Rated M for language. Per usual.
Title taken from Hamilton: An American Musical.

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It was a weekend rule – weekend without Callie – rule.  If Margo was spending the night in Piddlehinton (the absolute fucking middle of nowhere), she did not put on trousers unless she was venturing outdoors.  That hardly happened and because it was only a without Callie rule, Margo took advantage. 

And she was even more able to seize those moments because one of Nate’s cousins-in-law or something had needed another gig and Margo fortunately had an opening for another hostess, so when she mentioned… you know… really casually… totally casually about Callie mentioning something about hanging out with her Aunt Franny… well.  So what if it had been in a conversation that Margo had asked about it first?  That hardly mattered.  She had just been consulting Callie about her merits as an employee and character was a huge part of that.  At least, when asked about it (if she was asked about it) that’s what she would say. 

Stretching out after she threw off the covers, she glanced at the clock.  Why was she even awake?!  Oh right.  Because Nate got up at ungodly times.  She’d insisted that she needed five more minutes and well… at least that had turned into an hour.  But now, she was awake and something smelled good so she slowly went through the process of sitting up, rubbing her eyes, reaching around the bed for wherever the fuck her shirt was and tugging it on before strapping on her leg and tugging on a sock.  Floors were always extra cold. 

Margo made her way toward the kitchen and looked in.  He was making that weird American breakfast again.  It wasn’t like it was bad… it was better than anything Margo could make (though he assured her he wasn’t the best cook in the world, Margo survived almost exclusively on take out, so any cooking was better than cold Thai in the morning. 

Since he was busy, Margo made her way to the living room and figured she would carve out a place on the couch (as she usually did) and tug a blanket over her until she whined out loud that she wanted him to start a fire, unless he wanted her to burn down his house (which would inevitably happen).  But.. hm… she looked around and sighed.  She forgot to grab the wireless from the bedside table.  She looked around.  There were books.  She couldn’t believe she was about to do this. 

Wandering to the bookshelf, Margo perused until she saw something way better than a book on sasquatches or some legal nonsense.  Pictures.  She took the album out and meandered over to the couch: blanket? Check.  Book? Check.  She flipped open the cover and started to idly flip through.  Until she stopped.

”NATHANIEL!”

Nate was a morning person by default-- Callie rose early, and he worked a 9-5 job. Even on the weekends, he couldn't force himself to sleep in past 8:00... Max. Last night he had promised Margo that he would make her an American breakfast (which was such a varied thing.) With his mother's recipe, Nate made some absolutely bomb chicken fried steak, sausage gravy, fried eggs, and fried potatoes. Nate doubted they could eat all of this but it wouldn't hurt to try.

He had started plating breakfast when Margo called out his name. "NATHANIEL!" God, she was impatient.

Nate slowly poured the gravy on top of the steak and walked into the living room, plates in his hands. The only thing he was wearing was his boxer briefs and a pair of slippers.

"Sorry I wasn't fast enough." He teased.

Apparently bringing breakfast to the living room wasn't enough to appease her. Margo was looking at a photo album, how in the world could she be disturbed right now? Hangry. She was probably hangry. And caffeine-deprived. "Do you need coffee?"

When Nate appeared in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, Margo was so cross.  The album remained opened on her lap.  He was just lucky he was so fucking hot.  Standing there in his boxers, body just everywhere and acting  so innocent – like he didn’t know he had done anything terrible. 

Crazy! He had called her crazy for months! 

Racist! He had joked as he pointed out that not all black men from America with the last name Hawke were related to him.   

But now, now Margo knew the truth, and watching him walk in carrying plates.  He needed an offering, that was for damn sure.  Swinging her legs off the couch, she glared at him – though, she did take the plate from him.  She wasn’t going to turn down food just because he was an asshole. 

“You said you didn’t know Nick Hawke,” she accused, her eyes narrowing as she took her fork in hand and stabbed at the potato cubes.  “Mentiroso.” 

"Who the fuck is Nick Hawke?" Nate asked incredulously, taking a seat on the couch. He placed his plate on his knees and used a knife to slice himself a bite of steak. Just because Margo was having a meltdown didn't mean that he didn't deserve a meal!

When Margo had first asked him about Nick, he had even asked his father if there were any black Nicks on his side of the family. Some cousin or something. His dad couldn't think of a single one! There was a Nikki, but she was white and an herbologist who dabbled in hallucinogenic plants and mushrooms.

He took a bite, chewed, swallowed. And waited for an answer. "Are you high? Did you eat a cookie?"

Now he was just being an asshole.  Margo chewed furiously and stabbed another potato.  “When the fuck would I have time to do that?” she responded harshly and her teeth clicked against the fork.  Ugh, she hated that feeling. 

Continuing to chew, she finally decided she would put the plate down – because two forkfuls of potatoes would power her through this rant, that much she was certain of.  Grabbing wildly for the book that had closed on her lap, she flipped the cover open aggressively and flicked the pages.  “If you don’t know him,” she punctuated each syllable with the flip of a page until she got where she’d been when the truth have surfaced in the first place. 

“Then who the fuck is this?!” she held it up and shoved it close to his face – probably closer than necessary, “You’re a creep if you have pictures of people you don’t know, Nathaniel!”  she only used anyone’s full name (really) when she was pissed.  This qualified. 

She practically hit him in the face with his photo album. Nate nearly choked on his food but managed to force it down the right pipe with a well timed cough. Lost it. She had totally lost it. He gently pushed the book out of his personal space before glancing at the offensive page. It was a picture of him and his younger brother, hiking with his brother's dogs.

"Uh." He gave Margo a look that clearly said that she was certifiably insane. "That's Phoenix. My brother. I've mentioned him." How could she be so oblivious? Nate and Callie had clearly been explicit. "He's a year younger than me. He lives in Washington." He paused, to remind her, "The state, not the city."

“Phoenix?” Margo raised her eyebrows, “Phoenix is Callie’s imaginary friend.”[1] Complete disbelief was written all over her face as her mouth hung open at him.  How could someone who never lost at anything and got burned up in flames be... oh. 

Oh.

“He’s a dragon tamer!” Margo snapped at him, motioning back to the picture.  “This is Nick Hawke – we worked together in Wales!  I told you that.”  How could he so oblivious?  He didn’t even know his own brother’s nickname.  This was just… what.  “I knew you were related!” she huffed, “and you made me think I was absolutely insane.” 

1.	Margo Words

"Phoenix doesn't work in Wales! He works in Washington. Right now he's on the coast, working with the San Juan Serpents." Washington had plenty of dragon breeds unique to the area, like the Douglas Furbacks, Okanogan Hydras, Pacific Pinetails and Nate's favorite-- the flightless Washington Wyverns. "He really doesn't travel that much." Though now that he thought of it, Wales did ring a bell.  If he remembered correctly, Phoenix had hated Wales. His brother had visited then.

Okay. Maybe Margo did know him. But his name wasn't Nick. He'd never gone by Nick in his life!

Nate took a frustrated bite of potato. "Dude, have some chill. His name's not Nick. I don't know a Nick. His name is Phoenix, and Callie talks about him all the time because he's her uncle, not because he's imaginary!" He tried not to laugh at that thought-- imaginary. This would be a great story to tell his brother later. Sure Margo was being insane before... But now she was being extra-insane. She deserved to think she was crazy.

No, no.  Nate was totally wrong.  He was wrong and he was completely out of it.  “Well he might be in Washington now,” Margo pointed out, “but Nick was in Wales, like five years ago.” She was absolutely certain of that. 

Why was he acting all uppity?!  She wasn’t the one who said he was crazy for months and that a person didn’t exist!  He had absolutely no reason to be upset.  Watching him bite on his potato.. .then calling her dude?!  You shouldn’t call the girl who gave you a parentally supervised blowjob dude.  She looked around and fell short of anything small enough to throw… except… she reached onto her own plate and then flicked a potato at him, right on the side of the face – aimed straight for the temple. 

She hoped it hit. 

She didn’t pay attention to that though, and rolled her eyes.  “He totally goes by Nick.  I’ll owl Balfour or Al right now,” she put her plate on the table, having lost the urge to eat and tried to hobble up (the couch was always so low to the ground and her knee… ugh!), when was finally able to get herself upright, she hobbled back toward the room.  Margo stopped to look back at him, “I really will.”   

"His name isn't Nick!" Nate insisted as a piece of fried potato hit in him the face. He totally could've dodged it. At least, that's what he told himself. Whatever he needed to do to keep some semblance of pride and honor... Even if it was kind of difficult to act holier-than-thou when you were just pelted by breakfast food. What was next? Was she going to pour gravy on his head? That was probably illegal or something. And he would know, he was a lawyer!

"Go ahead, owl Balfour!" What did Balfour have to do with any of this? Oh. Right. Dragons. "My brother is named Phoenix. Do you really think my parents would have given him a reasonable name? You've met them. My middle name is Merlin, Margo. And it's not after the wizard, it's after the bird."

Why, why was he attracted to crazy? Maybe it had something to do with the fact that was raised in crazy. He married into crazy. The town he lived in was crazy. With this pattern.... Nate really couldn't blame the world around him. He was the common denominator. There was just something about him that caused the world to go wonky. That was the only explanation.

"Why does this bother you so much, Margo?" He finally asked, brow furrowed with confusion. "Dude is named Pheonix. It's a horrible name but what did you expect?"

 “His name is also totally Nick,” Margo argued and rolled her eyes in disgust.  How could he not know that this person was most definitely a person that Margo had worked with and tried to bring up before only to be met with blank stares?  And like, obviously, Nate had a small point. 

His parents were some of the strangest people she’d ever met.  That was no exaggeration.  That was actually a pretty terrifying thought; given the people that Margo made a habit of hanging around.  And sure, they gave their kid a terrible name but that didn’t mean that they also didn’t go completely off the charts and name the other one something sensible.  It seemed like the type of thing that they would do.  Or you know, he had a nickname! 

Sighing disgustedly, Margo shoved her plate on the coffee table and glowered at him.  “It bothers me because I’m right,” she accused, wracking her brain for anything she could think of.  Then, in one gloriously (round and perky) swift memory, she gasped before blurting out, “Nick has a café au lait birth mark like a star right above his butt cheek.”

"His name is not Nick." Oh my god. How many times did he have to say that?! "Phoenix. Like the magical fire bird. His name is Phoenix Alexander Hawke." Nate even hated his brother's middle name, "Alexander, like... After an American founding father. Because of how our parents met." Hopefully that memory would distract Margo from being too upset.

Then something clicked in.

How would Margo know about his brother's birthmark? There was only one explanation.

He gave Margo a long stare. Well. Nate wasn't as bothered by this as he should've been.

"Margo." He began, voice tense as he struggled to hold back a laugh, "Did you fuck my fucking brother?" It was a difficult feat, but Nate managed to keep his face straight. "Did you fuck my fucking brother, Margo?"[1]

1.	have a gif

Nate was not listening.  This was not entirely surprising, really, but still.  “I don’t care what his full name is, Nate!” Margo rolled her eyes, “But I definitely called him Nick, and everyone else on the reserve did too.”  Maybe Nate and his brother weren’t close. 

They obviously couldn’t be or else he would know that everyone totally called him Nick and that Margo wasn’t crazy and totally knew about his birthmark.  The look on Nate’s face was confirmation enough for that though, and the satisfaction that washed over her like the swift onset of a pain relief potion taken for fun. 

"Did you fuck my fucking brother, Margo?”

Margo nodded slowly.

“I totally fucked your brother, Nate.”