#as a remider: andromache and hector are t4t

[sealrock]

10. stable

cw: depiction of trans pregnancy word count: 983 words

"Do you think we can give this baby a stable life?"

Andromache's question filtered back into Achille's mind, though it came back nearly four moons too late now that he was holding said baby in his arms.

While it was easy not to think about before her arrival, Achille couldn't help but feel a tinge of anxiety settle in his heart as he watched Paris, the oddly masculine name her parents bestowed her, slumbered against his shirt. He found himself gently stroking her slick black hair, and he was suddenly reminded of the day his younger brother was born. Protected by soft swaddling clothes, a gift from Hector's mother, Paris looked like his brother, and most newborn babies—wrinkly, pale, and a bit ugly.

A soft orange glow filled the room from the open window, the fresh air trickling inside as the summer sun took its leave behind the treeline. Achille's ears picked up the call of cicadas, crickets, and frogs as they announced dusk's arrival in the forest beyond. A few hours had passed since Paris came into the world, screeching to anyone who would listen, but Achille felt like time hadn't moved since. He forgot how long he sat in this chair, he couldn't feel anything except the delicate weight of an infant—his loved ones' infant—in his arms. She had a startling amount of strength as her hand gripped his thumb, her fingers too stubby to reach the other side.

On the bed lay Hector, drained and a little wan, sound asleep and bundled in blankets, his long hair unbound. Despite the mugginess of the day, Hector was shivering like he had been in a snowstorm. Andromache, high off of pure adrenaline for the last seventy-two hours, crashed unsurprisingly after the delivery, her upper body halfway on the bed while she sat seated on Hector's left side, their hands intertwined. Achille wasn't allowed inside the birthing room, not that he wanted to be in there, the screams of pain and cries of agony were enough to keep him outside the house entirely. He did his best to offer Andromache some support, the girl unable to do much besides pace around and pull at her hair.

He wasn't even the father, yet Achille couldn't sleep a wink. When it was all said and done, Andromache practically twisted his arm to accept holding her daughter, a word she said with shaky pride. Yes, this was her daughter, and Achille didn't want to hurt her. His hands only knew how to kill, not to love. He wasn't suited to offer a child a life of stability, and if he was being honest, neither were Andromache or Hector. They were all young, much too young, and dealing with their own personal emotional baggage, to take on such a responsibility.

"Do you want an honest answer or a hopeful lie?"

Achille looked on from his corner of the candle-lit living room, situated away from Hector on the couch, watching as Andromache gingerly rested her head on their partner's lap, her ear pressed against his growing belly. With her hair petted by Hector, Andromache's back was against the couch cushions, her legs dangling off the side and crossed at the ankles. Her glittering eyes, full of wonderment in the likes Achille had never seen up until then, narrowed at his response as she regarded him upside-down. Hector could only chuckle, his eyes hooded by dark bangs.

"I think everything will be fine."

"How can you be so sure?"

Hector lifted his gaze to look at Achille, his expression calm and voice gentle:

"Because I have two bodyguards who wouldn't dare let anything go wrong."

Achille could feel the blush creep up his neck as he gave a crooked smile, "Is that all I am to you, hired muscle?"

"You know my meaning," Hector glanced down to Andromache before looking away, "You're more than that to me, both of you. We'll be alright because your love will extend to this child. They'll know nothing but love, protection, and guidance from all of us."

Achille shrugged, "I don't think I'm cut out for that."

"Don't be so modest," it was Andromache's turn to speak up, "You're just as much a parent to this child as we are."

Achille would never have children, the torturous days of his younger years rendering that impossible, but Andromache's words stuck to him since then.

Paris wriggled in his arms, little odd squeaks coming from her mouth as Achille brought himself back to the present. Achille froze, not knowing what to do as the noises grew louder. He also remembers this from his younger brother, how annoyed he felt at the sound of a crying infant.

"Put him back," was all the young boy said to the adults in the room.

His father could only laugh at the bluntness of his son's words. Achille could remember his father ruffling his hair in affection before the wailing monstrosity of a baby could be taken from his tiny arms.

"Achille?"

Achille jerked up from his seat, eyes landing on Hector and Andromache, both now wide awake despite only getting a few hours of sleep. Paris continued to cry as he awkwardly passed her along into her father's waiting arms. Hector looked like shite, but he beamed at the sight of his newborn, cooing and shushing her from his place in bed.

Andromache, equally haggard, gave a soft smile before stretching her legs. She led a dumbfounded Achille out of the room to give Hector some privacy, softly closing the door behind them as they stood in the hallway.

"You asked me this a while ago," Achille found his voice, his throat restricted with an odd emotion, "You asked if we could give Paris a stable life. Could we?"

Andromache scrubbed at her face as she considered his words. To that, she replied:

"Like Hector said, we'll be fine."