Miguel O'Hara

Last night had been nice. This morning had been nice.

Miguel was about to kill whoever had left the front door unlocked. Even if it was possibly him.

But right now, he was warm in bed with Rosa, and quite happy to stay there until he had to go to work.


[Expecting the kid and she who's mentioned, but open after!]

It was Thanksgiving. Miguel had sent a message to his brother, but he couldn't exactly go home for it, and the Exiles were off making Miguel feeling vaguely guilty by beating heads in another dimension, so he left them some food and came back to the island.

Damn it, today was for cooking and eating and being with people, and if he couldn't be with his family or his team, he was going to be with the insane people here. He shot off a text message to anyone he thought might be interested, then rolled up his sleeves and got to work.

Turkey with chorizo stuffing, sweet potato black bean enchiladas, mashed potatoes, Mexican-style roasted corn, green bean casserole (because shut up), and pumpkin empanadas and tres leches cake.

Because damn it, it was Thanksgiving. And it wasn't like leftovers would go to waste in this house.


[If you think you got a text, you did. If you smell it walking by and want to drop by, go for it!]