Roman woke up the next morning to Everleigh, decently loudly, telling Maverick she felt like she was going to puke an intestine, followed quickly by Maverick telling her to get out of the way because he needed to vomit before Everleigh insisted that he could do it in the shower for all she cared. He didn't hear much else after that because he'd gone to the other bathroom to barf himself.

When they all met in the kitchen, Maverick and Everleigh looked worse for wear. For one thing, the crewneck Maverick had thrown on was backwards, as evidenced by the large University of Edinburgh logo across his back as he grabbed a carton of orange juice and poured three glasses. Everleigh had the hood pulled up on her GRAD 2026 hoodie and had already slapped a pair of Ray Ban sunglasses on, announcing that the natural light seeping through the blinds mixed with the lights of the kitchen were "too fucking bright."

"I want to die," Maverick announced. Leaning on the counter and rubbing his temples.

"I feel like I ate sand." And Roman sounded like it too. "I get why Anakin hates it."

"Jesus Christ," Everleigh said. Her voice muffled from her head on the counter. "Stop talking so loud."

"I have oil of oregano," Maverick said, reaching a hand over and rubbing Everleigh's shoulder gently. "Do you want some?"

"Will it help, doctor?"

"I'm on vacation. Fuck off."

Roman looked at Maverick, who nodded. "I used it everyday on tour. It's the reason I still sounded okay at the end. Used it this morning and felt better."

"You know, I always thought that guy from Lord of the Rings was named Oregano."

"Aragorn?"

"Kingston. My God."

"Aragorn?" Maverick whispered.

"Do you think Pa will be mad at me if I kill myself instead of going to brunch?"

"I think dad will kill all three of us himself if we don't go to brunch," Roman said.

"Obviously you two are going, I was talking about myself."

"He's your blood relative, you cauliflower," Maverick said.

"Which is why he'd forgive me faster than you fiddleheads."

"She's got you there, Mav."

"Is it socially acceptable to wear sunglasses to a family brunch?" Everleigh asked.

"Only if you want to look like Miranda fuckin' Priestly," Roman said.

Everleigh lifted her head, raised an eyebrow.

"No," Maverick said.

Everleigh flipped him off, put her head back down. "I'm going to go throw up again and then we're going to drop you at Florence's."

"Why?" The fear in Roman's voice was uncanny. He wasn't sure he even wanted to see the façade of that house ever again, let alone step foot in it.

"You don't think it's going to sell it that you two aren't divorced if we drive you to the restaurant, do you?"

"Carpool. Say it's environmentally friendly."

"I can't do that without Flo and the goblins, Roman."

"Stop calling our nieces goblins."

Everleigh dramatically looked up at Maverick. "Might want to take your wedding band off, you spoon. You'll blow our cover."

"I have to confess something," Roman said.

Everleigh and Maverick looked at him, concerned. Maverick silently moved his wedding band to his middle finger while they waited expectantly.

"I needed you to get me yesterday because Flo and I..."

"Slept together?" Everleigh offered. Leaning on her fist; probably more due to the fact she couldn't hold her head up rather than genuine curiosity.

"How'd you know?"

"Because you had—" Everleigh waved a finger at him like she was making a line drawing of every single one of his features without taking her pencil off the page. "—Guilty sex face all over you."

Maverick shrugged in silent agreement.

"Fuck."

"Better find a way to get rid of that before brekkie." Everleigh slid from her chair.

"Where are you off to?" Maverick asked.

"I wasn't joking. I need to puke again."

Her footsteps got faster as she ran out of the room.

Roman bit his lip. "Can I please steal some of that oil of oregano?"

Maverick pulled the bottle from the pocket of his cargo joggers. Held it out to Roman. "A little goes a long way."

"Thank you."

"As we walk through the fires of Mordor, we fear no evil."

"I fear Everleigh."

"We fear one evil."

"Might want to move your ring, buddy."

Maverick looked at his hand, eyes wide as he quickly put it on his middle finger. "Thank you."

"Fear one evil."

*

Roman was pretty sure he knew what Axel Rose meant when he sung about knocking on Heaven's door. That's exactly how it felt, despite the thumbs up that Maverick and Everleigh had given him while he walked up. Well, Maverick had given him a thumbs up. Everleigh was laid across the backseat, and after Maverick had poked her in the ass, she gave him a half-assed thumbs up before promptly dropping her arm again. They were already headed to the restaurant too early to make up for their lateness when they first got to London.

Florence opened the door. And, oh, how it broke Roman's heart to see her wearing his Oxford hoodie. The only difference between his and hers was that his had a blood stain on it from an unfortunate incident at a frat party where Florence, in the early stages of them dating, had not realized she'd leaked through the back of her pants. Roman had given her his hoodie to sit on, insisted on it, in fact, while he drove her to the apartment she'd been living in at the time. That was the first time he'd stayed over, though he had slept on the couch for her comfort.

"Roman."

"Morning."

"You look like you could use an Advil."

"Two. Please."

He wasn't going to say it, but Florence looked a little on the hungover side too. Roman felt bad for leaving her with the kids by herself—he'd had no responsibilities for the night besides some bad karaoke (on his part, not Maverick's) and drinking. He didn't grant Florence that same luxury. She deserved to cope, too.

Florence stepped out of the way of the door. "Come on in."

"Should we talk?"

"If you need to talk, you should talk," Florence said.

"I..." Roman shook his head, laughed a little. "You know, I don't even know what to say."

"Did you mean what you said before?"

"That I love you?"

Florence nodded.

"I think we need to leave to go eat before I pass out."

"Are you okay?"

"I'll be fine."

"Well," Florence said, "I'm here if you change your mind. Or, I hope you have someone else to talk to."

"Thank you."

"Come in," Florence said, "you'll catch a chill."

"Florence?"

"Yes?"

"Can I have a hug?"

Florence didn't hesitate. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and his arms found her waist. Bodies pressed close together. Florence always had a way of rubbing his shoulder that made him feel like anything in the world would be okay. They hadn't lost that in the divorce. Roman squeezed her a little tighter—his head was pounding.

But there she was. Eternally warm. Melting the chill from outside.

"I'm sorry I left without coming up with a plan for the girls."

"That's okay."

"Not really. They're my kids too."

Florence leaned into him a little more. "I finished the presents from us. They're not great, but..."

"Thank you."

"Rome, I... um."

Roman pressed into the top of her shoulder. Tried to focus more on the comfort than the fact his lips were the part against her. "Go ahead."

"I—"

"Daddy!" Thumping footsteps ran toward them.

Sometimes, Roman thought that if he'd had two more minutes, he might've been able to fix things with Florence.

That day, he thought that if they'd had two more minutes, Florence might've fixed things with him.

Florence pulled away as Roman's legs were attacked by three little goblins who Roman loved but wanted nothing more than for them to leave for two god damn minutes.

Though he bent down to hug them—tried not to let his raging hangover tell them to quiet down—Roman looked up at Florence, who had her eyebrows knit together. He swallowed hard. There was no reason to talk about their relationship in front of the kids. Even their divorce papers were signed when the girls were off with their grandparents.

Florence nodded to him, tilted her head. That was their version of talk later. Usually a simple statement, sometimes about extra days with the kids, or something of the like. But that one would mean he'd have to sit through brunch and not succeed in killing himself.

Roman nodded back. Stood up. "Okay, who's hungry?"

The resounding shrieks seemed positive. Roman changed quickly while Florence piled the girls into the car. He might've smelt a little like rum, but at least he'd taken a moment to swipe deodorant on.

The restaurant wasn't too far away. A short drive, only a few lights. They went there every Christmas, it was like they had a yearly reservation. Sometimes Esmé and Margaret joined them, sometimes they came for Christmas and a couple days after. Tickets to Canada for seven people usually caused a lot of chaos on the plane, in the airport. Felt like fuckin' Home Alone trying to get them all to meet at the same time. Then again, Florence and Roman never left a kid at home.

When they got to the restaurant, Florence parked beside Everleigh and Maverick's car. They walked inside, to where Maverick and Everleigh were already sat at a too-big table, taking what they thought were sneaky sips of Lucozade that they promptly dropped back into a tote bag Everleigh had hung on her chair when they saw the girls.

Maverick, at least, got out of his chair to greet them. Probably because the excited screams were less headache inducing when he turned his cochlear implants off. Everleigh looked like she wanted to bang her head into the table when they started up. Raya quickly slid in the chair beside him, slapping her colouring sheet in front of both of them and spilling crayons across the table. When the girls had finally settled into their chairs, Maverick stealthily reached his hand behind his ear when they were more distracted by the kids menu than anything else.

Roman didn't know why they were looking. Ate chicken strips and fries every chance they got, breakfast didn't change that. It was the same with Everleigh. Not like she was going to order a full English. And if she did, she was going to give Maverick the tomatoes, fried egg, mushrooms, bacon, and the sausage. She'd done exactly that the last time Dawn told her to eat more. Maverick looked like he was ready to puke and not because he was hungover. Two full English breakfasts will do that to a man.

For those unfamiliar with what a full English consists of, the platter is as follows. Tomatoes, toast, a fried egg, mushrooms, bacon, sausage, and beans. Which meant that all Everleigh ate from her platter was... drum roll, please... the god damn beans and toast.

Admittedly, it was a damn good hangover food.

And at least it wasn't fucking marmite.

Troy and Dawn joined eventually. Roman automatically draped his arm over the back of Florence's chair when they sat down after greeting them. Everleigh got up for her parents but didn't take her sunglasses off. When their attention was back at the table, Maverick was already colouring with Raya on her kids' sheet, various sea creatures were their muse.

"Leigh," Troy said.

"Hmm?" Everleigh turned to her father. Tearing her attention away from staring into space and trying to tune out how loud the restaurant was.

"You get laser eye surgery or something?"

"Maybe."

"Everleigh," Maverick said, not even looking up from the octopus he was colouring.

"No."

"Sunglasses?"

"Oh?" For someone so smart, she was awful at playing dumb. "I was wondering why it was so dark in here. Strange."

"You look like Miranda Priestly," Dawn said.

Everleigh snapped her fingers. "You're damn right."

"Take the sunglasses off, sweet child o' mine," Troy said.

"Fuckin' Axel Rose—"

"Everleigh," Florence chided.

"Sorry." Everleigh took the sunglasses off. And, yeah, she'd absolutely worn under eye masks into a public place. Somehow to, probably, look like a normal human being. In one way or another.

"Slugs!"

"Not slugs, you bloody goblin," Everleigh said to Navi, who was sat across from her.

Maverick, who was desperately trying to colour with Raya beside him and Lyra across from him at the same time, raised his eyebrows. "Be nice."

Everleigh pulled the skin care off, quickly dropping them into her napkin and tucking it into her pocket. Quickly wiped the gel residue into her skin. That didn't really cover up the exhaustion dressing her face, but she'd tried. "Sorry. Was feeling dry from the cold."

Troy snorted. "'Cause that's why you wore sunglasses in December."

"UV reflections off snow can be blinding. It's scientifically proven."

"I like your pendant, dear," Dawn said.

Maverick choked on the Lucozade he was sneaking a sip of. In similar fashion to the way she'd worn it while at the Christmas tree farm, Everleigh had wrapped a piece of string around her ring so it sat flat on her heart. A small K pendant also hung from her neck.

Everleigh managed a stiff smile. "Thank you. Kingston gave me this for his first Academy Awards."

"Not the K, you twit," Troy said. "The new one."

"Oh," Everleigh said. "It's... yeah. Thank you."

"Anyone want to say anything new that's happened in the last few months?" Troy asked, looking everyone in the eyes as he scanned the table. To say the least: it was intimidating. Even Maverick was torn away from his colouring to "Kids?"

"Hello, happy holidays! What can I get started for you guys today? Drinks? Are we don't with the menus?" Saved by the waitstaff, by God.

Full English breakfasts were ordered, Maverick was smart this time, let Everleigh order the full English to get Dawn off her back and only ordered some toast on the side of his, and a metric ton of orange juice brought in a couple pitchers. It was Maverick's job to serve it to the girls, which he did happily. He let them get away with too much. The girls always brought markers if they knew Maverick was joining them somewhere; he always let them colour in the anatomically correct heart tattoo he had on his forearm. (Nobody was going to tell them Everleigh had the same one on her ankle.) (If the girls went anywhere near her with a marker, they'd probably get a lecture on skin cancer.)

The girls liked it when Everleigh and Maverick visited in the summer, because it meant shorts and tank tops and that meant they could colour in all of Maverick's tattoos while he sat there, not a care in the world. All of them liked to colour on the spoon, the L train, the aviators, and the Stevie. Maverick had an E and an M that, contrary to popular belief, were for Esmé and Margaret, and not Everleigh Meadowlark. There was an Achilles that Raya liked to draw moustaches on, a Toad from Mario on his ankle that Lyra coloured pink every time she had the opportunity, and Navi's favourite to colour was the one Maverick got when he lost a bet against Everleigh.

The bet was that if Everleigh could correctly guess the killer for the Scream movie he was in, he had to get a new tattoo. The problem for him was that Everleigh, from the moment she'd gotten into the Scream franchise, batted 1.000 in guessing killers and Scream 7 was no exception. That was the story of how Maverick ended up with a startingly realistic portrait of Billy Loomis surrounded by a heart, licking his finger with a knife in his hand. Right on his calf.

Never bet against Everleigh.

"Kingston?"

"Yeah, dad?" Maverick looked up from his arm. Raya had coloured the heart green, but was highlighting the lines in purple—she didn't stop for even a moment when Maverick's attention wasn't on her any longer.

"Nice ring."

Maverick was not a great actor. His face dropped, and the recovery wasn't quick. "Thanks. Stevie got it for me. For Resurgence. After it won album of the year. Retirement gift."

"Hm. Retirement gift."

"Yup."

Troy narrowed his eyes. "That's the story?"

"... Yup."

"Dear, stop badgering the boy," Dawn said.

"Fine, fine," Troy said. He looked at Everleigh. "Pendant, huh?"

"I have a headache, please leave me alone."

"A headache is also the story we're going with?" Troy asked.

As they should've known, Troy knew everything. It was annoying as all hell.

"Did you know," Roman started.

All attention at the table turned to him, even the girls. Raya had even stopped colouring on Maverick's tattoo. He hadn't thought that far ahead. But, Everleigh and Maverick were practically begging him to think of something. A silent plea.

"Um," Roman said. Swallowed hard. Florence reached under the table and gave his hand a quick squeeze—revitalizing. "Did you know that, biochemically, being in love is the same as having... an extreme case of OCD?"

The girls all turned back to colouring Maverick's arm. Roman wouldn't be shocked if he showed up one day with one of their scribbles permanently on him. He seemed like the type. Left his forearm open so they could colour outside the lines.

"That so?" Dawn asked.

"It's amazing what the brain can do on oxytocin."

Roman thought he might've been imagining that Florence kissed his cheek quickly.

"Yeah," Troy said, "Amazing."

"Here we are," the server said. A couple coworkers helped hand out the brunch plates—Everleigh started scooping things onto Maverick's plate while Raya used every last second to finish drawing a horrendous-looking Santa on him. "... And the mimosa." Which they placed in front of Everleigh.

Everleigh looked like the thought of it was going to make her puke.

Roman laughed into his glass of water.

"Um," Everleigh said. "Sorry, I didn't order this."

"Oh, he did," the server said, motioning to Roman. "Said it was on him."

Maverick pressed his lips together to keep from laughing. Looked down at his plate and stabbed a tomato with his fork.

Everleigh stared at Roman—murder in her eyes. "Okay, thank you."

"Anyone need anything else?"

Before Everleigh could ask for a sharper knife, Troy dismissed their server. He laughed and held his water glass up, which Roman clinked his orange juice with.

Everleigh looked at the girls for a moment, making sure their attention wasn't on her. How could it be with food in front of them. She quickly flipped him off. Roman laughed.

Things almost felt normal. He wasn't even panicked that Florence was still holding his hand under the table.