Tommy/maria - Tumblr Posts

for drabbles: more Tommy and Maria? you gave them such a cute family and I want to see more of that!

I'm actually working on a one-shot (tentatively titled Stand on the Rock) about them, which fits into my People Still Listen to Fleetwood Mac in the Apocalypse series. It takes place a year after the events of Go Your Own Way, and about two-and-a-half years before As Long as You Follow. Again, have a (long!) snip!

A crash resonated from somewhere within the house – downstairs, judging from the overall distance that seemed to carry it – and then a shout quickly followed. A second later there was another sound, and a far more terrifying one at that: the shattering of glass, followed by a young voice yelling out in surprise and then a more feminine tone screeching out, “you asshole!” 

“For fuck’s sake –” Maria turned her head, moaning this into her pillow. “Tell me I didn’t just hear something glass break.”

“You didn’t hear somethin’ glass break,” Tommy grunted. Still, they didn’t move, seemingly frozen in place. A deep sigh left his lips, his forehead pressed against her braids. “Maybe we can just…lay here, pretend like we didn’t hear nothin’.”

“Mama!” The sheer desperation of the cry made them both groan, and that was that – all hope was lost. Within seconds, their – thankfully locked – doorknob was rattling, twisting back and forth and shuddering as a small fist pounded against the painted wood. “Papa! Let me in!”

“You want broken glass, or the three-year-old?” Maria pulled herself away from him with a groan, leaving him suddenly feeling rather cold even under the warmth of their duvet. She slid out from over the covers and sat up at the side of the bed, stretching herself long, her feet on the ground and her head tilted back as her hands grasped at the back of her neck, working out the knots in her muscles. 

“I want you to get back in this bed, cariño,” he grumbled, reaching his arm out long just to tug at the bottom of her sleep shirt. “Whatever’s broken’ll still be broken in five minutes.”

“Five minutes, huh?” She twisted around to look at him still laying against his pillow, one eyebrow arched toward her hairline. “What girl could possibly resist an offer that enticing?” She rose to her feet as he chuckled, opening her dresser drawers and grabbing a clean pair of underwear and some jeans, both of which she wrangled over her hips with impressive speed as she hopped her way to their bedroom door. There was still a small pair of lungs bellowing for mama and papa on the other side, but as soon as it was unlocked and Maria pulled it open, the little face that was there to greet them switched from abject misery to pure joy almost immediately.

“Mama!” Artie threw hands in the air, jumping up and down on his tip-toes expectantly. Maria acquiesced immediately, sweeping the boy up in her arms and holding him securely at her shoulder. “Teo and Cece broke something!” he informed both of them chirpily, and Tommy snorted even as he covertly pulled his boxers back over his thighs, still under the protection of the blanket.

“My son, the narc,” he said, holding his hands out.

“My son, the state’s witness,” Maria corrected him, pressing a sloppy kiss on the boy’s cheek before dropping the giggling bundle of curly hair and fire engine red pajamas on top of the covers, where he immediately made a beeline for his father’s waiting arms. “All yours, Casanova. I’m going downstairs – see what the other two have managed to destroy. My bet’s on a window.”

“Don’t be a pessimist, mi vida,” he chided her, and she paused in the doorway, “we also got a TV, some mirrors – I mean, the possibilities are endless.”

She didn’t even bother replying directly to him, letting the shake of her head and a few mumbled words do it for her, and he listened to her feet stomping down the stairs while Artie pushed himself into his arms, pressing his face against Tommy’s chest.

“Do you know what they broke, cachetes?” he whispered to the toddler, brushing some of his curls away from his eyes. The boy shook his head, though his smile only grew. “No? You were in bed?” Artie nodded this time, and Tommy laughed. “Yeah, I don’t believe that for a second.” 

Artie said nothing to this, but he giggled again, reaching up to tug on the collar of Tommy’s t-shirt so he could pull himself closer to the man’s chest. He nestled in, a small, warm body curled against his father, and Tommy welcomed the embrace, more than willing to steal a few extra moments of rest so his heart could find some calm before the demands of the day began. He knew well enough that this was all very temporary – that someday Artie would decide that he was too old to start his mornings this way, that eventually he wouldn’t even want Tommy to hold his hand while they walked through the streets of Jackson. He still remembered the sting of it, the first time Sarah surreptitiously pulled away from him before they could cross an intersection together, barely seven years old but already convinced of her need for independence. 

“It’s just you, me, and the alborotadores today,” he said softly, palming one of Artie’s comically rounded cheeks. It was almost disappointing that they were beginning to diminish; that the boy was growing into his looks, stretching taller by the day and developing a leanness to his limbs that was propelling him out of toddlerhood faster than Tommy expected or wanted. “What d'you wanna do?”

When Artie smiled he was all Tommy, his nose wrinkling out of habit, a wide grin stretched over his teeth. In moments of tranquility Maria's influence on his features became more evident, his dark eyes just as wide and observant, his nose, when settled, more rounded at its tip. His hair seemed to darken more and more every day – and it was the hair that always gave Tommy pause, so reminiscent of the cousin he would never get to meet, tightly-coiled and springy and barely able to be contained under a hat when the weather turned cold. It was the hair that always caught his uncle’s attention, too; where his eyes always lingered for a little longer than he meant for them to, his expression carefully neutral until the child’s attention was upon him and he would remember to immediately force a smile that never quite reached his eyes.

“Pancakes,” said Artie now, “with syrup.” 

Forget the syrup one goddamn time, and Tommy was certain he would never hear the end of it. Still, he smiled down at the pair of eyes that were now carefully watching him, a young face that brightened considerably when he nodded in agreement. “Pancakes it is. Gotta go to the dining hall for it, though. You’re gonna have to get dressed – no pajamas allowed. You wanna get started, and then I’ll come in and help?” “Okay!” Invigorated by the promise of pancakes, Artie sprang up at once, crawling over his father and not even noticing the sharp ‘oof!’ pushed out of Tommy’s lungs when one of his small knees connected with sternum, dropping down on the other side of him and then wiggling down the side of the bed until his bare feet touched the cold hardwood. “Hurry!” the boy yelled, already dashing into the hallway. Tommy sat up slowly, one hand rubbing at his aching chest, a deep sigh leaving his throat.

He’d been awake for less than ten minutes, and already he could tell it was going to be a very long day.

Stand On the Rock.

And don’t tell me no!

I have given you so many snips at this point that you've read most of what I've written, haha. Stand on the Rock is a slice-of-life one-shot that takes place in my People Still Listen to Fleetwood Mac in the Apocalypse series. I gave Tommy and Maria three kids in that universe (one biological child, and two older children they eventually adopt) but those stories aren't really about them, so I never really got to flesh them out the way I wanted. The story really ended up growing as I got into it, so we actually get a glimpse of how Tommy and Maria begin seeing each other, and then fast-forward into them trying to deal with the fact that the children in their house now outnumber them. Have a tiny snip:

“One dance – then I’ll fuck off,” Tommy promised, covertly wiping his palms against his jeans and then extending a hand out to her. Maria didn’t reply for a solid few seconds, and it was an eerie thing to be on the receiving end of such an intense gaze. The weight of her stare pinned him into place, a laser that felt likely to bore right through him – but she took his hand anyway; lightly, hesitantly, as though she was afraid she was condoning something wicked if she at all squeezed his fingers or showed any enthusiasm whatsoever about what she was currently instructing her body to do. 

“That a promise?” she asked, and he snorted, drawing her a little closer, taking a chance to slip his arm around her waist – and this resulted in a rather withering look, certainly, but after a quick scan around the room confirmed many other dance partners in similar poses, she seemed to relax a little, the tension slowly seeping out of her shoulders. She settled into his hold, if not with enthusiasm then at least with a grudging acceptance.

“I’ll getcha it in writing,” he said with a nod, and she choked back a laugh. For a wonderful few moments, she allowed him to lead her; they swayed with the crowd, following the melody of a vaguely familiar country ballad that Tommy thought he’d last heard in an Austin dive bar, but wasn’t entirely sure. And it was easy – easy to lead, to keep his arm wrapped around her waist, to try to pretend as though he’d ever been this nervous at any point in his life that did not involve him aiming a gun at someone. “So,” he said finally, slowly turning on the spot, apparently determined to immediately ruin this, “Jay, huh?”

“Oh, here we go,” she sighed. 

“Nice guy,” he said, “but don’t you think he might be a little…I dunno…young, for you?”

“Is this how you flirt?” Her voice held an edge to it – he grinned anyway. “By telling women they’re too old for their dance partners?”

“Nothin’ to do with you,” he reasoned, and he took a step back from her, quickly, lifting her arm – and though she was surprised by it, she followed his lead, allowing him to spin her. When they came back together, it was with a laugh that she tried and failed to hide. “Just him. Don’t get me wrong – Jay’s a nice fella. Real nice – but, do I really gotta say it?”

“Say what?” she asked coolly.

“C’mon, now,” Tommy huffed, “you know what I mean. That one – he’s a boy. You don’t need that. You need –”

“So help me,” she warned, rolling her eyes to the ceiling, “if you finish that sentence with ‘a man,’ I’m leaving.”