#slightly bitter posting but mostly bored and sleepy posting

[soullessjack]

maybe I’m being mean but at this point whenever I see sam dean cas girls post about their guys’ mischaracterizations all I can think is “you’ll live” and Oprah shrug gif because I have had to endure six years worth of seeing my guy exist as a baby shaped stage prop for the others or a teenage shaped baby who listens to fucking conehead gray and hides under blankets when he hears thunder. like not to make it a competition but I really truly believe I objectively have it the worst here im sorry

[msephy]

Upbringing: chap 6/?

Yep, writing on some older Batman fanfic for Nanowrimo :) I hope I can get this one to the end, if I manage to figure out what that is XD

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5

Cross-posted to AO3

Earth ? - Jason Todd

Jason waited near the car while Bruce reassured Dick and explained to him that no, he wasn’t his uncle, and that he was dangerous, and to stay away from him, all the while glaring at Jason. So, alright, he shouldn’t have punched the kid – but what did he expect, really, showing up like a nightmare from the past?

The Perfect Dick Grayson, as he was back in the time of the dynamic duo. The one Jason had spent his teenage years trying to live up to, without ever quite managing to.

Anyway, this one should learn to recognize his local Jason and not to jump so close to dangerous-looking strangers. Or strangers, period. (Jason hadn’t even punched him that hard, in any case.)

Bruce seemed to finish giving his explanations and left Dick to come at Jason, still glaring. Like he had anything to say about the whole thing!

“Child endangerment, B., really?” Jason spat without giving him the opportunity to strike first. “Don’t look at me like that. How can you do that? Putting a child in the streets? Face to face with people even you can’t handle!”

Bruce winced – strike!- and Jason snorted. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. You’re the worst parent ever. Some things just don’t change from earth to earth, do they?”

“Shut up!” Dickie squealed, always the knight in shining armor whenever Bruce was concerned. Dickie dick. “He doesn’t put me in danger at all!”

“Contrarily to what you might think, he can’t protect you from everything and everyone, Dickie,” Jason answered. “He isn’t invulnerable himself and certainly isn’t infallible.”

“That’s not what I meant!”

“Oh? And what did you mean?” Jason spat again, going in his direction – only to be stopped by Bruce’s hand on his chest.

“That’s enough,” Bruce growled. “You’re going to stay away from him.”

“I’m not going to break the baby bird, you moron. You are!”

“I’m not allowed out in the streets!” Dick screamed. Jason froze. Dick nodded at his expression. “I’m not allowed out until I reach 18, I’m only helping from the computer. And, you know, training. It’s boring, by the way.”

“But it’s safe, mostly,” Jason whispered before looking up at Bruce, who still had this faint guilty look on his face. Jason frowned. “Why do you look so fucking guilty if I’m talking bullshit?”

Bruce frowned, debating whether to tell him or not, then shrugged, his lips corners turned down. “Because it’s not my rule. It’s yours. I mean, Jason’s, my brother’s.”

Jason’s eyes widened, then – he couldn’t help it – he started to laugh. He didn’t know if he was amused, or relieved, or annoyed. Maybe he just wanted to annoy Bruce, which seemed to work.

“It doesn’t make the rule any less important,” Bruce was adding toward Dick. “As you can see for yourself.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” Jason said, swallowing back the laugh that kept wanting to bubble out. “The street is no place for a kid to be. Little Robins get killed on the job. It must be real fun to inforce it with Damian, too, by the way, so congratulations I guess.”

Dick frowned, as if the words didn’t make sense. On Bruce’s face, though, the shock was clear; for anyone who knew him well enough, that’s to say.

“Anyway, adopting kids is fine as long as they’re kept safe,” Jason continued, feeling giddy.

“Who died, in your world?” Bruce interrupted, looking very pale. “If I can avoid it here…”

“Oh, no need to worry. I’m sure your brother would be able to defend himself and he doesn’t seem to feel the need to look for his biological mother,” Jason answered with a smirk. “I suppose she really is Catherine in this earth, on account of his father not being good old Willis.”

Bruce frowned, matching Dick’s expression so closely that Jason felt the laugh come back up from his belly. He managed to swallow it back, this time.

“So, I’m exhausted. Can I sleep upstairs? Or shall we contact the league first?”

“I hoped to serve some dinner before anyone headed upstairs,” said the familiar voice of Alfred from the top of the stairs. “Also, shall I prepare a room for our guest?”

“Yes, thank you, Alfred,” Bruce answered absentmindedly, still obviously worrying over Jason’s sibylline comments.

Jason himself was staring. Alfred. Jesus. The old man looked – well, less old, for one – and also much less tired than he ever had. Jason bit his lip. “Do you need help? I mean. I’m not from around here, but I can use a mixer. It would be soup, at this time of the year, no?”

“Thank you, sir, but I have everything ready and merely need heating it up.”

Alfred disappeared through the door. Jason didn’t insist, turning back to Bruce instead. “So, can I user your showers or what? And maybe steal one of your sweatpants?”

He hated the idea of stripping out of his weapons but there was no way Bruce would allow guns upstairs. If he played it right, he might slip one, or at least a couple of knives.

Bruce eyed him suspiciously, but nodded. They both smelled after their earlier spar. “I’ll find some of Jason’s.”

“Right.”

Jason headed for the showers, turning his back to them as if he didn’t care. He wasn’t safe here, he reminded himself. He wasn’t home.

###

Earth 1 – Jason Wayne

The next day was a busy one. Jason woke up in an unfamiliar guest room and sighed as the events of the previous day came back to him; but that was the least of it. He found Damian and an unknown teenager in a suit in the kitchen with Alfred when he went down for breakfast.

“Sir,” Alfred salutated him. “Do you also care for English Breakfast?”

“Always,” Jason said, accepting the cup with delight.

“And maybe some toast? I made some freshly for Master Tim.”

So that was his name. The teenager was eyeing him suspiciously over his cup of coffee, looking away and pretending to be sleepy as soon as Jason glanced his way. Jason pretended not to notice and sat down to enjoy his meal, to which Alfred added orange juice (freshly pressed) and an apple (all bitter, from the garden).

“Thank you so much, Alfred. You’re the best, in this Earth as well as mine; and likely all of them.””

“I do try, sir. Though the multiverse certainly removes any pretention one has about being unique.”

Jason nodded at that. “Doesn’t it? Even though this is my first encounter with it. So far, I’m not impressed with my doppelganger, if I have to be honest.”

Tim snorted in his cup, earning himself a frown from Alfred.

“Master Jason had a troubled youth and is still searching his path,” the old man commented with a fain disapproving tone.

“Of course,” Jason corrected right away, “and I apologize. I shouldn’t judge, not knowing him.”

Alfred nodded.

Tim shook his head. “He hasn’t given us much not to judge him badly.”

That attracted him another frown, but he ignored it. Damian, though, seemed ready to bite. “He’s trying to follow his own path,” he said, trying to keep his voice level.

“And it’s the wrong path,” the older teenager insisted.

“You’re Tim, right?” Jason intervened. “I’m… well, Jason, obviously. The other one.”

“You’re not in the clear yet,” Tim warned, while nodding to indicate that yes, that was his name. “But Cassandra seems to like you.”

“You still had to come and check?”

Tim emptied his cup of coffee and smiled a perfectly insincere smile that would have suited Lex Luther. Jason fought back the need to applaud. “I’m only the first,” Tim said. “I arrived early because I live in town. I heard Dick was on his way and Barbara, of course, but Barbara is a decent human being who doesn’t show up at people’s doors before nine.”

As to underline his words, they heard the doorbell, and Alfred abandoned the plates he was washing to go answer. Jason was curious and somewhat wary to meet Dick. He didn’t know Barbara well enough, admitting Tim was referring to Barbara Gordon, Jim’s daughter. Was she part of this whole vigilante business as well, here? How many of them were they?

He probably didn’t want to know the answer to this question.

He wondered if he should talk to Cassandra about where he could find her, in his world. She might not have a traumatic past, but then, she also might, and if Jason could help her earlier rather than later…

Chattering noise came from the corridor and, soon enough, Alfred introduced Dick and Barbara. She was definitely Jim Gordon’s, and also in a wheelchair, which shocked Jason slightly. He smiled with the ease of someone who raise funds regularly and therefore had to dwell in politics and got up to shook her hand, then Dick’s.

The latter raised his eyebrows, looking up at him. “Christ, you’re taller than our Jason. It’s Jason Wayne, right?”

“It is. And you must be the local Dick Grayson. I do hope our Dick, I mean, the one from my world, will grow quite that tall and handsome.”

“Most of them do,” Barbara intervened, accepting a cup of coffee from Alfred. “So you also have a little robin at home?”

“And Damian, too,” Jason admitted easily. “I’m afraid I didn’t know Tim and Cassandra until now.”

He didn’t like to give information like that, but felt much more relaxed after his exchange with Bruce the previous night. He wasn’t at home, he realized that much; but it wasn’t so far off that he needed to worry. Those people were worried that he was dangerous to their family. He could understand as much, and try to put their minds at ease.

“I used to live next door,” Tim offered.

“With the Drakes? Ah yes, now that I think about it, they do have a son. I don’t spend as much time as I’d like at the manor, much to Alfred’s distress. I’ve started to use the flat back in town, just not to drive back when my work day extended beyond reasonable hours. Of course, Alfred keeps telling me that I should get a drive…”

“That would be most sensible.”

“… But while I like providing jobs, I prefer them to be community oriented. The flat is perfectly serviceable, in any case.”

It felt weird to have this conversation with an Alfred who wasn’t the one he knew, and from the looks of the people around, seeing a Jason so comfortable in the manor weirded them out. Jason cleared his throat.

“Sorry. I got carried away.”

“It’s alright,” Dick said, conveying their shared feeling. “Just unusual.”

“That, I entirely agree,” Jason sighed, earning a fugitive smile from Barbara. “So what did you plan for today, apart from quizzing me?”

“Master Dick and Miss Gordon can do whatever they wish, but younger people have to go to school,” Alfred said, taking away the remaining plates from the table.

“I will tell Bruce that you called Wayne Entreprise ‘school’,” Tim commented, sounding amused, but he grabbed the suitcase he’s left on a chair and saluted everyone before heading out.

Damian, however, was harder to convince. “I already know all that stuff!”

“We went over that when you arrived,” Dick reminded him in a paternal tone. “You need to learn how to socialize with kids your age. Jon doesn’t count!”

Damian grumbled but allowed himself to be sent away. Jason was trying very hard not to laugh. He had the exact same conversation with Damian every morning when he was in a mood.

“Sounds familiar?” Dick sighed.

“Wish it wasn’t. I really should let Bruce handle it but he’s hardly ever at breakfast. Is he still sleeping, or already downstairs?” Jason asked, turning to Alfred.

“Still asleep, thankfully.”

“Did he tell you he was hurt? The stiches were done properly, but the dressing will have to be changed and he can’t do it himself,” Jason said, allowing his exasperation to show.

Alfred looked at him, then nodded, once. “Thank you for pointing it out, sir. I’ll make sure it’s taken care of.”

Jason nodded back, satisfied. Dick and Barbara were looking at him with a strange expression on their faces; he grimaced. “In my world, he’s my little brother. It’s hard to break the habit even here where he’s ten years older than me.”

“I’ve never seen anyone else than Alfred fuss over Bruce,” Dick said in an amused tone.

Barbara rolled her eyes. “I have. You, for one,” she added, pointing at Dick. “And Dr Thompson, of course.”

“People who knew him when he was a kid don’t count!” Dick protested.

“He is still a kid at twenty and, apparently, at thirty,” Jason grumbled.

That startled a laugh out of Dick. Jason relaxed. Whatever the day prepared for him, it would be fine.

[mollymauk-teafleak]

The Seal Lullaby: Chapter 6

Cannot believe I’ve been writing this for six weeks

This one is very, very angsty, so consider this your warning. As always, a huge huge thanks to @minky-for-short @childofdustandashes @oversaturated-ocean @purearcticfire and @lookatvanessasface

I’ve met so many lovely, lovely people through posting and writing this fic and I love you all, @brainypaperbullets @hollywoodx4 @arya-durin-51 and the ever complimentary @kilocurican

I really hope you guys like this

“See? I told you he’d have your eyes.”

“Damn. Thought fate would have given the poor kid a break after he got my nose too.”

“Oh, shut up! It looks so sweet, don’t give the little guy a complex.”

“Yeah well, he’s been saved, he’s got your face. Handsome devil.”

“I’d be slightly more worried about the fact he’s got your appetite. And your sleep schedule. And your blabbermouth.”

“God help us all.”

Alex and Eliza loved to play this game, in the early mornings or late evenings or whatever time they found themselves lying side by side on their bed with little Philip on his back and encircled by his parents’ bodies. The conventions of normal time, words like breakfast and noon and dinner and bedtime, had kind of blurred into meaningless ever since they’d had their baby. To the point where Eliza had found Alex putting a pizza in the oven (he’d been given his kitchen privileges back and was actually turning into a very good cook) at two in the morning and had thought nothing of it. It was kind of fun, actually, to not have any ties to structure or schedule, to just float in their own little bubble, them and their little treasure, beholden to nothing and no one but themselves.

“I don’t quite know where these came from though,” Eliza hummed, gently ruffling Philip’s head of tight, dark brown curls that stuck up after a good night’s sleep and after he’d been doing his favourite activity of rolling around on the floor of his father’s writing room while he worked, and bounced adorably when he got excited or happy or fidgety. Right now, they were fluffed up around his sweet, attentive face as he yawned and fought against his impending nap, to not much avail. But he had his mama and pops right by him, he was warm and smelling all soft and soapy from his recent bath, the room was illuminated with the orange glow that was only ever found in the early evening as day slipped to night. He wasn’t fighting too hard, it was mostly for show.

“I do,” Alex murmured after a few moment’s pause, his eyes fixed on his wife’s fingers gently combing through their baby’s curls in such a gentle and protective gesture.

His guard was down, the simple warmth of the moment pulled the words from where they were living in some sleeping part of his heart and out from between his teeth.

There was weight to his answer, it was obvious and Eliza was careful in asking for more.

“You do?” she breathed quietly, her eyes flickering up to him and back down again, making it clear that he didn’t have to go any further if this is a part of his past he’d decided he doesn’t want to let go of just yet. She never wanted to feel like she was dragging anything out of him.

But, as it happened, Alex gave it freely, perhaps after an increasingly sleepy Philip reached up and took hold of his father’s finger as it hovered over him, clutching at him for a little comfort as he drifted. That gave Alex the gentle little shove he needed.

“My mother’s hair was like that,” he whispered into the heavy curtain of sundown draped across the room, “She had curls exactly like that. I guess they skip a generation.”

Eliza tried not to show too much of the bolt of surprise that went through her at Alex’s whispered explanation. She tried.

But Alex only gave her a wry little smile, he couldn’t exactly blame her for being shocked.

“You…you saw your mother in her human form?”

Alex didn’t look at her, his eyes were fixed on some point above her head though she had a feeling it wasn’t the wall hanging he was seeing, the one she’d been spending her lazy early motherhood days crocheting, when she wasn’t making little Pip new cardigans and hats and socks (he got them dirty very easily, he was a big fan of knocking things over onto himself and whichever of his parents or aunts were in reach; he was making quite a sport of it).

No, something every different, something from far away and another time was reflected in his dark pupils.

“I did,” Alex murmured, nodding a little, barely seeming to notice as Philip began to lazily gnaw on his finger, “She was a human for a while actually. Two, maybe three years. I-I don’t keep time so well when I’m…”

The slightly panicked gasping that overtook his voice, stealing the end of his sentence, terrified Eliza and she scrambled to bring him back, cursing herself for ruining their perfect evening by pushing for information.

“Baby, it’s okay, you don’t have to…sweetie, please, deep breaths.”

Alex followed her direction, shaking his head. Even Philip started to cheep softly, his little face mirroring his mother’s concern in a kind of way. He slobbered on his father’s finger even more, mewling around it, like that was his way of helping.

“No, it’s okay, it’s just been a while since I thought about this,” Alex’s eyes grew more far away but his breathing eased and he regained his voice, “It’s kind of…um, the memories aren’t so good? Like they’re…damaged. I guess because I was young and…different brain, kind of.”

Eliza shifted closer to Alex, one of her legs snaking around his, bridging the gap between them in a simple gesture but, in the language of their marriage, it meant a lot.

A shadow cast itself over her husband’s face but it was the brush of her thigh on his and the gentle babbling of Pip, a noise that was quickly becoming a welcome part of the background of their lives, it was these that helped him keep talking.

“I was only small, maybe nine? Ten?” he looked like he was really struggling to drag the correct facts out of the fog in his brain, like there really was some wall dividing his life now and his life then that he couldn’t quite reach over to see what was real, like all he had were the snatches of past conversations he could overhear. Or not a wall, not exactly. A surface of thick, muffling water.

“Small, anyhow. And it was one of the worst winters I think we’d ever seen. Had to travel too far to get too little food, it was freezing, storms…”

Eliza shivered, he said it so matter-of-factly, like such suffering was just a factor of whatever life he’d been living. She tried to imagine having to carry her son through an existence like that, knowing that they were surrounded by so many potential slips and stumbles and staggers that would just take her baby from her. Just like that. Without a thought. Just another casualty of nature.

“What was her name?” she found herself asking, wanting to have a way to think of this woman she was feeling such heavy, constricting empathy for.

“Rachel,” Alex’s mouth seemed to struggle with the shape of the word. Like it had more meaning than he could really cope with.

“Rachel,” Eliza bore the burden of the name with him, slipping under it with an easier, more awed tone, to help him hold it up.

Alex nodded, “And she…we ended up somewhere near the coast of South America, we’d used pretty much the last of our strength to get us to warmer waters. I remember…” his expression tightened, the sour memories bleeding across his tongue, “I can remember feeling her ribs poking through her fur while I slept against her.”

Eliza blinked, absorbing that awful image of a child having to watch his mother wasting away. She didn’t need Alex to tell her that his younger self had felt those hard bones press into his back, harsh and uncomfortable, but nowhere near as much so as the knowledge that the bones were likely there because his mother was giving him most of her share as well as his own.

Another thought surfaced, along the back of that one. She remembered the way Alex always seemed to glory in the fullness of her body, kneading where her thighs and hips and calves curved outwards, feeling the softness there as they made love with a kind of rapture. All the parts of her that made her cringe when she caught sight of them in the shower, in the fogged-up mirror as she changed, Alex would bury his face against them and murmur how beautiful they were, how gorgeous, like they were his favourite parts of her. She’d blush and smile and cling to every word.

And now Eliza was starting to understand a little more.

“So,” Alex went on, his usually animated and bouncing voice, a thread of a million tones and inflections, now flat and quiet like he was recounting one of the uncomfortable and grim parts of history not taught in schools, “She decided that the best way, the only way was to shed her skin and get some food from in town, steal or beg or charity or…whatever, I don’t know. All she knew was that there was no food in the sea, so she had to look elsewhere.”

Eliza nodded, assuring him that she was still listening even when she didn’t know quite what to say. Even Philip’s murmuring quietened, like he was listening to his daddy’s story.

“She made me the best nest she could in a small crag in the rocks near the shore. She told me to wait there and she would come back after no more than two night falls. She was only going into the local town, not far. She…she promised.” His voice wavered and caught on some snag. Like a child still feeling the sting of a broken promise from someone they trusted.

“Oh, Alex,” Eliza bit her lower lip, feeling his pain passed like an electric charge from his skin to her own.

“A man saw her. He took her skin,” Alex now looked angry, the shadow morphing into something more like a storm cloud, “Just like in the stories, he took her skin…”

It was obvious in the way he spoke that what this man did was on a level almost unspeakable, a bitter and vicious crime that shouldn’t even occur to the mind of someone sentient and respectable, let alone happen. Eliza felt a small click in the base of her brain, two pieces of information snapping together. This happened in the legends she’d read about Selkies, before she’d known they were true. They all spoke of Selkie ladies held prisoner on land by lecherous men who locked their magic pelts away, like ripping the very heart out of them, stranding them in a land where they didn’t belong all for the sake of some twisted and warped idea of love that was actually possession in a cruel disguise.

“Oh no,” she murmured, a hand flying to her mouth.

Alex looked like a man tasting acid, “That…that fucker held her prisoner for so long, she tried to many times to escape but he’d always catch her and…hurt her. When she finally made it back to me, she was covered in bruises and her teeth, he’d knocked out her teeth, Eliza…”

Tears were stinging her eyelids, she didn’t want to weep openly in case she scared little Pip but God, this was hard to hear.

“I’d given up hope of ever seeing her again,” Alex seemed unable to stop, even now as his voice cracked and wobbled, “I waited and waited but she never…she never came, I was so close to starving…I have no idea how I survived, fighting I guess, scavenging off gulls. I stayed near the coastline because I kept hoping, even after so long I’d lost count.”

Eliza closed her eyes, heart hammering, not sure how much more she could stand to listen to.

“But then one day she did come back,” his eyes settled, just a little, “Like she’d promised but…everything was different. We were both covered in scars, she was never the same, I was never the same. It changed everything.”

“Oh,” Eliza mumbled, her voice thick.

“We never went near another human place after that. Every time she heard anything that even sounded like his voice, she panicked and we had to move. Mama always thought he’d keep looking for her, wherever we went. We stuck to the open water. She thought we were safe there until…”

Eliza didn’t want to ask him for more but she knew she had to. This was a wound she needed to leech, it had been festering for too long, she could tell. After this, she could help him stitch it up and things would get better.

“Until what?” she whispered.

“Until the boat,” Alex answered, his voice clipped, “We didn’t know they’d extended their fishing route so far, we thought we were out of there way but one day there they were. It was me they caught, the net was like barbed wire, it made me bleed.”

A cold and sharp realisation lanced through Eliza, “Is that…?” A shaky hand reached out, gently indicating the white, faded line of an old scar that had bisected her Alex’s right eye for as long as she’d known him. She had no idea what forged the connection in her mind, that scar had always just been one feature of many, part of the landscape of the face of the man she loved. She’d never given it much thought but she saw it as soon as the words were out of his mouth, she knew before Alex gave his sad, quiet nod of answer.

Eliza made a small, strangled noise, reaching out and running his finger carefully along the line of the scar tenderly, like she could brush it and the horrible trauma it represented away. Or, if not that, at least reassure him that now it was nothing more than a healed mark, something she loved.

“They wanted my pelt,” Alex shuddered, feeling like he was working his thumb against a scab that held nothing but endless beads of blood underneath, “They wanted to rip it off me, hang it from some wall, throw it on the floor just because it was beautiful and it was mine and they wanted it. Humans are always like that just taking for the sake of taking.” His voice snapped and Eliza winced.

“But mama, she vaulted over the side of the boat after me, she attacked the one who was holding the knife to my neck, she bit and she clawed at them, half out of her own skin…I’ve never heard screams like that…I thought for a moment she could win but…”

His bottom lip was now shaking so hard his words were almost nonsense but it was almost like Eliza could hear them in her own mind, past his hitching breaths.

“I went over the side, someone’s boot in my ribs. I couldn’t swim for a while, I just sank. And when I got my mind back, the boat was gone. And…”

The end of the sentence didn’t seem to be coming, Eliza moved to hold him and reassure him that it was okay, he didn’t need to say it. But then the words broke free in such a broken, distraught gasp that gave way to tears like a cave crumbling in on itself that Eliza couldn’t move.

“And there wasn’t even enough left of her pelt for me to keep.”

Eliza tried not to disturb Philip as she climbed over to Alex’s side of the bed. Fortunately, the little baby had nodded off during Alex’s story, curled up hugging the pillow that smelled of his mama. Eliza couldn’t help but pray that he’d nodded off before the end of Alex’s story. One of the good intentions that paved the way to hell, perhaps, but she couldn’t help but hope. Part of motherhood, she was realising, was clinging to every single second where she could continue to protect her son from most of the world, whether that was the right decision or not.

For more than a few moments, Eliza was terrified that Alex had slipped away too far for her to reach but after a few minutes of stroking his hair and murmuring through her own tears that he was safe, his memories where just that, past pain that could hurt but not finish him, he was back to himself. The tears eventually ran out, the trembling stopped and he was left just clinging to his wife and taking deep, shaking breaths. But he was here.

“Oh Alex, baby, I’m so, so sorry,” Eliza whispered, the words sounding so painfully weak and watery, powerless against the scars he carried.

“No,” he murmured, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes to try and take the sting of drying tears away, “No, I n-needed to tell you…t-tell someone…been holding onto that for too long.”

Eliza sighed gently, climbing off him carefully and taking his hands, drawing him over to the window seat, the one she’d purposefully piled high with blankets and cushions so Alex could perch there on the nights he couldn’t sleep so he could watch the sea rolling and thrumming its endless rhythm out on the beach. That never failed to calm him down. And it worked now, he sighed with all the relief of a man seeing the calm, still skies beyond the storm clouds, pulling his knees to his chest and letting the panicked energy run out of his eyes like watercolours, forehead resting against the slightly warped glass. Eliza sat across from him, her legs filling the spaces his left, her expression loving and heartbroken and worried all at once.

Words weren’t necessary for a while, the mostly silent room broken up only by the quiet snuffling of their baby son, blissfully asleep and unaware, the near constant rattling of the cottage’s old pipes that they barely even registered anymore and the muffled voice of the sea, that all said more than either of them could. Somewhere in the middle of it, Alex’s hand found Eliza’s and after five minutes had still not relaxed or let go.

“I’m glad,” his voice was quiet and crackling but Eliza heard it.

“Oh?” she blinked at him through the gloom, only just realising that the sunset had shifted into night while they’d been distracted. Their bedroom was suddenly very dark, the moonlight the only thing that sliced through the shadows.

“Yeah,” Alex nodded, finally tearing his gaze away from the sea and back to her, “I’m really glad he has her hair. I wouldn’t want her to be forgotten, I want…I want some part of her to still be here.”

Eliza could understand, she gave him a proud, small smile, squeezing his hand and nodding.

“She gave her life for me, I can’t try and forget her. It’s just not fair, the way I tried to push it all away,” he shook his head, guilt straining the edges of his mouth and eyes.  

“Alex, no,” Eliza moved forward, “Baby, don’t think like that. Look at everything you’ve done; how much you’ve made of the life she gave you. She would be so, so proud.”

Alex looked hopeful but uncertain, “Really?”

Eliza nodded, firm, “I know it.”

He pressed his lips together and looked over to where their son slept, curled up in the middle of the vastness of their bed, snoring in perfect contentment. He looked back to Eliza, his sweet, beautiful Eliza who’d given him her heart.

His family. Small and a little strange but his.

“Yeah,” Alex murmured, nodding a little, talking more to himself than anyone else, “Yeah, I think she would be proud of me.”

-

Watching Philip grow was a wonder.

Sometimes Eliza would be leaning against the counter in the kitchen, a quiet moment at the beginning of the day or the end, seemingly always with the sun half covered by the horizon in some respect but no less warming. She’d be feeding Philip, something she always loved doing, holding him so close to her skin and having his hungry little snuffling against her and his hand tracing the line of her collarbone as if for comfort. And she’d think how big he was getting, how his eyes seemed so aware and intelligent as he took in everything around him. She’d notice how he was a little heavier than the last time he fed, a little longer in her arms, his hair a little wilder, actually brushing his eyebrows. Her little man, her little ray of sunshine was growing up.

And didn’t that just break her heart in the best way.

Pip took his first steps a week or so into his sixth month. He woke up one lazy Saturday morning in his mama’s arms, exactly where he loved to be when he first opened his eyes, but where was Pops? Mama explained, through a yawn as she rolled over and hid from the truth of the alarm clock in her nest of blankets, that Pops was taking a shower after his morning run along the beach and would be back in just a few minutes. Pip could tell she was right, he could hear his Pops singing that song from the mermaid film he loved so much, the one the funny red crab sang. That was Pops’ bath time song. But Philip wasn’t great at waiting, even if it was only for a few minutes.

Eliza had dozed off within a minute though Alex’s cry of surprise definitely woke her up, he reached a pretty damn high volume. Apparently, Philip had taken it upon himself to stumble on over to the bathroom himself, wanting to see his daddy now, not realising that Alex was going to hit the roof when there was suddenly another, babbling, quiet little voice singing Under the Sea along with him.

It was Philip’s turn to be confused when Mama and Pops suddenly started crying and laughing and hugging him.

Not that he minded of course.

 His first word was a little debatable, on whether you thought animal noises constituted a word. A favourite nickname of Alex’s for his son was his ‘little lion cub’. Probably because he was noise, probably because of his fluffy mane-like cloud of hair, probably because most nights he could be found sat on his father’s lap while Alex read one of the many books he treasured all the more for their tattered edges and scuffed leather covers, his favourites being the ones about flora and fauna from far off places he’d never been to. One of their best games, the one that made Eliza laugh the most as she watched them fondly from the wingback she always sat in to sew, was Pip poking at the illustrations on the page with a pudgy finger and Alex dutifully, enthusiastically, imitating the noise it made. And Philip’s very favourite, the one he chose to point at most often out of all the meticulous, hand sketched plates Alex liked to imagine had been done by some glasses wearing, lined faced scholar while tropical storms battered the canvas of their tent, was the roaring, almost regal looking lion. More often than any other, he’d be chuckling so hard and beaming so wide that he nearly fell to the floor as his Pops hooked his fingers into paws and bared his teeth, snarling fit to beat the big old lion that came on sometimes before the movie started, with the swelling music, and made Pip jump.

So really, it shouldn’t have come as much of a surprise on the afternoon that Alex scooped Philip up from the floor, where he was building the biggest tower of blocks he could possibly make, simply for the pleasure of knocking it down again, explaining that it was time for lunch.

“Come on,” Alex smiled gently, trying not to laugh at Philip’s crinkled, cloudy little face at having his game interrupted, kissing at his nose until he was smiling again, “You must be hungry by now, my little lion cub.”

Pip blinked, his face breaking into one of his sunny smiles, the ones that stretched nearly the whole width of his face and turned his eyes into sparkling dark chips of opal. He lifted his hands and crooked them into claws and pulled his lips back from his teeth, more than a few gaps between them, and gave a loud growl.

“Rrrrrrrrrrawr!”

Alex nearly dropped him he was so surprised but seconds after that he started laughing, utterly delighted, heart pounding with the realisation that the very purpose of his son’s first words had been to make him laugh. Eliza got a demonstration as soon as she came home from work, swinging him around in her arms and peppering his cheeks with so many kisses that there were plum coloured lipstick marks over nearly every part of his face and he was giggling breathlessly.

After that the words came thick and fast, ‘mama’ and ‘pops’ in almost the same breath, ‘birdie’ for the rather tuneless coughing of the gulls outside his bedroom window, ‘sticky’ for the way the sand clung to his little starfish hands when he’d eagerly bury them in the ground on his and Pops’ morning walks, ‘Legs’ for the stuffed giraffe he’d been given the day he was born and remained his most treasured toy right up until he was sixteen and still kept him on his bedside table, huffing if anyone dared move him.

That was like the floodgates opening. After that, it felt like Pip grew several inches every single day, he got everywhere on his own two legs, he started wearing little woolly jumpers and cord trousers rather than his onesies and dungarees, he chattered away in full sentences. And every single day that passed Eliza and Alex only grew more in love with him, their little boy who had been such a surprise but now they weren’t sure how they’d ever lived without him.

To the two of them, it was honestly a bit of a surprise that it took until one night a few weeks after Philip’s first birthday, when Alex and Eliza were cooking dinner, moving around each other and their tiny kitchen in a complex, polyrhythmic dance that they were well practised in, though always taking a few moments’ break to watch Philip plod around the garden in his brand new rain boots, peering into the dew soaked clumps of grass for snails with broken shells or bits missing in some way or another that he could carefully pick up and carry back to the waiting bucket full of leaves and soil, with the words ‘Snail Hospital’ carefully printed on one side in Eliza’s neat penmanship.

Alex made a small, fond noise of surprise as he found Eliza’s arms wrapping around his middle, her forehead pressed to the space between the blades of his shoulders. He had a feeling he knew why, she’d been watching their son with an expression close to happy tears for a while now.

“Hey,” she murmured, her breath warm on his ever-chill skin.

“Hello there,” Alex smiled back, not picking the knife he’d been slicing mushrooms with back up again, getting the sense that she wanted his attention.

He could almost feel her smile against his back. Her hands went wandering, sliding down to follow the narrow valley of his hips, sending warmth forking through his muscles wherever her hands brushed. That warmth had potential, he could feel it clear and acknowledged as hairs standing on end.

“I can hear you thinking,” he hummed, tone light and conversational, his own smile growing.

“I might be,” Eliza replied in the same voice.

“Well, are you gonna share?” he chuckles, “Cos I’ve got to get these in the rice or they won’t cook in time. So, y’know, talk or let me earn my keep.”

Eliza chose to duck under his self-deprecating humour, putting a slight shift in her body, some trick of the magnetism that ran between the two of them to compel him to lift his eyes to their little Philip, his head now entirely lost inside a clod of ammophila, nothing but his back half showing as he risked life and limb to rescue a slug that had become stuck upside down.

“Alexander?” Eliza murmured, kissing his back gently.

“Yeah, honey?”

“What would you say to having another one of those things?” she whispered.

There was a moment of confusion in Alex’s mind, before they watched Pip’s head reappear from the grass, soaking wet and with clumps of mud in his curls but the satisfied smile of a job well done, and he realised what she meant.

He felt all of the breath leave him, like it had been knocked out of him by her words alone. All he could do was find her hands with his own, wrapping their fingers together and squeezing tight, blinking back tears.

Eliza grinned, holding his hands back just as tight. She had her answer in the way she heard his breath catch and his teeth snag his lower lip and his eyelids flutter. She knew what he’d say before he made his emotion laden tongue work.

“Yeah,” Alex murmured, “I’d be up for that.”

It could be said, after that evening, in the years following their quiet conversation in the kitchen, Alex and Eliza became a little addicted.