“That is the ugliest jacket I’ve ever seen,” Renea called from the dock as Peter and Greg approached.

Peter didn’t even reply. Instead, he picked up the pace, racing toward his family. He wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her tight and lifting her into the air.

“I’ve missed you,” Peter said, looking at his wife with love in his eyes. He set her down, hands sliding to rest on her hips.

Renea pressed her head into his chest and he held her close for several seconds. Her soft sobs were barely audible amidst the ocean gently lapping against the shore. Peter felt his heart swell, tears falling from his eyes and into Renea’s hair. Flapjack inserted himself between their legs, whining excitedly. Renea laughed, smiling down at the old boy. Her mascara was ruined, nose running. She was beautiful.

“Peter,” she said, not taking her eyes from Flapjack. “I feel like something’s come between us.”

“Is it…” Peter said, feigning ignorance. “Could it be…” he continued, now looking down at the dog. “A fuzzy mongrel?”

“A fuzzy mongrel that missed you at least as much as I did.”

Peter released his wife and bent to rub Flapjack’s ears. “I missed you, too, big guy. Did you take care of your mother while I was gone?”

Flapjack yipped.

“I knew you would. You’re a good boy.”

Flapjack’s stubby tail wiggled and he licked Peter’s face repeatedly until Peter stood up. He wiped Flapjack’s love-spit from his cheeks, mouth, and chin.

“Renea, Flapjack, I want to introduce you to the newest member of our family.”

Flapjack’s head cocked to the left. A fat gobbet of drool escaped his saggy lips in the process. Renea leaned to look behind Peter, and then turned to him with confusion when she saw no sign of the god cat he’d mentioned before. His mischievous smile stretched ear to ear.

Peter Mayhew reached into his jacket pocket, the unenchanted outside pocket over his right hip, and pulled out a mouse-sized god. He set her gently down, and then increased her mass to that of a house cat.

Renea’s eyes widened. Flapjack’s eyes also widened, sort of. The skin of his face had been growing steadily saggier over the last few years - maybe more than a few years. It almost looked like his eyes widened. He warily approached the cat, whose eyes were locked on him, ears pinned to her head. Her back was arched, fur standing on end in a menacing posture. Peter issued a silent command to remain still. Omacatl projected her feelings into Peter’s mind. She did not like dogs, it seemed. He sent back his firm assurance that this dog was family.

“It’s alright, Flapjack. You can go say hi,” Peter told the dog, who looked at him questioningly. “She won't hurt you.”

Flapjack approached Omacatl slowly, nose probing with quick inhalations, and then walked around her in a circle. Peter cringed as the old boy put his cold wet nose right up in Omacatl’s business, and received a very angry impression through his mental connection with her, but she remained still. After his precursory investigation of this new creature that Peter had brought home with him, the old boy blessed Omacatl with a big, wet, lick from her chin to the top of her head.

Peter released her from remaining still, but mentally urged her not to hurt Flapjack. He projected the image of her cuddling with the stinky old corgi and got the distinct impression that she was disgusted by the image forced into her mind. Her tail flicked, but she returned Flapjack’s gesture of affection by not tearing his face off with her claws. Peter would take that, for now.

“Didn’t you say the cat was a god?” Renea asked, crouching and holding her hand out to Omacatl in offering. Omacatl hissed and pulled away from her. “Kind of just looks like a weird cat.”

Peter smiled wickedly, and then pushed Omacatl to her full size. Flapjack stared at the massive cat god with uncomprehending eyes for three full seconds before scurrying to hide behind Peter so quickly that he yanked his leash right out of Renea’s hands. Renea’s eyes were wide as dinner plates and remained so even as Peter shrunk the minor god back to house cat size.

“That was her battle size,” he said casually. “She came with some neat features. I’m pretty sure she could even take Greg in a wrestling match. Or, rematch…”

There were a few more questions about Omacatl as the Mayhew’s and Greg made their way to the car. Flapjack hopped into the back seat with surprising dexterity, immediately putting his head on Greg’s lap. The big man laid a hand on the dog, scratching affectionately. Omacatl jumped onto Peter’s lap in the passenger seat, her eyes glued to Renea and her suspicious attitude toward Renea was projected into Peter’s mind. Again, he assured the cat that this was family with a projection of his own.

It hadn’t been intentional, and he hadn’t thought about it before projecting the feeling of ‘family’ with the image of himself, Renea, Flapjack, and Omacatl. The surprise and overwhelming sense of gratitude she sent back touched Peter greatly. This poor god had been alone for so long. He gently stroked her back as Renea turned the ignition. Peter could not wait to be home. Being this close, just a short drive, and in the car with his family once again filled Peter’s eyes with salty, liquid sentimentality.

Though she was clearly happy to see him, Renea remained cold on the ride home. It was noticeable, even by the seemingly uninterested Greg Van Helsing. Sitting quietly in the back seat with Flapjack drooling on his lap, Greg finally broke a long silence.

“So, Mrs. Mayhew, Peter invited me to live in Flapjack’s room,” he said, causing Peter to crane his head around, wide eyed, to look at Greg with utter disbelief.

The unprovoked betrayal increased the weight of the silence in the car tenfold. Greg flashed Peter a massive toothy smile.

“Is that so?” she said.

Peter did not miss the warning signs. Her words came out sounding conversational, but each syllable was clipped. He had to be very careful with his response.

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“It was just an errant thought,” he said casually, waving with one hand as though shooing a fly away. “Greg’s staying at a gross hotel and,” Peter lowered his voice to a whisper, “it's on the east side. I wouldn’t have considered formalizing any agreement without talking to you about it first, of course.”

“You sure?” Greg’s betrayal continued, clearly enjoying it. “It sounded like a legitimate offer and, I’m sure I don’t need to tell you, Mrs. Mayhew, Peter can be pretty convincing.”

“Peter has some astonishing traits,” Renea said through a forced smile, putting her hand affectionately on her husband’s shoulder and squeezing gently. “Part of what makes him so convincing is his firm assumption that other people always want the same things he does.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s that face of his,” Greg replied, scowling. “It’s like he was specifically created to make other guys feel less handsome. And it’s hard to say no when he puts on that hurt puppy expression.”

“Preach it,” Renea agreed.

Peter remained red-faced and silent.

When Renea’s sedan pulled into the driveway, she stopped them before getting out of the car. Peter looked at her curiously when he saw the nervous, guilty expression on her face.

“I haven’t exactly kept up with the housework,” she said, lips downturned and brows drawn together. “The kitchen is… not good. And I haven’t done laundry since I got back, or swept the floors. I’ve been so busy, and when I’m done with work I just haven’t had the energy to…”

Peter stopped her by placing his pointer finger over her lips and then spoke with the most loving tone he was capable of. “I don’t care.”

They shared a long, sweet kiss that lasted for several seconds. Greg grunted awkwardly in the back seat before he and Flapjack left the Mayhew’s in the vehicle to have their moment. Omacatl remained on Peter’s lap, silently watching the couple’s embrace. Peter savored the feeling of her lips against his, the smell of her hair, and the contentment he only felt when he was around Renea.

When their lips parted, Peter and Renea remained close with their foreheads pressed together, hands wrapped tightly around each other’s heads. They remained there in the car, silently appreciating one another for quite some time.

“Never leave me for so long again, Peter Mayhew.”

“Never,” Peter promised.

Greg stayed over for dinner despite previously resolving never to eat at the Mayhew residence on Mondays. Peter insisted on serving a meatless meal on Mondays. Nobody had the energy to cook, and most of the Mayhew’s dishes sat dirty in the sink, so they ordered delivery. Greg ordered a steak.

Food was enjoyed, drinks were plentiful, and the conversation was lively. All three had a nearly endless supply of experiences to share and questions to ask. Peter excused himself to use the bathroom and hoped Greg wouldn’t do or say anything else that might land Peter in the doghouse. When he tried to shut the bathroom door behind him and didn’t hear it close, Peter turned back with confusion. Flapjack was standing there, lodged in place and making it impossible for the door to function properly. The old boy hadn’t let Peter out of his sight the entire evening and it appeared that he wasn’t going to start now.

Peter opened the door and stepped to the side to let Flapjack in. This had not occurred before, and Peter wasn’t going to allow it to become a habit. Tonight, at least, he’d let his dog watch him relieve himself. Even if it was a bit uncomfortable.

After Greg excused himself for the evening, Peter changed into comfort clothes and retrieved a pair of sweatpants and one of his most comfortable t-shirts for Renea. She got changed and then the pair of them curled up on the couch under a blanket. With Flapjack snoring at their feet and Omacatl purring softly on her perch on the top of the couch behind him, Peter Mayhew felt like he must be the luckiest man to ever live.

Peter pulled away from the tangle of limbs that he and Renea had become just enough to look her in the eyes.

“I’m so, so sorry, Renea. I know you’ve probably already compartmentalized the pain I caused you. I know that’s how you usually cope.” He smiled sadly and tucked a stray lock of hair behind Renea’s ear. “I want you to pull that pain out of the box you locked it in. Tell me what my recent actions made you feel. Say anything you want to me. Yell at me. Cry at me until I die of guilt. Anything. I deserve it. Just don’t keep it locked up. That’s how resentment happens, and that is something I can’t allow.”

Renea was silent for a long moment, likely weighing the discomfort of feeling the same pain she’d already stowed away for a second time against the ramifications of not doing so. Finally, she sighed in resignation.

“I…” she started, trailing off before nodding as if to convince herself it was necessary. “I don’t know, Peter. First, you drag me to Mexico to go on some hair brained adventure with Greg. Fine. Then you disappear off the face of the planet only to call me like 12 hours later. 12 of the worst hours of my life, by the way. When I finally do hear from you, I find out that the two of you are vacationing in Venice. Then, instead of doing something reasonable like taking a god damned plane home, you buy a yacht… a yacht, Peter. Whether or not you,” she air quoted the next words, “‘still have a ton of money’ that you took from a dead vampire, who the hell just buys a yacht on a whim? And then you leave me waiting here for weeks, pulling my hair out and worrying that I’ll never see you again as you and Greg Van Helsing make a transatlantic voyage in a boat that you bought from what sounds like a pretty shady salesperson. I don’t even know what to say to you right now.”

Peter nodded, taking his lashings in silent acceptance. He wanted to remind her that he and Greg had not gone to Venice by choice; and that they certainly were not there vacationing; and that there was literally nothing he could have done during the 12 or more hours of radio silence due to being stuck in a city deep underground with no way out; and that taking a plane home would not have been quite as simple as she’d just made it sound; but doing so would not have done anything to make the situation better.

Justifying the pain and worry he had caused her with excuses would be like hitting her with a baseball bat and then telling her that the bruise it left behind was unimportant because he’d been aiming for a spider on her arm.

“I can think of a few things,” Peter said after a moment. “That you should say to me, I mean. Like, what the hell were you thinking? Or, what the hell is wrong with you? Or, do you even…”

“Peter,” Renea interrupted, inclining her chin. “There’s one more thing.”

Peter gulped, bracing himself for what he suspected would come next.

“I know you like Greg. He is, admittedly, a very interesting person. And I know you want to go on more adventures with him. I know you do. But if something were to happen to you…” Renea rubbed a tear that fell from her eye at the thought. She sniffled adorably. “I can’t lose you. I can’t.”

Peter didn’t know what to say. He stared into her eyes as he contemplated her words. After much consideration, he needed clarification. He asked the question, not wanting to hear the answer that he felt was most likely to come from his wife. “Are you asking me not to do the team monster hunter thing anymore?”

Renea hesitated, unintentionally telling Peter that she would very much like to ask him that very question.

“No. I want you to do what makes you happy. If palling around with Greg is what makes you happy, I won’t ask you to stop. But I will ask, beg, plead with you to please, please be more careful. And please think things through before you do them. Ask yourself, ‘is this really what I should do?’ and if you’re not entirely sure, call me and we can talk through it.”

Peter brightened noticeably. Renea smiled sadly at him.

“I promise to be more careful, and more thoughtful, and more considerate of how my decisions impact you and our family,” Peter said. And he meant it.

Omacatl placed one paw on his shoulder, eyeing his lap as though looking for a way to comfortably perch on the blanket over Peter and Renea’s legs. Peter flattened his legs and the minor deity crawled onto his lap, curling up and purring softly.

“Our growing family,” Renea observed. She pet Omacatl for the briefest moment before the cat turned sharply, pinning her ears back and hissing.

“None of that,” Peter chastised the cat. The hissing stopped immediately, but her ears remained glued to her neck. Despite his assurance that Renea was family, a family that he included Omacatl herself as a part of, she still held some distrust. Peter couldn’t begin to fathom why. He changed the subject before a conversation about bringing home random monsters from his adventures was not going to become a thing. “Fair to assume that you are not comfortable with Greg moving into Flapjack’s room?”

“Very,” Renea replied firmly.

“What about the basement?” Peter asked hopefully.

To Peter’s surprise, Renea seemed to be considering the idea. “What about the guest house, Peter? We have a guest house. Why in the name of all the gods would you even consider offering him Flapjack’s room when we have an entire guest house?”

“That’s where I work out,” Peter said, brows furrowed as though she’d just suggested giving Greg both of his kidneys. “And do VR stuff.”

Renea raised one eyebrow and held the ‘really?’ pose until Peter spoke again. It didn’t take long.

“I’ll move my gym stuff to the basement,” he said sullenly.

Renea frowned deeply. “There are going to be some conditions to this arrangement, Peter. Conditions that, if met, will ensure a peaceful cohabitation. If they are not…” she didn’t finish the sentence.

She didn’t have to.