The Afterlife (Josh)

[Dr. Sean Neville]

((OOC: This occurs on Monday, October 28, 2013.))


Halloween was one of Sean’s favorite holidays, because of the many and varied activities for people of all ages. Over the weekend, there had been parties: first the adult party at the Churchkey, for which he and Josh had attempted a dry run of their costumes; and then the Halloween dance at Hammel the next night, for which he and Josh had been responsible adult chaperones.

With Halloween proper a mere three days away, the house had been decorated for the occasion: enough to be festive but without anything that would cause nightmares to trick-or-treaters. Candy had been purchased (more than enough for the entire neighborhood), and he and Josh had been engaged in family activities with Bailey during the day, and then more adult activities after she had gotten ready for bed.

That night, after calisthenics and putting Bailey to bed, the two men had found themselves back in the kitchen. Josh had decided to bake cup-pies – individual pecan pumpkin pies in cupcake molds - as a deviation from his (mostly ritualistic) homework. Sean had borrowed a few Halloween cocktail recipes that he had decided to make, so that the two of them could simply enjoy the evening together.

“This one’s called a ‘poison apple,’” the telepath announced, as he added ice and then stirred the beverage. “I promise to kiss you awake if you fall into a coma.”

[Joshua Bernstein]

The promise caused Josh to look up from the bowl he was diligently stirring, one eyebrow quirked with interest.

"When you say things like that it almost makes comas sound like something to strive for," he remarked teasingly. A quick flash of guilt burned through him as the words left his mouth; Sean had been in a coma a few years prior after an accident involving several of the Hammel faculty. He'd never got all the details, but he remembered how terrifying it was to get the phone call. Especially right after the awful cryptic message Sean had left him.

Still, Sean was the one who had begun the joke, so it couldn't be too sensitive a topic.

He smoothed his face into a smile and returned to his baking. "Snow White has a pet rabbit." Abby had told him this once, when cooing over Mopsy. "So I think that means I just need to find a few dwarves."

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean offered his partner a smile, as he crossed the kitchen to set the drink down in front of the younger man. “I trust that you know better than to strive for this, even with the promise of a kiss at the end.” It wasn’t as though the telepath was stingy when it came to physical intimacy; kisses and other demonstrates of affection came freely.

Although he overheard Josh’s thoughts, he didn’t correct his partner to say that it wasn’t really a coma. Even correcting that misunderstanding might divulge too much of other people’s secrets, and the battle with M.S.A.D. belonged to everyone involved, not merely to him. As such, he couldn’t remark upon it more than Josh already knew, having spent the time in the hospital with him. He was fine, and they had beaten M.S.A.D., albeit with long-lasting consequences.

He took a sip from his own drink, leaning against the counter as he watched his partner bake. “Would children qualify as substitutes?” He asked, since it would be easier to find children than it would be to find an enclave of little people, specifically those with dwarfism. “We can use the candy to encourage them to come over. Or just wait until Thursday night.”

[Joshua Bernstein]

"And here I thought we didn't want to encourage children to run off with strangers," Josh laughed, pouring his mixture into cupcake sleeves carefully placed in a muffin tray. There was, it turned out, rather more mix than he had counted on, and so when each cup was full there was still some left over. He decided to top off the existing cupcakes.

"Or has this rule changed since I was a child."

[Dr. Sean Neville]

“Everything has changed since we were children,” Sean reminded his partner. When the telepath had been a child, before he had manifested, trick-or-treating had involved homemade treats: candy apples, popcorn balls, cookies and brownies, taffy and fudge. The holiday had been simpler, there had been less commercialism – in every aspect from candy to costumes to decorations to the treatment by adults. However, when Sean had been at Hammel, and then in college, there had been some high-profile incidents with tampered candy.

Despite the fact that not a single incident involved candy given by strangers or neighbors (in fact, all of the tainted candy had either been the result of a parent or guardian poisoning their own children, or had been the result of a taint at the factory), the entire culture had changed. Now only pre-packaged treats would do, not matter how well the parents knew the neighbors. Sean could point to statistics, but at the end of the day, he was a middle-aged man, once single and now living with another middle-aged man, and, as such, it didn’t look appropriate for him to be the sole voice arguing in favor of a returned to unwrapped treats for the neighborhood children.

As such, he bought his candy every year, and he shared in other festivities with adults and family members.

“Although, we’re hardly strangers. I’ve babysat for half the cul-de-sac,” the telepath mused aloud, before he took another sip of his drink. “You should have some of yours; I think you’ll like it.”

[Joshua Bernstein]

Once all the batter was scooped out of the bowl Josh decided to take Sean's advice. He placed the whisk in the bowl, handing it over to his partner in case the other man wished to lick it, before taking a sip from his drink.

"Mmmm." He sighed, smacking his lips at the fruity taste. "That is delicious."

The beep of the timer interrupted his enjoyment of the drink, and he reluctantly set it on the counter. Oven mitts were donned,and then the tray carefully lifted and carried. As he bent down to scoot it into the yawning cavern that was their oven some of the mix slopped over the side.

"Oh, no!" He exclaimed in dismay. "There was too much batter."

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean set down his glass and took the bowl as it was handed to him. The younger man was considerate to give him the chance to lick the bowl, and considering how enticing the batter smelled (and that there was sufficient shortening since these were miniature pies), he decided to avail himself of the opportunity to indulge himself.

The telepath ran one finger along the rim of the bowl, collecting batter before bringing it to his lips. After tasting it, he offered his partner a matching smile. “I could say the same for this. I’m sure these will be delicious.”

When he’d had his fill of the batter, he set the bowl and whisk down in the sink. He would wash them in a few minutes, but he wanted to return to his beverage first.

In the scheme of life troubles, too much batter in the cup-pie mini tins did not rate a place on the list at all. An abundance of batter was something about which to be pleased in the non-baking sense, although it was a mild inconvenience when one was trying to stick to a recipe during limited hours. Immediately, Sean pulled on the roll of paper towels, and wetting a couple. He offered them to the younger man to aid in cleaning the sloshed mess.

[Joshua Bernstein]

"Thank you," Josh sighed in exasperation as he set the cupcake tray back on the counter. Fortunately slosh in didn't generate as much of a mess as dropping, and so they had soon enough cleared the floor of batter.

"Let's try this again,"

Just in case the extra batter continued to cause problems he slid a cookie sheet into the oven first before placing the cupcake tray on top of that.

"There," he declared, straightening and returning to his drink. "If anything spills it won't be into the oven."

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean stood by, in case the younger man required his help with cleaning. However, when it was apparent that his partner had a handle on it, the telepath returned to his drink as well.

“And, even if it did somehow, it’s self-cleaning.” Unlike the floors. Not that he was resentful of the occasional spill on the kitchen tiles; that was a hazard of food preparation. It wasn’t a regular occurrence, and Mopsy was kept primarily in her hutch, they had no other animals roaming about, and Bailey was twelve and upstairs in bed already. As such, there was no risk of anyone stepping in the mess and unwittingly tracking it throughout the house. Or licking the floor.

The telepath could see that Josh was getting a bit frustrated, and it was his goal to ease that. Tonight was relaxation for both of them; they were supposed to enjoy the upcoming holiday and bask in one another’s company before getting ready for bed and work tomorrow.

“We could think of a drinking game to play,” he suggested, lifting his glass as though to illustrate this idea. Sean was too old and disinclined to play any serious drinking game, the way that college students played, but he was sure that he and Josh could think of something fun to do.

[Joshua Bernstein]

"You have a point," josh conceded grudgingly. He pushed the frustration to the back of his mind, determined to relax instead of fretting over spilled batter. They'd cleaned it up, and now only had to wait for the cup-pies to finish in the oven. Then after their cooling period the treats could be eaten.

And that would be delicious.

"A drinking game?" He mused, stroking his chin in thought. "What about we take a drink every time I think about kissing you?"

But as soon as the words left his mouth he was shaking his head in dismissal. "No, we'd both pickle our livers that way. We can watch the news and have a drink every time someone says recession or spending cuts."

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean often had a point. However, as he didn’t gloat, he made no mention of this. Instead, he offered his partner an encouraging smile, glad that they had reached a consensus that they wouldn’t worry about the spilled batter for the rest of the night.

The telepath’s smile widened at the suggestion. He agreed with Josh, of course, as such an exercise was a quick trip to complete intoxication. Partially because of the nature of their intimate relationship and partially because the drunker they were, the more amorous they became, and thus it would create an unending feedback loop that could only end with them passed out in the living room and quite possibly missing several articles of clothing. With their fostering responsibilities, they did not have the luxury of such lapses in judgment.

Which meant that they would have to be careful with any drinking game that they chose.

At the suggestion, he lifted his drink as though in a toast. “That’s agreeable enough to me, if you aren’t worried about your blood pressure before bed.”

The draconian spending cuts that disproportionately affected the poor and people of color were a frequent topic over meals. Both men agreed that this was the incorrect course of action for their economy; Sean was happy to pay more in taxes to repair the tattered safety net, but nobody asked for his opinion.

[Joshua Bernstein]

The reminder about his blood pressure elicited a disappointed sigh from the attorney.

"Another good point," he muttered, shoulders slumping. That Sean had agreed to the idea anyway had escaped him for the moments s he was too distracted. Y blood pressure anxieties.

He wished he didn't have this health complication to worry about; it kept inconveniencing him.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

The sigh only demonstrated that, even with telepathy, Sean was hardly infallible. He had meant the remark in a more light-hearted way. Not that he viewed Josh’s health with humor or levity, but Josh had made great improvements to cope with the blood pressure. In addition to the prescribed medication, they were eating less takeout and less salt, they were drinking less (overall, even if they occasionally drank a bit more) and less beer and hard liquor, replaced with wine. They were exercising more, between calisthenics and jogging, and Josh’s bicycle in the still-good weather, as winter would not arrive for another month. Sean was proudest of the fact that the younger man had stopped smoking between their combined efforts, and that was cause for celebration.

However, since he had brought the topic to the fore, Sean had a responsibility to put his partner back into a better mood.

Setting down his drink, the telepath crossed to where his partner stood and wrapped both arms around the younger man’s waist. “I’m sure we can find something to do while we wait for the pies to bake. Maybe something special to get your mind off the news and your blood pressure.”

Sean emphasized that with a kiss to the attorney’s cheek.

[Joshua Bernstein]

"Something special?" Josh took a step closer to his partner, his breathing deeper in excited anticipation. He always enjoyed words like special when coupled with physical affection from Sean.

One hand reached slowly out to grasp his partner's shirt when the smell of burning assaulted his nostrils.

"Oh, no!" He jerked back, peering dismally into the oven.


Which fogged up his glasses.

And then the smoke alarm began going off.

"I can't see what happened. This was a bad idea." He sulked, pulling a box of wipes out of his pockets and rubbing at his spectacles unhappily.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

“Something special,” Sean confirmed with what he intended to be an enticing smile. He and his partner had known one another long enough for Josh to recognize what the telepath meant when he used key descriptive phrases and euphemisms. He wrapped his arms around the younger man, pulling him closer. Since Bailey was upstairs, they didn’t need to worry about interruptions.

At least not from their foster daughter.

The odor of smoke and burning reached him, and Sean’s smile quickly turned into a frown of concern. He quickly let his partner slip from his arms, so that Josh could check on the oven.

A moment later, the smoke alarm was going off, which caused the older man to sigh. That noise was going to wake Bailey.

As such, the psychiatrist started waving both of his arms to try to clear the smoke away from the alarm, so that it would stop. At the same time, he projected up to their foster daughter (as he heard her wake) to reassure her, There’s nothing to worry about. We just burnt something in the oven. You can go back to sleep in a minute or two.

As soon as they managed to get the smoke detector to stop its panicked beeping.

“I think the tray tipped over in the oven.”