2020-07-05 - Belated Father's Day Dinner

Father's Day 2020 was shitty. Ruiz was missing, Finch was in full furious murderbird mode over it, Itzhak was worried sick, and Ignacio was trying to keep everyone from imploding. But Ruiz is back now, and so celebrating that holiday is happening late. Ignacio has been doing some cooking for it, and Finch has a shirt box-sized gift wrapped in blue paper with a silver bow on it, with a card attached as they park the ancient Lincoln in the drive of the A-Frame in the woods. The bird-monikered woman is in jean shorts that fall to her knees, and her father's stolen Como se Llama tee shirt. Her hair is mussed from the wind on the drive up with the windows down, but she looks to be in good spirits. She raps her knuckles on the door.

Ignacio has gotten pretty damn great at keeping people calm, and no it's not because Alexander's been coaching him (perhaps ironically) at keeping everyone calm. That aside he's really taking to sobriety pretty well, not easily, but with some agreeable determination. The key he found is keeping busy so the chaos has been oddly helpful to that effect in a sense. It has however left him taking that anger out on PT which...is at least productive. Has Ms. Maggs turned into a therapy rat? Eeh maybe a bit. Long conversations with chicken? Not quite but he's working on teaching them. It's a start.

As it is, the people company is welcome and this? This is healthy for Finch and for Javier. It's an opportunity to do the one things he prays he will someday succeed at: Knitting family back together. His might be a bit of a loss, but every effort , for the sarcastic Spaniard, counts. This? This is his family now, and if he learned anything form his birth family it's that proper home meal can make anything easier for a while. "Right, so if you need me to make this weird, give me the signal, and I'll figure something out." How he doesn't grin and instead keep this expression in earnest who the hell knows.

It's Itzhak who answers the door, like he lives here or something, imagine that! He's dressed pretty much as per usual, beaten-in soft snug jeans and a t-shirt that reads 'Cajun Music Festival 2015'. The shirt has an illustration of an alligator band rocking out with banjo and fiddle and rubboard.

"'ey!" He sweeps Finch up in an enthusiastic hug and smooches her cheek. If Ignacio's not careful, Itzhak will do the same to him. "Great to see youse guys. C'mon in."

Finch snorts at Ignacio and elbows him before the door opens and she is swept up into a hug . She kisses Itzhak's cheek with a warm laugh. "Hey Itzy. Good to see you too. How are you settling in here with my dad?" she asks as she makes her way inside, looking around for telltale signs of her best friend having moved in.

It's oddly domestic, the scene Finch and her boyfriend stumble in on. Itzhak fetching the door in his comfy house clothes; Javier in the kitchen, cooking. The house smells like frying bread, and he's currently at the counter with his sleeves rolled up, bent over a cutting board while he stuffs fresh, uncooked pockets of dough with what looks like mashed plantain and shredded cheese. A glance is cut over his shoulder at the arriving couple, and a quick smile that creases the corners of his eyes. "Hola, pajarito," he greets in a low rumble. Ignacio gets curt nod and a long moment of eye contact. The sort that men give one another in lieu of a hug. Then it's back to food prep while Itzhak plays host, for now.

Ignacio has known Itzhak, literally longer than anyone else and that's too long to be offended by social affection. He's from the people that invented cheek smoochies. The Italians can kiss his ass on that one. Total dibs. Ruiz gets that upnod in return. They've cooked together the old man earning the young buck's respect around a kitchen. "It's father's day. We brought you food. What'chu doing, Javier?" The grin gets wider on the good side, warming up. It reaches his eyes looking to Finch and her amusement. "Hey, for you I'll double down on that effort." Looking to the kitchen and back to Finch he asks "Everyone using my name for you now? Love trendsetting. Itzhak, how the hell are ya?"

Itzhak inflicts a rough one-armed bro hug on Ignacio, paired with a bristly smooch to his forehead. He can be demonstrative but usually he's not this demonstrative! Must be happy or something. Temporarily. For the next forty-five seconds. "She'll always be faygeleh to me. Whatdya bring? Didya bring that one thing I like?"

The surly Mexican over there cooking and the flamboyant Jew over here playing hostess--is there an unlikelier couple? And yes, there's plenty of Rosencrantz-sign: the music stand, the stack of sheet and book music. His violin case lying open on the table, violin loosely propped up within it, showing he's just been playing. The vivarium for his pet blue-tongue skink Iris, full of soil and live plants and a trickling waterfall. The fact that it looks like he's been installing speakers around the living space, and unlike when he did it for his own apartment, he's taking care to run the wire neatly hidden. Also, the speakers match; these aren't scavenged from the side of the road. (Those go in his workshop, out back.)

Ruiz's house is being transformed into a home, slowly but surely, filling with the music and life Itzhak brings wherever he goes.

The hominess of the situation seems to make happiness well up in Finch. She sweeps in to give Ruiz a kiss on the cheek and a hug as he cooks. "Hey Dad, Happy Belated Father's Day. Thanks for not staying Lost forever over there." She gives him a smile and hands him the package she carried in. "I think you should open this before we eat." Pause. "Not because it's eating related, but because my head will explode if I have to keep it a secret five minutes more."

Javier's swept up easily enough in the hug, held captive as he is by cooking. Cooking he wasn't supposed to be doing, but hell, it's keeping his hands busy. And if it wasn't this, he'd be out shooting instead. There's a chuckle, warm, when Finch tips in to kiss his cheek, and he returns it to the top of her head. "I keep telling you not to fucking worry about me. I'm not that easy to kill." As for the gift, he holds his hands out, palm up, to signify that he can't take it right now. "Novio?" A glance goes to Itzhak in clear request; the Mexican's covered in sticky dough.

moves into the kitchen and stars, in space that is not being used, to unbox that which they prepared and came over with. Looking to Ruiz he says in a murmur of Spanish the effect of, Go on, I'll watch this. At least he's well beyond certified unless they're trying to dissect bird soup. "Man these smell fantastic. C'mon open the box. She didn't even tell me what's inside and she like tells me everything. You'll love it." This he has no doubts on.

"Hell yeah, it's Father's Day but I get to open the presents." Itzhak pulls the bow off so he can stick it to Ruiz's chest like a boutonniere. He pops the wrapping open, shredding it egregiously because yay! unwrapping stuff!, and opens the box.

Inside the package are two things. One, is a corrected birth certificate for Finch Celano, wherein the Father field that was previously blank, now lists Javier Ruiz De la Vega. The second is a completed and notarized change of name form for Finch, who is now officially and legally: Finch Maria Celaeno De la Vega.

Finch waits and watches, nervously and expectantly, for reactions, wringing her hands together.

The look on the cop's face when Itzhak slaps that sticky bow on him is priceless. Like, the fuck is this shit? He glances at the shiny thing stuck to his chest, glances back at his boyfriend, then his attention's summarily drawn away by the contents of the little box being opened in front of him. His expression slowly shifts from one of amusement to.. something else entirely. Complicated; sharp-edged, at first, then pained, then tender, then almost shy. His big shoulders hunch up, and he quickly goes to turn the heat down on the pot, and wash his hands.

"I uh.." He steps in closer, fingers the fancy looking slip of paper, looks up at Itzhak, then Finch. "You did this? For me?" Ignacio is cut a quick look as he comes over, and a murmur in Spanish that seems to amount to instructions on how to fold the filling into the dough, and drop it into the hot oil.

Ignacio murmurs a quick, Yeah okay that's simple enough. He does, however, manage not to scald himself or the food looking around and barely contains his cool seeing that, eyes wide and looking to Finch and then Itzhak. Helpfully he doesn't burst out in a DUDE LOOKIT THAT! That half grin easing o his face and folding the dough he says, a more than a bit of pride in her really, "I think for both of you. Hey, today is about family, man. Congrats." Looking to Finch he say, "Y tu."

Itzhak grins at that look he gets from Ruiz; quite a grin it is, too, the corners of his eyes crinkling, his entire hard-worn face transforming. "Now ya festive," he says to him, eyebrows quirking mischievously.

He pulls the papers out of the box. "Finch Maria Celaeno ...de la Vega." Itzhak blinks at the name, glances at Finch, and then Ignacio, as if confirming he's reading this right. He turns the paper around and holds it up for Ruiz to see, and looks at him with a much different expression, echoing the tenderness. His smile returns, lopsided now. "You got a daughter. Mazel tov."

"I thought, the best way to show you how much you mean to me, how much you in my life has been a blessing instead of a curse, was to make it official, and legal," Finch says, her eyes overbright. "And to make us family, for real, in all respects. If that's ok with you. You can contest it if it's not what you want." She looks still nervous about it all, and nods to Iggy's expression with a small smile, chewing her lower lip and reaching for one of Itzy's hands for support.

He's stunned into silence, the oft-snarly Mexican. Stripped bare of all of his usual defenses, what he's left with is a terrifying vulnerability that's completely out of place on that hard, weathered face. His nose is rubbed at with his elbow, and he picks up the slip of paper to have a closer look at it. Turns it over, checks the back. Then the front again. There's a twinge of something at the corners of his mouth, and he sets the thing back in its box carefully, like he's afraid of breaking it.

Then, as if Itzhak's just announced the birth of his baby girl, he steps forward and throws his arm around the man, and crushes his leaner frame against him for a few beats. A kiss, and a soft, incomprehensible growl before he peels away to give Ignacio a similar one-armed clap on the back and hug. And then Finch herself. Both arms opened, to make it clear what he wants. "Come here." And he smiles. Actually smiles, dimples and crow's feet and all. One of those rare, one in a million things that perhaps three people have ever seen.

Ignacio watches, and sets the cooking to a place to pause where it can. He watches, slowly, that moment starting small, and forming. While he is not the one who changed his name, or had it taken (yet)it's personal. There is a relief lightened by watching the man find some small reprieve of happiness. There's the sense of something long fought for mended. A father and child entirely reconciled in spirit that he can finally say he's seen in his lifetime. It's Finch finding blood family that wants her knowing her flaws and saying I'm in this with you...only en Espanol (like it should be!) Everyone else is crying, but he's just condensation from working over boiling water or... something. It's kitchen science that's happening with his face, folks!

His smile warms to Finch in that approval of good job and then he's being hugged. At least he's a hugger, even and especially for the big angry man that took time out of his day to bringhismproper soup when he was laid up over the winter. "Bienvenido a casa. Aunque no soy un besador." He can't not be a bit of a smartass though, but he means these things in earnest patting the grizzled cop on the back.

Itzhak wraps his great big calloused inked hand around Finch's, squeezing gently, looking down at her like she's his own little sister, proud and fond and hell yes, that's our Fincheleh.

Then there's that beaming smile from Ruiz, and that hug, and Itzhak isn't crying, how dare you. He's just getting this fierce hug from his boyfriend who's kissing him and telling him something in that low rumble and maybe his eyes are leaking a little, that's not crying! Returning Ruiz's kiss, arms around him tight, he nods a little, smiling tremulously. One hand flutters in a sign, where nobody can actually read it, clamped around Ruiz's back. Then he lets him go to do the rest of his hugging, dashes at his eyes, and tries to, like, pretend he remembers he's big and tough and mean.

Not that it fools anybody in this room.

Seeing the tears in everyone's eyes, and then that real, genuine, heartfelt smile on her father's face, has tears spilling over for Finch too. She moves into Ruiz's arms and hugs him fiercely. "Thank you so much, for giving me a chance. I can't tell you how much it's meant to me," she murmurs.

Yeah, well, that big grizzled cop's real good at emotions himself, dontcha know. Which is probably why pretty much everything, with this man, funnels into anger. "Ah, vete a la mierda, cabron," he grumbles at Ignacio without any heat whatsoever, before wrapping Finch up in his arms and pulling her in close to him. He smells like those clove spiced cigarettes he sometimes smokes, and rain, and cordite. And fried dough, of course. And him. He pretends not to notice Itzhak not crying over there while giving his daughter that bone-crushing hug, one big hand curved around the back of her head and his rough cheek pressed into her hair. Something's murmured into her ear, before she's eventually released.

Ignacio is that guy that takes a Fuck you, you bastard as a compliment. The old guy gets a pat on the back and a squish, and then? He mans the kitchen. He's got a lot of feelings on this one, and for now it's supporting the family to also make sure Javier's gift he's prepping to share with them, goes off as he intended while he practices getting the be normal people for the little time he's afforded to.

"OH! Shit, Zee, in the bag, I didn't grab it, Got one for you too. Happy Father's Day." It's not a dissimilar sized box. It's heavier than a piece of paper though. "I'm not changing my name to Ignacio Manolo Alejandro Vargas Arroyo Rodriguez Benavides de Santos a la Rozenkrantz. " He pauses and looks over his shoulder. "Just... no. not even for you."

Itzhak, legitimately grateful for Ignacio sassing him so he can sass back, sniffles hard and then rolls his eyes and in fact his entire head in a magnificent 'buddy are you joking me' gesture. (He's not watching Ruiz hug Finch too closely, just kinda letting it happen nearby, where he's very aware of them but not focusing on them. He'd start bawling. Nobody needs that!) "It can't be no Father's Day gift 'cause I ain't nobody's father," he fires back in the kvetchingest of tones, as he goes to rummage in the bag and get the box. Then he's trying not to snort-laugh as Ignacio invokes his own entire name--with Rosencrantz on the end. He fails and winds up laughing helplessly into the back of his wrist, all his crow's-feet crinkled at the corners of his eyes. "Shut ya yap, de Santos."

Nested in tissue paper in the box is a framed picture. The frame is covered in matchbox cars, which makes Itzhak's eyebrows pop up in amusement, but it's the picture that really gets to him. "Oh my God," he mutters, smiling fit to plotz.

It's a picture of him, and Ignacio, and a few other men and women, and a gleaming orange Grand Am, all in a garage. Itzhak and Ignacio are several years younger; Ignacio's pointing at the camera, probably saying something, grinning a grin that works on both sides and jabbing a thumb at Itzhak. Who, in coveralls with the arms tied around his waist, is smirking in that way he does when he's trying to hide that he's actually pretty shy.

"I remember that," he says, eyes on the picture. "That was after we won that one. Oh man. Rico looks so skinny! And there's Mariska and Goldie, and, everybody...ah, dammit, de Santos." He sets the picture down, propped up on its stand so everybody can see it, and reaches over to tousle Igancio's hair. "Thanks, ya loudmouth jerk." Let's all pretend he's not choked up again.

Finch murmurs something back to Ruiz, hugging him fiercely another moment before she's released and wiping her eyes on her sleeve. "Whew. Been hanging onto that a while. Iggy, tell them what you're making us to eat!" she changes subjects as she recollects herself. Her smile, however, doesn't fade at all.

Is someone cutting onions in here? Actually, yes, Javier did in fact tell Iggy to chop those damn onions, and chop 'em good. At least they know why they're all leaking like faucets, amirite? The cop gives Finch one more big, hard squeeze, ruffles her hair with his fingers, and goes to put the box somewhere safe where it won't get ruined by all the cooking going on. On his way by, he happens to catch sight of Itzhak's own Father's Day gift, and chortles. "Is that you two? You look happy." It's not a tease. He means it. They look happy. Like it's the first thing this fucking town takes from everyone. "Don't let the fucking empanadas burn," he calls back to Ignacio, over his shoulder.

Ignacio just grins and looks to Ruiz, "We were like that once, and I know it's been real rough but I saw that while I was home dealing with my family being... imperfect the best way they know how and thought, ya know, maybe. I think it's attainable. Not the same way, but-" Instead of eventually the human Hallmark Card looks to Ruiz astounded "¿Me dijiste cómo cocinar? Siéntate." The grudge is put on as that New York urban peacock puffs up (Pride, He's got plenty!) but the grin doesn't leave his eyes. "Honestly I'd really love your opinion on it. Some home cooking my dad and I used to do and he couldn't be here. I am, though, pretty excited you let us share this with you. Means a lot, man." And with that contributions from both sides start getting dispersed. What's it smell like? Love and nostalgia. It's what's for dinner.