InsaneJournal

Who Richie and Max
What A little sad about the departure of their son, Max and Richie chat Christmas.
When Last Friday, November 12.
Where: Skyhold
Rating: PG

The week had been a brisk one, like the weather that got cooler every day. Max enjoyed the dropping temperatures because they reminded him of his favorite parts of home. Skyhold seemed more and more where it was supposed to be in the frosty mornings - except for the fact that it was quiet.

Quiet now because it was missing a joyful and stubborn-headed baby orc. Alfie had only been in Vallo for two weeks, but apparently it was easy to love someone you had only just met. Max would never again roll his eyes at stories of instant adoration because now he had experienced that for himself with his sweet son, Alfie. His disappearance hadn’t been a surprise, but the absence he felt certainly had him reaching more often for Richie’s waist, curling slightly closer to him at night. The wedding earlier in the week had been a fun distraction, but Max still felt both a strange melancholy and an anticipation for a future that hadn’t happened yet.

So he waited for Richie to come home, positioned by the drawbridge with a notebook and a pen, writing a few ideas here and there for work.

Vallo was weird as fuck - it had a way of like, reading your mind or just popping life lessons in or popping them back out when it was Time, and Richie had long ago stopped trying to understand any rhyme or reason of the place that kidnapped him. Trying to do that was as impossible as stepping foot into the ocean, expecting the waves to just part right there - it wouldn’t happen.

So he succumbed to it, for the most part. He still dabbled in future-telling, however - in scrying, and automatic writing, and it wasn’t because he needed to know exactly what was in store. It was more like he wanted to, on some level, ensure he was still here - he wouldn’t see a future in Vallo if he wasn’t a part of it, and after everything that had happened recently? He very much wanted to be a part of it.

Heading back from the city, he took the waypoints to Skyhold and found Max outside - tackle hugging him was definitely an option but since he was holding a pen, Richie would attempt to be responsible. So he only partially tackled him - this involved wiggling his way into Max’s embrace, long arms squeezing his husband (now in his phone as his ex-boyfriend, because Richie was hilarious) and nosing at his neck. Personal space? Zero.

“Did you know we first met a year ago? Like, two days ago it was a year - we got coffee,” he mumbled. The autumn air was satiny, and felt like a chilly sort of tickle, but he was all for snuggling up in the heated castle.

The notion (and let’s be real, the nuzzling) roused Max from his bittersweet thoughts, and he made a sort of “mmm” noise insistent in his surprise. And then: “...has it really been a year?”

Max’s voice reflected his wonderment, and he pulled back just a little to look at Richie searchingly. On one hand, he could believe it - he felt quite as if he’d reacquainted himself with himself here in Vallo and not with his value as a political pawn or title. That shit took time. On the other hand, he felt still dizzyingly new with love and discovery as his fingers gave Richie’s a squeeze. “I suppose it has been a year</i>,” he agreed after a moment, grin growing on his face. “Oh-- damn! That means it was an anniversary. We’ve not been married three months and I’m already forgetting our anniversaries..”

“I dunno if it counts as an anniversary for us, necessarily,” Richie grinned, a dopey sort of loving expression in all of his crookedness and eye-crinkles, as his fingers straightened the collar of Max’s shirt. “Not like it was a date.” Probably - maybe? All Richie knew was that he looked at Max in that coffee shop - looked at Max, who had been looking at the things will be fine neon pink sign, and he felt...good.

He’d wanted it to be a date, even then. And the more he got to know Max, the things he did (playing with Richie’s hair, and he was such a sucker for that, or curling his body against his to go to sleep) - it was like all of that fed Richie’s soul and started to heal the parts of him he always knew were broken. “I just thought of it ‘cause, you know - we got from there to...Alfie. It’s pretty awesome.”

And speaking of their orc child, with his bow ties and his endless well of energy and the way he painted a whole goddamn fresco on the walls... “I miss him.”

Max exhaled, grateful for the words to be spoken out loud, because they gave him permission to relax into the feeling. “I know!” he said, scarcely believing it himself. “I miss him so much! I keep waiting to see him creeping on the foot of the bed, and the castle’s never been quieter.”

Max was, as a rule, used to rolling with it, but he usually was able to keep his distance from the people and places he was exposed to. Necessity, in his line of work, to learn to see people as allies rather than friends. His soft spots had to have been reserved for a select few. But he was too warm not to just adore the green little guy with the big eyes (that reminded him of Richie, to be honest, even though there was no blood relation). With a sigh that was half-laughing, half-sad, he let his prosthetic drop to Richie’s waist. “It’s a shame he couldn’t tell time very well. I tried asking him when he was born and he kept repeating the month and day.”

Richie laughed too because, uh, right. A five-year-old really had no concept of time whatsoever. “You got further than I did - he could tell me how old he was by holding up one hand and showing me all his fingers but that was about it,” the proud father lamented - it maybe would have been nice to know when he and Max got all the adoption paperwork in order and made everything official, like when Alfie was a baby, but. He just guessed it would happen when it happened and if they did know - maybe they’d try to change it around somehow? Fuck with the future?

You didn’t fuck with the future. Any psychic worth their salt would tell you that. Richie could just hear Destiny’s glare from here.

“Wanna go inside and I can make hot cocoa the way Alfie liked it - “ So with the equivalent of one-hundred-and-sixty tablespoons of sugar, “...and we can mope?” he asked Max, doing a standing snuggle for now, until they got into the castle and Richie could properly tackle him.

“Oh yes,” Max agreed instantly, “I think I’d like to mope with you very much.” The cocoa so sugary it was mostly solid sounded like a good plan as well. This feeling that he had wasn’t depression, exactly - he was too anticipatory for that - but it was certainly something that wasn’t purely joyful. Complicated. When things got too complicated he didn’t mind just throwing himself into chaos, and while that was difficult here (fewer Templars to fight) he at least had Richie as a partner in finding it.

The walk to the kitchens was a quick one. The half Medieval, half up-to-date room was built on a combination of magic and convenience. Max was already pulling out the little packets of brown powder to make hot cocoa with, because he was a philistine who couldn’t do it the long way. “I do hope we see him again. I’m fine with it not being in the next few months, but… well. I do hope he’s ours, here.”

“He’s ours,” Richie insisted, right away - he didn’t even have to think about that. “As soon as I saw him, I knew he was ours.” Maybe he wasn’t biologically theirs - they didn’t go to some magical surrogate to somehow combine genetic material from both he and Max (which - what the fuck? Science, or whatever excuse there was for science, was so weird here), to create a baby that was part mage, part Loser. But Alfie was still theirs in all of the ways that counted.

He was sweet and loving, and brightly curious like Max - maybe a little chaotic like Richie too. But he definitely had the same sensitivity as his bespectacled dad - it made Richie’s heart swell whenever he saw how careful Alfie was when petting fuzzy llamas, like he was hyper aware of how strong he was and eugh. Such a sap.

“I think he gets closer to Finn....like, you know. Close. Later on,” he added, taking the milk from the fridge so they could mix two mugs with that powdered shit. Adora hadn’t outright stated that Finn was romantically involved with Alfie but she’d sure as shit hinted at it pretty strongly. Probably didn’t want to give too many spoilers, which - fair, he supposed.

Max tried not to react too much on the thought that Alfie could be theirs as in theirds - his hopes were high-flying kites and anything to the contrary would have them crashing back down to the ground. So he ripped open three powders - because everyone knew you needed one-and-a-half chocolate powders rather than the advised one - and divided them evenly in two mugs: one emblazoned with “I defeated a cosmic demon clown and all I got was this dumb mug” on it, the other “Best Inquisitor Ever”. He gave Richie the Inquisitor one and prepared to heat up the milk.

“I loved Finn,” he acknowledged wistfully, thinking of the sweet, curious child that Adora and Catra had managed to create. “The notion that they’re dating is just… ugh. Almost as sweet as this concoction we’re about to drink.” He flashed Richie a smile and thought of their green-hued, gentle son, already turning over in his head how they could incorporate him in this year’s Christmas festivities. Even if he’d only celebrated the holiday once, his overachieving ass was plotting a way to make this year extra special - his first year with Richie, their first together as a family. He’d already gotten stockings embroidered with their names in the works - maybe he could add on one with Alfie’s name as a surprise.

The shorter name. He doubted Warlordling Alfred would fit on a stocking without some real work involved.

“I mean, I don’t know for sure - it just sounded that way. Guess we’re gonna have to wait and see,” Richie grinned, already giddy at the prospects. “He and Finn were the same age though so I guess - we adopt him when he’s a baby the same year Finn was born?” That was some mental gymnastics and the more he thought about it, the more he kind of felt his brain melting out of his ears - so maybe he just shouldn’t consider it too much.

Nice choice of mugs, husbando. They could heat up the milk in the microwave - because that thing was super handy, about on par with the coffeemaker. The whole ‘halfway medieval, halfway modern’ aesthetic that the kitchen had going on was something Richie really liked - it helped him ease into actually living in a castle. “I just - I never thought I’d have something like this and...I really, really want us to be with Alfie when it’s time.”

They needed marshmallows and he’d grab a bag from the pantry, but first? First he wrapped his arms around Max and clung to him for a minute, warm hands on him and shirt scrunched as Richie buried his face in the safe spot between Max’s neck and shoulder. “I love you so fucking much, okay?“ He told Max he loved him often (before he left for work, right before sleep overcame him, sometimes in a text with an eggplant emoji as accompaniment), but it felt important to say now.

Ever since Cullen had disappeared. And Eddie. And it got Richie thinking about how different loving Eddie had even felt - it was love in the way all kids loved each other. Wildly, with an edge of wondering how you even stood each other. Not anything like this.

“I love you,” Max replied, just as fiercely if somewhat muffled given the amount of arm length Richie was fully capable of in hug-monster-mode, nuzzling his own face on the side of Richie’s. Alfie’s presence, like the best of gifts, had been as joyful as bittersweet given the knowledge that he would have to leave.

But they’d weathered worse, both individually and together. He knew they’d be fine with the same feeling of sureness that Eddie did, despite Vallo’s lack of promised permanency. He’d taken on a so-called god, he could handle this.

Max released Richie and busied himself with the microwave, punching buttons as if the microwave had personally wronged him (he still wasn’t used to regulating finger pressure on electronics). “I want to do all the silliest Christmas stuff with you that you like,” he announced. “I remember some of the things from last year, but this year, I’m down for whatever. Matching ugly sweaters. Your favorite traditions. Even, Maker help me, fruitcake.”

Last year, Richie recalled that there had been an Eddie around then too - and it was slightly disastrous. But there were good memories also - ones that were filled with warmth and lightness and not anything remotely depressing. Ones with Max. “Let’s make a terrible gingerbread house again,” he suggested, finally grabbing those marshmallows from the pantry. And the microwave countdown was still going on - but he may as well test out these marshmallows anyway. You know. Make sure they weren’t expired or something.

Hence why he popped a couple into his mouth and chewed, like some chubby bunny. “Fruitcake though? Honey,” Richie practically dissolved into panicked giggles. Oh no - fruitcake was the worst and they’d just end up using it to level a wobbly desk, most likely. “We can do everything. Stockings, a tree, mistletoe where I can steal kisses from you like a smooch ninja.”

Not that he didn’t do that already, of course.

“That was when I knew you could handle me at my worst, as that awful saying goes,” Max said, fondly remembering that entire disaster. Having a gingerbread house collapse into a mess of goo and frosting - and Richie attempt to salvage it - was one of his favorite early memories of their relationship. “When you were nice about my sad, sad little architectural abomination, and my deranged attachment to improving it.”

He stirred the hot liquid sugar, thinking off of Richie’s train of thought. “I’d very much like to decorate Skyhold properly this year. Lots of boughs. Mistletoe, as you said. Definitely a giant fuck-off tree - that’s traditional, yes? I’ll let you decorate it.” He assumed Richie had ornament opinions. Probably tacky ones. He loved the mere idea of it.

And speaking of stealing kisses - he leaned forward, kissing the taste of marshmallow off of the other man’s lips. “Let’s have a happy little winter together, yeah? Maybe a party, well away from the actual holidays. We can celebrate Adora and Catra’s nuptials, the lengthening days.”

“I’m way into your deranged attachment, honey,” Richie grinned, pulling his cup of hot cocoa from the microwave and giving that one a stir too. All while leaning in to meet Max halfway, pressing a kiss to his mouth and sharing sweetness and sugar (literal, actual sugar). “We’ll go for the fuck-off tree for sure. Putting me in charge of the decorations must really mean you love me.”

Oh yeah. That shit was gonna be tacky as all get out - like so much glitter and flamingo ornaments and all the holiday eyesores that those branches could hold. Bring it on.

“And I like the idea of a winter get-together. That’ll be something nice - maybe we can combine it into a ‘goodbye singledom’ party for Catra and Adora too.” He’d promised to throw them one and in addition to the pole dancing, he wanted to make it really fun and nice. Skyhold was the perfect place to do that.

“Then let’s do it, then,” Max agreed happily. “I may invite some people from the covens, and spread that holiday cheer. That’s a thing, isn’t it?” Leaning against the counter next to Richie, he smiled. The expression was tinged with a hint of sadness for their missing little orc, but it was mostly filled with anticipation and warmth. Wordlessly, he raised his mug to click against Richie’s in a toast:

“To holiday cheer, and our new family.”

The idea of inviting the covens was a good one too - Richie was all in. “Yeah, I’ll get Prigany here on my end,” he promised - and he knew that Destiny would want to help them all make it a really great holiday bash, that she’d want to spend time with them. The feeling was returned - he was such a sucker for those damn witchy seers.

He clinked his mug against Max’s, carefully, and invaded best husband’s personal space to kiss him again - the sun, the moon, the stars. Richie just adored him. Would it save Max from shit like a ‘St. Nicholas’ tree ornament with a terrifying picture of Nicholas Cage’s face superimposed onto it?

Well, no. But he did it all out of love.