Work Text:
First thing on a Monday morning, I issue an all-call to the husbands to meet me in my office. I sit in my Eames swivel chair at my desk, behind my old computer and keyboard, staring at the flying toasters screensaver, awaiting my six dearhearts while Joliver stands at the door in the hallway, playing bouncer for the duration.
Jon, Stephen, and Ken take up the leather sofa, while Tommy Lee and Jeff sit in the two chairs before my desk. Stevezie takes the armchair nearest the desk to my right, as he’s done in the past. He intuits what’s coming.
I nod to Joliver, who steps out and shuts the door behind him, leaving us in secretive silence.
“So, I’ve gathered everyone’s opinions,” I say, looking each of my men in the eye before continuing. “And I’ve given myself a period of contemplation, due to the fairly visceral and heady early days of this… audition. You all know the circumstances and the history involved, so there being no voiced objections, my decision has been made.”
Stephen does a little fist pump, smiling to himself. Jon and Ken both suppress a chuckle at his miniaturised expression of enthusiasm. Jeff winks at me, grinning warmly while Tommy Lee stares at me evenly, gives me a small, magnanimous nod. Stevezie simply reaches out to pat my hand as it rests on the arm of my chair. He smiles, in a gentle “I told you so” kind of manner.
I sigh and open my desk drawer, pulling out a small envelope and holding it up. “Any comments before I make the proposal?”
“Where’s he gonna live?” Stephen blurts. “He can stay upstairs with us!”
“He might want his own place,” Jon says. “We have so many boyfriends visiting us all the time it’s like Grand Central Station up there.”
“There’s plenty of room in the Manse,” Jeff says. “And the Guesthouse ain’t bad. Isn’t it up to him?”
“Yes,” I say. “Yes it is.”
“There’s room in the cabin,” Tommy says flatly.
All eyes land on him, but he only keeps my gaze, doesn’t register that he’s even noticed the dropped jaws in the rest of the room.
“That’s… very generous, Lee, thank you,” I say, my heart warmed by his support. “I’ll let him know what offers stand.”
Ken raises a hand. “I just want to say that I think this has been a long time coming. And I’m happy to have another Brit on the team.”
Stevezie chuckles. “You’re welcome,” he says with a little bow of his head before he turns back to me. “So shall we leave you to it?”
I nod and pick up my phone, text Joliver: Call him up.
***********
As Andy makes his way up the foyer stairs, he sees the whole lineup of husbands leaving the office. Despite his bafflement at this rare star alignment, he amiably greets each of them as they pass him in the hall, and they all shake his hand except Stephen, who outright hugs him and visibly represses the urge to say anything before Jon nudges him to keep walking. As he approaches the office door, Joliver nods and knocks.
“He’s arrived, Madam.”
“Send him in,” I say, sitting up taller in my chair, nervous despite myself.
When Andy enters, in his ideal wardrobe of jeans, an egg-blue tshirt with the tight-fitting short sleeves, and a coordinated deep blue tartan waistcoat that’s nearly as tight, it’s all I can do not to hurdle over my desk. His smile appears when he sees me, but it’s tinged with confusion as I gesture for him to take a seat in front of me.
“Good morning, Madam,” he says, affecting formality out of deference to the artificially pretentious scene I’ve set. He crosses his legs and clasps his hands in his lap, his eyes wide with a disarming openness.
“Good morning,” I say, leaning forward to clasp my hands and rest my elbows on the desk. “I won’t waste time with any prerequisites. I already feel I’ve been terribly remiss all these years and I wish to confer honor as I see fit.”
His brow wrinkles as I pick up the envelope and slide it across the desk toward him. I tap it and sit back, holding out a hand in invitation. “My offer.”
Andy hesitates, then reaches forward to pick it up, his inquiring eyes never leaving mine. He tears it open and pauses when he sees what’s inside, then grins as he drops a plain gold ring into his palm. He laughs. “You wants us to take this to Mordor, precious?”
I suppress a genuine giggle at how his mind and voice leap to such a reference, and my heart swells. “Actually, that… belongs… to you,” I say. “It’s my proposal.”
He freezes except to fiddle with the ring in his hand, staring at me, open-mouthed, sincere wonder alighting on his face. He finally blinks, looks down at the ring, slightly weighs it up and down, as if it has a heft beyond measure. He takes a shaky breath and holds out one hand toward me, his mouth working with a response. His eyes grow watery just before he says, “You really do want me…”
I tilt my head, unsure if it’s a statement or a question. I could crawl over the desk right now and grab him by his shirt and scream MARRY ME SERKIS!
Instead, I merely nod the affirmative. “I want you. To be my husband.”
And with that, he lets go of his breath, slumps in his chair as if his bones have turned to jelly. He covers his mouth, then scratches at his chin, and his smile squeezes the tears from his eyes when he looks up at me again. “I’ll take the job,” he says, nodding over and over as he slips the ring on his finger. He laughs once, grins at me. “Forgive me, Madam, I was just… after all this time, I only had the most modest hopes.”
“Hotspur, I told you to trust me on this.”
He wipes the corners of his eyes, still smiling. “I did trust you. I do trust you... I had convinced myself I had jinxed it.”
“Oh Andrew, sweetie,” I say, standing up and quickly walking around the desk, arms spread wide.
Andy jumps up and hugs me, picking me up off my feet as he spins us around a few times, making us both laugh. He puts me down and delivers a big fat smooch to end all smooches, and I find I cannot let him go. We just stand there, hugging for a solid minute, catching our breath. Already, I feel the warmth of familiarity and security expected from a husband of years, and it’s intoxicating.
He takes my face in his solid, hot hands and gives me the greatest gift of his giant smile, which always seems to employ every tiny muscle in his face. “I love you, Pickle.”
I try my damndest to reflect his cheery countenance back at him. “I love you too.”
He hugs me again, sighing with satisfaction.
“There’s one condition of marriage that I always expect from prospects as buff as you."
“Name it.”
“Regularly prescribed shirtlessness.”
Andy steps away and hurriedly fumbles at his waistcoat buttons, then tosses his shirt off in a flash before returning to his granitic hug. “Just ask and you shall receive, Madam.”
My eyes roll back into my head as I nuzzle his hot, bare bicep, his chest hair tickling my ear. “You will go far in your career here, Mr. Serkis.”