(AN: Two holiday back to back chapters some family RnR was needed. Also I'm watching Hawaii five-O I did not know they were part of the NCIS world sigh I thought I had found all connected show before I started.)
December 1999, Medford, Texas / Cooper House
The lights on Meemaw's porch looked the same as always, fat old bulbs, red and green and one blue that refused to stay lit for more than five seconds. They hung a little crooked, like they'd given up on symmetry years ago, and the whole porch glowed as if the house itself were smiling.
Paige and Stephen landed in Dallas just after noon. Two hours in the air, one layover coffee, and now they were rumbling down the back roads in a silver ninety nine Pontiac Grand Prix that smelled faintly of pine scent air freshener and optimism. The heater only understood off or volcano, so they alternated. It felt good just to be moving through Texas again, flat land, big sky, radio fuzz turning into country songs neither of them knew.
Missy was already outside when they pulled up, a red sweater bright against the porch lights.
"Took you two long enough," she said, grinning as she hugged Paige first, then Stephen. "Traffic must've known it was Christmas."
Inside, cinnamon hit them first. Mary had her sleeves rolled up, directing traffic between pies, casseroles, and one confused turkey. "Shoes off. And don't let the cold in, I just got it out."
"Yes, ma'am," Stephen said automatically.
She smiled without looking up. "That's right."
The living room was still home, tree scraping the ceiling, garland trying its best, ornaments from a dozen different years held together mostly by glue and nostalgia. Sheldon sat cross legged by the tree, nose deep in a binder labeled Y2K Protocol Contingency.
He looked up. "If every embedded system fails at midnight, society as we know it could-"
"Hi, Sheldon."
He blinked. "Oh. Hello."
Paige crouched beside him. "Want to show me your plan to save civilization?"
His face lit up. "Finally, someone appreciates the stakes."
"Careful," Missy said from the couch. "She'll fact check Christmas."
"I prefer to call it curiosity," Paige said, grinning.
And just like that, the house sounded alive again, Mary clattering pans, Missy teasing, Sheldon preaching to whoever would listen. The kind of chaos that used to send Stephen hiding in his room as a kid. Now it just felt like noise he'd missed.
Meemaw came in then, hair pinned, robe half tied, slippers whispering across the floor. "Well, look at this. All my smart mouths in one place."
She hugged Paige like she'd been waiting months to do it, then looked Stephen over. "You're taller."
"Air pressure."
"Pie'll fix that."
Dinner went long. It always did. Everyone talking at once, Georgie arriving late from the shop and bragging about a customer who'd called him sir.
"Sir," Missy repeated, unimpressed. "That's not a high bar, Georgie."
"It's higher than what I usually get called at work."
"What do you usually get called?"
"Doesn't matter. Sir was a good day."
Mary set another dish down between them. "Both of you, eat. The food's not getting any warmer while you argue about manners."
"We're not arguing," Georgie said. "We're debating."
"Same noise, different label," Meemaw said, not looking up from her plate.
Stephen sat back, listened, and tried to memorize the sound of all of them overlapping.
Christmas Eve turned the house into warm light and sugar. The tree blinked unevenly. The radio crooned through static. They traded gifts after dinner. When it was Meemaw's turn, she eyed the box Stephen slid across the rug.
"If it hums, bites, or brews, I'm sendin' it back."
"It only clicks." He lifted the lid.
She leaned in. "A typewriter?"
"Close. A computer." He turned it so she could see the logo. "Compaq Presario. Solitaire included."
Mary gasped. "Lord, Stephen."
"It's set up already. Email, recipes, whatever you want. I made you a folder. Recipes and Revenge."
Meemaw blinked. "Revenge?"
"For letters you don't send."
The room cracked up. She shook her head, trying not to smile. "You're impossible. And you're my favorite impossible thing."
They set it up on the kitchen table, since every serious thing in this house eventually ended up there. Sheldon gave live commentary on the installation. Paige stood behind Meemaw, guiding her hand over the mouse.
"Gentle. Don't fight it."
"I fight what I please," Meemaw said, but the screen obeyed, and when the modem started its terrible screech, she jumped. "It sounds sick."
"It's just complaining," Stephen said. "Family trait."
Her first email went to him, subject line WELL WELL WELL. It read: if this is really you, then the devil's out of business and my phone line's possessed. Tell that blue E to behave. Love, Meemaw.
She printed it and stuck it to the fridge with a chicken magnet. "Proof. I beat the machine."
Later, after the house exhaled into quiet, Stephen stepped onto the porch. The night was clear and cold enough to ring. He flicked his lighter, not to light anything, just to hear that clean strike, and watched the flame catch the silver.
Meemaw came out with two mugs. "Trade." She handed him one. "You look like a man countin' stars instead of enjoyin' 'em."
He smiled. "I keep busy. Easier than sitting still."
"That's not safety, sugar. That's pacing in a prettier room."
He stared out at the yard. "I keep thinking if I just stay moving, I can hold everything together. Work, people, the next thing."
"You can't balance a brain like yours, Stephen. You just gotta give it something real to land on." She sipped her coffee, then added, "That girl in there. She looks at you like you're still human. Believe her."
"I'm trying."
"Tryin's fine. But deciding's better."
Her words settled heavier than the air. Inside, laughter drifted from the kitchen, Paige and Missy arguing over frosting. He could hear it through the glass, the kind of sound that reminds you where you came from.
Meemaw nudged him with her elbow. "Whatever that man at Quantico keeps askin' you about, make sure you write the rules before someone else does."
"I will."
"Good," she said, and patted his arm like she was setting a promise in place.
Morning looked like aftermath, the good kind. Wrapping paper everywhere, pine needles everywhere else. Mary and Paige made breakfast together, moving around each other like they'd been doing it for years. Georgie snored in a chair that wasn't built for endurance. Sheldon had already returned to his binder, satisfied the world would survive the millennium.
"Any updates from the contingency front?" Stephen asked, pouring coffee.
"Minimal risk to household appliances. Moderate risk to banking infrastructure. I've advised Mom to print her account balances as a precaution."
"Did she listen?"
"She printed one statement and used the rest of the paper for a grocery list. I consider that partial compliance."
"That's generous of you."
"I'm trying to be reasonable about other people's unreasonableness. It's a new skill."
Paige laughed from the stove. "Put that on a mug, Sheldon."
"I'll consider it. After the millennium, assuming mugs still exist."
By dawn on the twenty sixth, their bags sat by the door again. They'd fly west the next day, Dallas to San Francisco, for the new century trip they'd promised themselves.
Missy hugged Paige until her candy canes clacked. "You're officially family. No returns."
"I'll take the deal."
Sheldon looked up from his notes. "If civilization collapses, I'll call collect."
"Use correct change," Stephen said.
"I always do."
Meemaw handed him a thermos. "Coffee. Sweet as a bribe. Keep it warm."
"Yes, ma'am."
Paige slipped her fingers through his as they walked to the Grand Prix. "Ready?"
"For what?"
"For the next thing."
The porch lights flickered behind them, stubborn and bright. Inside, a beige computer hummed quietly, learning how to talk to the world. Stephen touched the lighter in his pocket, warm metal, steady weight, and let himself smile at nothing in particular.
(Thanks for reading, feel free to write a comment, leave a review, and Power Stones are always appreciated. Let me know if you find any mistakes)
(See you guys after my vacation)