Title: The Yuris and the Wolframs
Rating: G, unless the idea of gay parents offend you
Summary: Greta learns about Mother's Day
Spoiler: Only for Greta. If you know who Greta is, go ahead.
Notes: I have NO idea how old Greta is! So I was hoping she was about eight or so in the anime, so she'd be no older than ten here. I hope. And yes, there is some slight Yuuram here, but not really enough to draw in those seeking hot boy action, so I didn't bother to add it to the link summary.
The Yuris and the Wolframs
Yuri wasn't exactly a great artist. Well, neither was Wolfram, for that matter, though he thought he was. But Yuri wasn't even the kind of guy who would sit down and sketch a doodle in his spare time. Any free moment he had seemed to be devoted to baseball or working on his swords play.
That's why, the sight of Yuri sitting at the table, covered with crayons and glue and sparkles, cutting up colorful paper and ribbons, was a bit of an odd sight to his daughter.
"What are you doing," Greta asked, curiously, jumping up to sit in the chair across from her father.
"I'm making a card."
She glanced at the paper he had been using. Pink, white, cream, light purple.
"You're not making a love letter, are you?" She had hoped he knew better than to write a love letter to Wolfram. He had tried that once before, and Wolfram has lost it, insisting that Yuri had been making the card for some woman and had only pretended to be making it for his fiancée after he had caught him the act. Of course, that was a couple years ago, before their wedding had taken place. Maybe Wolfram wouldn't be so quick to jump on the cheating wagon now that he was regularly being coddled by his husband.
"No, it's a Mother's Day card."
"A Mother's Day card? What's that?" She tilted her head to the side a bit, watching her father, waiting for an answer. He was gluing some delicate white ribbon along the edge of the card, giving it a feminine look.
"Mother's Day is the day where children appreciate their mothers by giving them gifts and cards. I'm going to go home tomorrow and give it to her and cook her dinner. I won't be gone more than a couple days."
Yuri picked up the card, holding it away from him at arm's length to inspect his handy work. He then spread it back out on the table, grabbing a handful of crayons from the basket on the table's surface.
"Can I color too," Greta asked, looking eagerly towards the basket of Crayolas.
"Sure, use any paper you like," Yuri smiled at his daughter across the ocean of color. "We haven't colored together in awhile, have we?"
"You're always gone, or busy," she replied, a little sadly. "I'm going to start dating soon, and then I'll get married, and you won't even notice."
"Of course I'll notice."
"Can I use the sparkles?"
"Go for it."
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
As usual, Yuri was awake long before Wolfram's body even thought about budging. He didn't want to go home without saying goodbye to his consort, so he found himself in sort of a dilemma. He had dressed into some comfortable royal clothes, and Wolfram was still asleep. He had went to breakfast and returned with a couple pieces of fruit to leave on the nightstand for his lover, and Wolfram was still asleep. He had signed some papers and discussed how things were to progress during his brief absence, and Wolfram was still asleep. He had returned to his chambers, and went to his wardrobe to change into some more normal clothing for the return home, and Wolfram was still asleep. Yuri could probably get Broadway to put on The Lion King before the bed, and Wolfram would still be sleeping.
He knew better than to wake up the blond, but he knew better than to leave without bidding Wolfram goodbye. So yes, he was definitely in a dilemma. Maybe he should just write him a letter? He really had to get going. Who knows how much time had passed since he was last at Earth. Maybe Mother's Day had already started?
A letter really was too impersonal.
Wolfram felt lips brush against his cheeks, smelt the familiar scent of his lover's soap in the air. But when he opened his eyes, besides the sunshine washing over the comforter, the room was empty.
He knew it would be. Yuri had to head home for a little while. The blond would've done the same for his mother if they had such a day. He always neglected Yuri on Cheri's birthday, so it was understandable.
"Maybe I should just stay here until he returns," he murmured softly to himself, turning onto his side so he could snuggle into Yuri's pillow. The sunshine had warmed it so that it felt like a living, breathing being had just been hugging the fluffy cushion.
"Wolfram, are you dressed," a soft, feminine voice called from outside the door.
Well, no, he wasn't. But he had no idea where Yuri had thrown his nightie last night, and the blankets hid anything that could've traumatized the young girl, so he bid her enter.
"What's this about," he asked, startled when, rather than the sight of his daughter's cute face, he was met by a metal tray stacked with glasses and plates.
"I brought you breakfast in bed," she exclaimed, happily.
"Uh…why?" He blinked at her. That was a bit…strange. He had brought Yuri breakfast in bed, once or twice, but only when Yuri had been sick. Normally, beds didn't make the best tables.
"I cooked it all myself," she went on, ignoring the question and still bursting with joy. "Well, the girls helped a little, but mostly I made it on my own."
"Alright," he replied, still confused. "Um, come here, set it down before you drop that tray. It must be heavy."
"It is," she agreed, slowly crossing the distance to the bedside. She was careful to not let the tray jiggle too much, and was making sure none of the food slipped to the side.
"So, what'd you make me here," Wolfram asked once the tray was settled on his lap. Not that he couldn't tell for himself, but he knew how kids were.
"Those are blueberry pancakes with strawberry syrup," she replied, pointing to a sloppy pile of doughy looking circles smeared with pinkish gel. "And that's bacon there, and sausage on the other side. Oh, see the orange juice? I squeezed it myself!" That explained the excess of pulp. Ah well, he had always been particularly fond of pulp anyway. "And I didn't bake the bread for the toast, but I did toast and butter it. And that's tea there, though I'm sure you could tell that yourself."
"It all looks marvelous," the blond complimented, though perhaps he was lying a bit. Wait, no, not lying, what did Yuri call it? Fibbing. "I'm not sure if I'll be able to eat all of it though. You sure made a lot of food."
"Well, you always sleep in late, it's almost lunch," she replied, in a very matter-of-fact manner. "So now you won't need to eat lunch."
"No, I suppose I won't have to," he agreed, sort of yearning for soup and sandwiches as he picked up the orange juice and took a sip from it. His teeth seemed to be working as a filter. He picked some of the pulp out from between them with his tongue, before turning to pick up the napkin. But before he could splay it out on his lap to protect the comforter, he noticed something. The now empty section of the tray didn't glow silver like the other empty sections, but was covered with something soft pink and papery in appearance. He glanced at Greta, who was practically glowing with anticipation. Careful not to upset the plates and glasses, he pulled out the piece of paper, which had mostly been hidden beneath the pancakes.
It was mostly that pink color he had first spotted, the soft, pastel kind of pink you'd see on a baby's blanket, but the edge was trimmed with curved lilac paper. Across the front of it was a picture of a boy with yellow hair dressed in blue holding the hand of a dark haired child in a green dress. Both the boy's and the child's clothes seemed to be sprinkled with some sort of tiny, shimmering material. The shape of the paper appeared to be that of some indeterminate flower, but he could tell from the thickness, that it was folded over. He opened it, now being met with two identical, if inversed, flowers.
"Happy Mother's Day," he read aloud, frowning unconsciously. Mother? Did he look female to her?
"Did Yuri or Gunter convince you to do this," he asked, now turning the question to the girl beside him.
In an instant, he knew that they hadn't. The sweet smile she had been wearing upon entrance had totally vanished from her face, and her eyes were starting to glisten.
"Because I didn't think they knew how to make such beautiful flowers," he continued, in fake consideration, studying the shape of the paper like an old woman would inspect a fruit on market day. "No, neither of them have any artistic ability. It must've been all your work, right?" He smiled gently towards the girl now, who's smile, though hesitant, was starting to return to her lips. "Why don't you climb up here with me and read it to me?"
"Sure," she agreed eagerly. She ran around to the other side of the bed and scrambled onto the mattress. Wolfram handed her the card, and she made herself comfortable at his side, waiting until he had began carving into his pancakes before she began reading it.
There hadn't been any pictures inside, except for a couple flowers drawn around the large greeting, but the entire inside was filled with small, sloppy letters in Greta's handwriting.
"Why I Love My Wolfram," she read the title with a clear, confidence voice. "Some kids have a mommy and a daddy. Some kids have a mommy and a mommy. But I'm the luckiest kid in the world because I have a Yuri and a Wolfram. Yuri is a good daddy, but he's gone too much, and never has time to take care of me. Sure, we play ball together and go swimming, but that's why he's only a Yuri. Yuris don't know how to draw and color, and they don't know what kind of book makes a good bedtime story. That's why I have a Wolfram. Wolframs know what kind of dresses and soaps kids like. And they know how to make flower crowns and cookies. And Wolframs even know when a kid just wants a kiss and a hug even though a kid might be acting naughty and throwing a tantrum. Wolframs are nice and soft and pretty. My Wolfram is like how I always thought a mommy would be. Actually, now that I think of it, I think my Wolfram is a mommy. The best mommy in the world. And that's why I love my mommy Wolfram. The end."
"That was written very well," Wolfram nodded, his mouth full of chewed up food. "You're a very good writer. And a very good Greta."
"What are Gretas like," she asked, handing him back the card.
"Gretas are like dragons," he replied, accepting the card. He was already trying to remember where he had put that picture frame a couple months ago that would be perfect for the card.
"Uh huh. Sometimes, Gretas might get in trouble, without meaning to. And sometimes, they get in trouble, and they do mean to. But usually, they're well behaved and sweet and very beautiful and everybody in the world wants one of their own."
"Oh," Greta replied softly. She had brought her hand up to her lip in the middle of the explanation, and appeared to be thinking to herself. "You know what," Greta whispered in a confidential tone.
"You're really not like a wolf at all."
"Well, I think we should be glad about that, don't you," he asked in return, "After all, everybody knows wolves always eat little girls."
"But not Wolframs?"
"Only if the little girl wakes up the Wolfram before breakfast."