|Same Old Smith
Author: Mrs. Data PM
Smith and Donna have settled down together. We get a glimpse into their lives. This takes place six months after the events of the movie.Rated: Fiction T - English - Humor/Family - Chapters: 4 - Words: 5,353 - Reviews: 7 - Favs: 8 - Follows: 4 - Updated: 10-17-10 - Published: 10-04-10 - Status: Complete - id: 6372914
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Author's note: Thanks to everyone who has read this fic. This is the very last chapter.
The pleasing scent of spices, herbs and baked ground beef welcomed Smith and Oliver the moment they left the bedroom. Standing over the oven, Donna stirred the tomato sauce and added in the meatballs. Once she noticed their presence she walked over to them with a ladle in her hand.
"There are my boys," her lips brushed against theirs. "What do you think?" she brought the sauce covered ladle to his lips.
The warm tangy sauce melted on his tongue, it was the best that he had ever tasted. He couldn't help himself, "I don't hate it."
Her hand lightly tapped his chest, "Smith be serious. It's a family recipe; my mama taught me how to make it when I was a little girl."
With a soft look he answered, "It's delicious."
Her eyebrow rose, "You're not bullshitting me?"
Placing Oliver in his high chair he replied, "Why would I start now?"
She knew he was right and felt proud that she pleased him, "You're right. Thank you," before she returned to the oven his hand slapped her backside. Her dark eyes shot him a seductive stare, he was the only man allowed to handle her in such a way. The defiant look he wore turned her on but they both knew their needs had to wait until Oliver went to bed.
"I'll set the table," he removed dishes and silverware from the drawers and cabinets.
While eating dinner Smith and Donna discussed their day and their plans for the rest of the long weekend. During a lull in the conversation she set down her glass of wine and met his eyes.
"I know you don't care about whose accent he gets but I do," she admitted to him.
"Why?" he looked at her with curiosity in his eyes.
Her head tipped to the left as spoke to her husband, "You brought him into this world. You were the first one to hold him. He drank from his mother's breast. I wasn't there for him. And I know that we didn't make him. I love him like we did but.." her eyes became welled up.
The gentle tone of her voice and emotion in her eyes concerned him, "What?"
With fearless honesty and a touch of lament in her heart she said to him, "He has green eyes…your eyes, your coloring and our dark hair. When people see him, they're going to see you and I love that, I do. But I want him to have something from me. So that he and others will know that I'm his mother." A low rueful laugh left her lips, "That sounds ridiculous.."
The candor in her words moved him; it was one of the many reasons why he loved her. From across the table his hand reached out and clasped hers, "No it's not."
Tears escaped her dark eyes, "Yes it does, it's vain."
His gripped tightened as he spoke in an empathetic tone, "It's not. That's one of the reasons why people have children. They wanna see a reflection of themselves-of their love..in their kids. It's natural to want that."
"Really?" she asked him with hope in her voice.
"Yes and it's gonna be obvious what Oliver takes after you."
A hint of a smirk touched his mouth, "They'll see it his heart, that's for damn sure and anything else that isn't prickish."
His words touched her soul, "So..that means everything that isn't like you." she teased him.
Her quip amused him making him love her more. In deadpan fashion he replied, "Exactly but just for that I'm getting extra dessert." A sharp exhale came from him when he felt her foot graze his inner thigh near his crotch.
"We'll see Smith," she raised an eyebrow and licked sauce off her finger.
"Bad girl," he shot back while suppressing the urge to take her right then and there.
"I guess I deserved to be punished," her lips pouted.
"You will be," his thumb stroked her hand.
Oliver's loud belch interrupted them; his spaghetti sauce covered face was shining. They laughed enjoying the moment.
Donna wiped his face with his bib, "He's his father's son, down and dirty."
"That's my boy," he said with quiet pride in his voice.
After reading Oliver a few pages from Oliver Twist, Smith kissed his sleeping son. He then went to his bedroom for dessert.
Underneath the bright lights their glistening bare bodies rested on the king size bed. The sound of their breathing gradually retuning to normal filled the room. Their senses slowly descended from the heavenly heights that they had just reached together. His strong hand held the small of her back as he turned on his side and faced her.
"You know what I hate?" he told her.
Donna would have been annoyed by his favorite line but she was too satisfied to care and chose to humor him, "What?"
"I hate..how we don't get to do that more often," he smiled at her.
Her face radiated with pure elation, his smile always did that to her, "I hate that too. Good night, amore mio."
"Night," he kissed her lips before getting up to turn off the lights.
Cold solitude used to only be his only companion during his bachelor days. His arm reached out to her. Every night he slept surrounded by her soft warm embrace. The feel of her reminded him that every sacrifice he made was well worth it.
Through the darkness she heard the familiar crunch of him biting a carrot. Their fingers intertwined after his arm snaked around her waist, his face was nestled in her neck. He was still the same old Smith and she wouldn't have it any other way.