most safe with me."

Thea grins at that.

"Thanks, daddy." She takes a deep breath. "Okay, here goes. I want to sleep with Cornell, but he doesn't know I'm trans. And I don't know how to tell him."

Ted isn't really sure how to best react to that.

"Oh," he says.

"I feel like I kind of missed the perfect chance to casually bring it up, you know? And now it's going to be this huge thing, and I don't want it to be. And I..." Thea looks very young and very vulnerable now. "I don't want him to think differently of me."

"Darling." Ted takes Thea's hands in his own—his daughters are growing up so fast, it's amazing, and a little scary. "I'm sure he won't. And if he does, you'll know he's not the right person for you."

"But I want him to be the right person for me."

"I won't pretend to know how you're feeling," Ted tells her, because there really isn't any way for him to know. "But whatever you need, I'm here for you. What do you need right now?"

Thea thinks for a second.

"A hug."

Ted smiles at her.

"One hug, coming right up."

When he's holding Thea in his arms, standing next to the kitchen table, Ted can't help it: he has to say what's on his mind, even though he can already gauge her reaction.

"You know you can always say no, darling, don't you? No matter what's happening, you always have the right to stop. And you have the right to insist on protection—"

As expected, Thea sighs.

"I know, daddy. M and M told us so many times..."

Ted smiles softly, patting her hair.

"I know, I know, your moms were very thorough. I just want you to have the best time, darling."

After that, Thea helps him peel the rest of the potatoes.

"How was your first time with mom, anyway?"

Ted laughs at the unexpected question.

"Extremely weird."

"Weird? Weird how?"

Ted shrugs unconcernedly.

"Well, we didn't know what we were doing, and it was all very new to us. Neither of us knew what we wanted or needed... It was a weird experience. We laughed a lot."

Thea rolls her eyes.

"That's not helpful! And Mindy said you're not supposed to laugh during sex."

Ted looks at her seriously, even though the thought of some sixteen-year-olds in high school spreading rumors about not laughing during sex is actually hilarious—and a little sad.

"Thea, first of all, if you can't laugh during sex, you're not having sex with the right person. And second of all, there is no right way or wrong way to experience sexuality as long as you do it at your own pace, on your own terms. Everybody's first time is different. Even if I told you every little detail of what exactly happened between your mom and me, which I won't, that would be most unhelpful to you."

There's a crease in between Thea's eyebrows as she's pouting.

"I hate not knowing what I'm doing."

"Everybody does, darling. That's part of the fun of figuring it out."

**

Ted is thirty-eight when Thea runs up to him, throwing herself into Ted's arms, saying, "You were right, daddy, it was super weird!"

They both start laughing, still hugging each other.

"But did you have fun?"

Thea nods against his chest, radiating happiness.

"Yeah, I did. I'm gonna tell Mindy her stupid rule is a total lie."

Ted smiles softly, incredibly happy for his daughter.

"Good idea."

**

Ted is thirty-nine when the Stallyns release a new album online, and nobody cares. It's mostly experimental stuff, some instruments they've never incorporated before, other new things they just wanted to try for the fun of it. They've been rehearsing and recording on the weekends, since they're otherwise busy with their jobs, and the babes got a more relaxed attitude towards their music now that their whole livelihood doesn't depend on it. Ted is still very much worried about world peace, but as they've been making music for almost twenty years and global harmony hasn't been forthcoming, there's nothing he can do. When he talks to Bill about this, they agree: perhaps they really did misunderstand Rufus all those years ago.

**

Ted is forty when Thea and Cornell break up. It's a blow to the whole family: they all got used to having Cornell around the house, and him not being there for game night is just plain weird.

Thea is miserable. Ted hasn't held her so much since she was a baby, and seeing her hurting like she is is in itself a kind of torture. Again, this experience is something Ted can't relate to: both of his first loves are still by his side two (in Bill's case, almost three) decades later. He feels very lucky in this regard, especially when he has to see the pain his daughter is going through.

It's only a few weeks before the prom, which makes it even worse for Thea because now she has to go without a partner. Billie shakes her head when Thea voices this concern, tells the girl she wanted to go with that it's not going to work out, and decrees that Thea and her are going to go together, as sisters. Thea attempts to argue, but Billie shuts her up quickly: she has a way of making statements that leave no room for discussion.

"But Kasumi is the first girl you were ever serious about! You can't just blow her off!"

Billie shrugs.

"I just did, though. So you'd better go with me to the prom."

Thea shakes her head in exasperation, and doesn't argue further.

**

Ted is forty when the girls leave for college. Ted is most proud of them, and at the same time, he misses his daughters terribly. The house is strangely quiet without them: all four parents need a couple of weeks to adjust to this new life-style. Both Billie and Thea call them from time to time, of course, but they're young adults now, and as such they need their freedom. Ted is careful never to put any pressure on them to call more often, even though he really wishes they would.

Jo suggests they use this opportunity to do more shows around San Dimas, maybe play venues a little farther away on the weekends. As always, her ideas prove to be most reasonable, and after a while it does get easier not having the kids around the house.

**

Ted is forty-one when his brother tells him he's dating Missy now. They've only loosely stayed in touch over the years, although Deacon doesn't even live very far away from Ted. However, neither one of the brothers has ever felt a particular affinity for the other; and so, apart from Christmas cards and birthday calls, they haven't exactly had many reasons to contact each other.

So, Deacon's call comes as a bit of a surprise, and the news that he's dating Missy are even more unexpected. Ted assumes Deacon wanted to tell him before Ted could hear about this new development from another, more biased source like their father, but Ted hasn't spoken to the man in over ten years, so the chances of that happening were extremely slim in the first place.

Nevertheless, he's happy to hear that Deacon's happy, even though how the couple got to know each other doesn't seem to be the basis of a healthy relationship. Then again, Ted's own family situation isn't exactly traditional, and Ted feels he has no right to judge his brother for his life choices.

He asks Deacon about their father, but Captain Logan isn't speaking to Deacon either, naturally. He seemed healthy enough when Missy filed for divorce, apparently, that's all Deacon can tell Ted.

Later that day, Bess fixates Ted with that knowing look she sometimes gets.

"You miss your father, don't you?"

Ted nods with a sigh.

"It doesn't make any sense," he says. "The way he hurt Billie, the way he hurt me... I don't want to miss him."

Bess steps close, takes Ted into her arms.

"I know. My father tried to marry me off to a man twice as old as me, and I'm glad I got away, but I still miss him sometimes."

Ted kisses her forehead, returns her embrace.

"I don't know what to do, Bess," he whispers. "He's not exactly young. If he dies and I've never even tried to reconcile with him... But then again, I don't know that I want to. I don't know for sure that I want him in my life, after everything that's happened."

Bess tightens her arms around Ted.

"You want a version of him who loves you and who's sorry," she says simply, "and you don't think that's what he's like in reality."

"How did you know?"

Bess sighs.

"Cause that's the version of my father I want as well."

**

Ted is forty-one when Billie and Thea are home over the summer break. Both of them seem more mature, more confident in who they are. Not that his daughters ever lacked confidence, but there's a difference between teenage cockiness and being content in oneself.

The first weekend is basically one big jam session; the six of them end up recording a song for the new Wyld Stallyns album together. Billie and Thea's style is a little different from that of their parents, they have an in-your-face-ness about them that is both more brash and more tender than what the Stallyns usually do. Ted loves watching them play, loves seeing their take on the world, on society, on themselves. It's all right there in the music. That's what he loves most about it: music is so honest, so revealing, and so freeing at the same time. Hearing his daughters' music makes him utterly, perfectly happy.

It's a little strange when during the week, all four parents are away at work and Billie and Thea are the ones to stay at home, working on their own stuff. It used to be the other way around for so many years, but when it comes to this, Ted doesn't mind the passage of time. He only minds it because the world hasn't been saved yet, and he's still worries the Stallyns might have been doing something wrong somehow. But seeing his daughters grow up? No, that is as it should be.

One evening, he seeks them out to have a more serious conversation.

"Can I talk to you two for a moment?"

"Sure, daddy, what's up?"

Thea is sitting cross-legged on the sofa, while Billie is lounging in the cushy armchair, her legs dangling over one of its armrests. Ted sits down on the other, less cushy chair across from Billie.

"I need your... Well, basically, I want to ask for your permission."

"Permission?"

"Our permission?"

Both young women are staring at Ted in disbelief.

"Since when has anything in this house ever been about permission?" Billie asks, perplexed.

Ted can't help but smile for a moment.

"A most excellent point," he says. "Let's call it approval, then."

Both Billie and Thea look at him with varying degrees of concern. Ted takes a deep breath.

"I've been thinking about my father, and the way I left things with him. I think I did the right thing, all those years ago, but he's... He's still my father. And I've—I've been thinking about getting in touch with him. Only if you're okay with it, though!"

Ted looks at Billie.

"You're the one he hurt, but you both... I mean, I'll only contact him if both of you say you're alright with it."

Billie and Thea exchange a glance, then Thea speaks softly.

"But daddy, you told us that he hit you when you were a child."

"Do you really want to have him in your life?"

Billie looks uncharacteristically serious. Ted shrugs sadly.

"He's the only father I've got."

Thea leans back on the sofa with a heavy sigh.

"Fuck. That sucks."

"I can't imagine having only one dad," Billie agrees. "That's heinous."

"Most heinous," Ted corrects her, and then, somehow, all three are laughing.

"Unfathomably heinous!"

"The most heinoustest of all!"

It takes a while until they can continue their conversation without laughing.

"So," Ted finally asks, "what do you think?"

Billie ruffles her dark curls with one hand, deep in thought.

"I think, if it's important to you, you should get in touch with him. But I don't want you to tell him anything about me. If he wants to get to know me, he should apologize to me first."

Ted nods. He can understand that.

"You should tell him all about me, though," Thea says with a sly grin. "How much happier I've been since my transition, how much Billie has inspired me..."

Ted can't help but smile. This is going to be a good way to find out whether his father has changed at all—whether he is ready to accept his granddaughters the way they are.

"You are most cunning," he tells his daughter, and Thea's grin widens.

"Thank you."

**

Ted is forty-one when he calls his father for the first time in over ten years. Even the ringtone makes his heart race, he hasn't been this nervous in ages. For a moment, he thinks he's making the biggest mistake of his life, and then, he hears his father's voice.

It transports him back into his younger self—suddenly, he feels like a boy again, at his father's mercy. And yet, at the same time, he feels like he isn't that boy any more, he's a grown man with a loving family who isn't dependent on his father's good will any more.

"Hi, dad. It's me. Ted."

Ted immediately thinks that he's sounding stupid. Maybe that's another side effect of talking to his father: Captain Logan always thought everything he said was stupid.

"Theodore?"

The disbelief in the old man's voice is tangible.

"Deacon told me what happened, and I just wanted to know how you're holding up."

"You boys," his father complains, "you're going to be the death of me. One useless hippie and one backstabbing snake... What did I ever do to deserve this?"

Ted grits his teeth.

"I think we became exactly the sort of people you raised us to become," he responds quietly but firmly.

The silence that follows stretches out for so long that Ted's beginning to wonder whether his father is even still there. Perhaps he wanted to end the call and didn't tap the right button.

"Maybe you did," Captain Logan says then, his tone quite different. Ted can't really place it, he's never heard his father speak like this.

After the call, Ted still isn't sure whether he made the right choice. But his father did say he would apologize to Billie, which Ted honestly wasn't expecting. Maybe he's getting sentimental in his old age, willing to disregard his own hateful beliefs if they keep him from his family. After all, Ted was being sentimental as well, contacting his father in the first place.

**

Ted is forty-three when he and his partners all have enough vacation days that they can plan an actual tour together; the first one since they started working real jobs. Jo is handling most of the details, booking venues and making calls; Bill makes some changes to their old camper so it'll be more comfortable to travel in. Ted is thinking about the last time they went on tour, and the vague discomfort he felt. He has no idea what their audience will be like this time. They've been out of the public eye for some years now, mostly selling their albums online to a rather small number of people, Ted isn't sure whether anyone will even recognize their band's name. Sure, they had some major hits working for the label, but that was ten years ago, and they don't make that kind of music any more, let alone play it.

Billie and Thea decide to accompany their parents for the first couple of days: they say they could use a vacation, but Ted suspects they want to be there to offer moral support, in case their audiences turn out to be disinterested in their music. And at least for Ted, this decision does have the desired effect; he's a lot less nervous about the upcoming tour knowing that his daughters will be there.

**

Ted is forty-three when Billie takes him aside on the first evening of the tour, after their set is finished.

"Daddy, can I talk to you?"

"Sure, sweetie, what's up?"

Billie rolls her eyes at the childhood nickname, but doesn't complain. She motions for him to follow her out of the crowded bar. The night outside is warm and heavy, sounds of muted laughter and distant cicadas in the air. In unspoken mutual agreement, they start walking around the block.

"I might be wrong," Billie says, "but you didn't seem very happy on stage tonight. Not like when you play at home."

Ted sighs.

"Is it that obvious?"

Billie kicks at an empty soda can that's lying in her path.

"Well, we've seen you make music all our lives, so to Thea and me it's obvious. I don't know about the other people in the audience."

They take a few steps in silence. Billie doesn't need to ask the obvious question.

"It's just that... I feel like I can't show who I am when I'm in public."

"What do you mean?"

Ted looks up at the almost full moon, hanging low in the sky, trying to find a way to explain the problem.

"You know I love your dad, right?"

Billie snorts.

"What! You're in love with dad? No way!"

Despite the serious issue, Ted can't help but grin at her sarcasm.

"I know, to you it's obvious! But we've never... Never made a public statement or told any of those interviewers back in the day or, or anything. We decided it wasn't anyone's business and so people have always just assumed... I don't know. That we don't love each other like we do."

"But you want people to know?"

"I... Yes, I think so."

Billie stops walking to look seriously at Ted.

"Daddy, there's a real easy solution to that problem," she says, her voice gentle. "Just tell people now. Maybe I'm not the right person to say this, because I told the world who I was at five years old—"

"Four," Ted corrects her.

"—four or five, whatever—but my point it, you're never too old to live your truth."

They start walking again.

"I'm worried it's going to be a whole thing," Ted sighs. "I don't want to have to tell strangers intimate details about my personal life."

"Then don't. Just tell them you love dad and you love mom, and don't worry about what they think."

It sounds so easy when Billie says it, like it's the most natural thing in the world. For Ted, the task still seems daunting, though. Billie looks at him thoughtfully.

"You know what you could do? Just kiss them on stage. Both of them. And let people think whatever the hell they want."

**

Ted is forty-three when he kisses Bill on stage. They've talked about this, of course, all four of them, they've decided to show this to the public, as a family. Yet, the moment itself is still exhilarating in a way, a bit like kissing Bill for the first time, Ted's heart thumping loudly, his stomach full of butterflies, his ears ringing. After a moment, Ted realizes that the crowd is cheering, and the tension he'd been holding in his shoulders is dissipating.

When he's finished kissing Bill, they both turn around to kiss their wives, which is met by more cheering. Suddenly, Ted finds he doesn't really care what those strangers think: whether they see this as some sort of publicity stunt or a random occurrence during a concert or whether they understand that he has loved both of these people for over twenty years, that the four of them are one family.

Ultimately, it is none of anyone's business. And yet, Ted knows he won't hide this part of himself any longer. If anybody should ask him, he's going to tell them he loves two people. And whenever they're in the mood for it, they're going to kiss on stage. There's a wonderful sort of freedom in this knowledge.

In the first row, Ted can see Billie and Thea air-guitaring just when he stops kissing Bess. He is so incredibly glad to have them in his life: without witnessing their strength, their boldness, their example, Ted thinks that maybe he wouldn't have been confident enough to do this today.

**

Ted is forty-six when Kelly takes him and his partners to the future, and they are told they have until 7:17 pm to write the song that will save the world. They travel through time in search of the song, meeting their own future versions—or parallel universe versions, Ted isn't quite sure what to make of it all afterwards. The one constant is that all four of them are together, no matter what their lives look like. While that is as it should be, having tangible proof that they belong together no matter what happens is still reassuring. On their way to MP 46, all four of them hug each other very tightly inside the phone box.

And then, Billie and Thea save the world. Of course they do. Ted has never been prouder in his life.

That evening, Ted and his partners are piled together on the bed, cuddling. Ted's head is resting on Bill's chest, and he's holding Bess in his arms. He feels so happy and warm and comfortable that he can hardly believe this is real, that he is so incredibly lucky.

The image of the four of them, living together until they're so old they can barely hold their instruments, is vivid in Ted's mind. The knowledge is so beautiful, so comforting, so natural. None of them would ever want to leave each other, they all know this, but having seen this in actual, real life is still a great source of joy for Ted.

He runs his fingers through Bess's hair, and he can hear Jo and Bill kissing softly. Bill and Ted take a breath together, exactly on the same page as ever.

"We love you," they tell their wives, "we love you so much."

Bess smiles at Ted, and her and Jo say, "We love you, too."