#they would do baby led weaning and be hands on

[pinayelf]

this is sorta moot bc they are in thedas but cullen and immy's kids would not be ipad kids

[reigningqueenofwords]

It Was Me

Pairing: Bruce x Reader Word count: 2,670

Read on AO3

Part 17 of Without Me

Maryanne smiled as she watched you feed three month old Beckett. “When do you transfer to baby food?” She asked, curious. 

“I’m researching baby led weaning at the moment, so probably about 6 or 7 months. I haven’t decided yet.” You told her. “But, I’ll nurse until he weans either way.”

She smiled and nodded. “Sounds great!” She looked over at your brother and Bruce playing football in the backyard. “How’s it been having him home so much?”

“Amazing. I just don’t want to keep my hopes up.” You said softly. “But it’s like we just got married again.” You smiled. “He’s loving having my brother and Beckett here.” You said in adoration. “Clearly.” You chuckled as you heard them laughing.

She grinned. “It’s good to see you so happy.” She rubbed your arm. “That first month after this one was born I got worried.” 

You furrowed your brows. “Why?” You asked, looking at her. “Why were you worried?!”

“You didn’t seem too happy.” She said softly. “With Bruce.” She clarified. “There was a sadness in your eyes.”

You looked down. “It was that obvious?” You asked softly. 

“It was to me.” She didn’t have any judgement in her voice. “I was just hoping that it would pass. And it has.” She shrugged. 

“I hope it lasts.” You told her. “That work won’t take over again.” You moved Beckett to your shoulder after you fixed your top.

She nodded. “I hope it won’t.” She agreed. “I can see how much he loves you two.” She assured you. “So much.”

“Thanks. Means a lot.” You smiled. 

Bruce and your brother came in, panting. “Okay. I’m ordering lunch.” Bruce chuckled. “Subs okay?” He smiled at you. 

You nodded. “Sounds good to me. You?” You asked Maryanne. 

“I actually have plans, but thank you.” She smiled. 

“Oh, yeah? Don’t wanna hear it if it’s work stuff.” He teased. “Not for another nine months.” He leaned over and kissed the top of your head, making your brother make an ‘ew’ face.

Maryanne chuckled. “No work. A date.” She said happily and ruffled your brothers hair. “I’ll text you about it later.” She told you. “Promise.” 

“You better.” You smiled. “Have fun.” You chuckled. 

“I sure hope so.” She smirked and kissed Beckett’s back. “I’ll see you soon, handsome.” She waved before leaving.

Bruce placed the sub order quickly and washed his hands before taking your son. “There’s my little man.” He said happily. 

Beckett snuggled to him and made a happy noise. He was becoming more active, which you both loved. “Tummy time soon.” You told him.

“Awesome.” Bruce smiled. 

“Can I go play video games until lunch?” Your brother asked. “Please.” He added. He was staying with you for the week, giving your parents some time with each other. 

“Sure.” You smiled at him. “But we’re doing a board game tonight.” You chuckled. “Spending time together.” 

“Deal!” He ran off. 

Bruce chuckled, shaking his head. “He’s great.”

“He looks up to you, so careful.” You teased. “You have to be a good influence. For him and our boy.” You kissed his cheek.

“I’ll do my best.” He grinned. “When can we have a minute for us time? I only need a minute.” He winked. He had been asking since you were cleared weeks ago. 

You looked at him lovingly. “Maybe tonight.”

“I’ll take it.” He grinned. “I’ve missed you.” He leaned closer to you. 

“You’re just tired of your hand.” You teased him.

“Would you believe me if I told you I haven’t used it?” He asked. He looked shy at even saying it out loud. “At all.”

You widened your eyes. “Really?” You were in shock. “Not once?”

“Not even humping my pillow.” He said seriously. “No shower time, either.” He added.

“Why?” You asked. “I mean, that’s something I’ve never seen you go without.”

“I want my wife.” He said easily. “No one else. Not even my hand and some hot memories we’ve made.” He looked at you. “Just means I won’t last tonight.” He chuckled lightly.

“I won’t either.” You said shyly. “I’ve missed you.”

“How much?” His eyes darkened. He enjoyed how your cheeks turned a deep pink. 

“So much. Can we keep the lights off?” You asked suddenly. “Tonight, I mean?” 

“If you feel more comfortable, but there’s no need.” He said. “You’re the hottest!” He nudged you as the doorbell rang.

You shook your head and followed him as he went to get it. You had taken back Beckett and rocked him in your arms. He coo’d and kicked happily. “Sorry, buddy, this food isn’t for you.” You giggled. “One day.”

Bruce paid and came back. “His excitement is freaking cute.” He kissed your cheek. “He’s going to be a wild one.” 

“Your genes.” You grinned. “All you, Daddy.”

He kissed you gently. “As I recall, I wasn’t the only wild one.” He smirked. “Let’s eat. I’ll go get the other little dude.”

You nodded and watched him lovingly as he went.  "Daddy is the best, huh?" You looked at Beckett. You giggled as he flailed his arms a little. Once you were at the table, you put him in his swing. You helped set up everyone’s plate and got drinks. "How was your game?" 

“Fun.” Your brother smiled. “I’m getting better." He said proudly. "Wanna play later?" He asked you.

“Okay.” You agreed with a smile, enjoying your time with him. "Can't say I'll be any good."

“She’s not.” Bruce teased you. "I've tried to teach her." He laughed as you stuck your tongue out at him. 

Your brother grinned. “I’m a good teacher.” He took a bite of his sub. “I’ll help!” 

“See? He’s nice.” You told Bruce. 

By the end of the week, you were already looking forward to see him again. You and Bruce decided to drive him back, having a little road trip. He sat in the back with Beckett, enjoying how he looked everywhere. “Ew, guys, he spit up.” He told you.

You looked back. “Is he gonna cry?” You reached around for a cloth and handed it to him.

He shook his head. “No, he looks like he doesn’t care.” He wiped him up. “So gross.” He made a face. 

You laughed. “I used to have to clean you up so this is payback.” You joked. “And I was just about your age, too.” You reminded him.

“Poor you.” He winced. 

“Bet that was the best birth control ever.” Bruce laughed. “You were what, 13 when he was born?” 

You nodded. “Just about.” You giggled. “I spent a lot of weekends with friends the first few months.” You told him. 

“Hey! I’m sure I was adorable.” Your brother pouted. 

“Looking back, yeah, but as a 13 year old girl? I thought you were smelly, and noisy.” You stuck your tongue out. 

He looked at your son and nodded. “Yeah, I guess I can see that.” He agreed. “Seems to be a thing with babies.”

You laughed. “Kinda.” You smiled. “He loves you, though.” You told him. 

Pulling into your parents driveway, you smiled as they came out to meet you. “What a nice visit!” Your mother smiled. She hugged your brother as he came up, Bruce getting the car seat out. “Beckett!” She rushed over. “Oh, looks like someone spit up on the way here.” 

“It was gross!” Your brother whined. "I wiped it up."

“Good.” Your father chuckled. “It builds character.” He said as everyone made their way inside. “How’s fatherhood, Bruce?”

“I love it.” Bruce beamed. “Best job ever.”

“Good to hear.” He grinned. “Are you staying the night?” He asked, curious. 

You shook your head. “No, we have a hotel in the city.” You told them. “Gonna spend the day in the city and head home tomorrow.” 

“Well, eat something here first.” Your mother told you. “Then you can head out.” She told you. “Why don’t you clean Beckett up, and then I’ll get some cuddles with him.”

“Alright.” You chuckled, taking your little bundle. “Come on, handsome. Let’s get you in a clean outfit.” 

“Use the blue one!” Bruce called after you. Your father chuckled at that, shaking his head.

“You look really happy, Bruce.” He told him. “So does she.” 

Bruce smiled. “I’m glad you see that, sir.” He said honestly. “They are my world.” He beamed. ed. “And we loved having Noah for a week, too.”

“It was fun!” Noah said happily. “We played catch, and I got to play some of the new games that came out.” He hugged Bruce’s side. “Can I visit again?”

“Mm...are you willing to change diapers?” Bruce asked playfully. “Because, can’t just freeload.” He teased.

He gasped. “Ew! No!” He pouted. “Not doing that.”

Bruce laughed. “Kidding, Buddy. Of course you can come whenever.” He agreed. “Maybe right before school starts or something.”

He bounced. “Yes, please! Can I?” He looked at your parents. “Bruce said it’s okay!” He pointed out as if they weren’t right there.

Your mother smiled. “We’ll see what we can do.” She nodded. 

He cheered and bounced, running to his room to unpack. He was hoping that he’d get another week at your house.

You came out with a smile. “I have a happy clean baby now.” You kissed his head. 

“Mine.” Your mother rushed over to get a cuddle. “Hey, there, cutie.” She smiled. 

You smiled and went to lean into Bruce. “How was your child free week?” You asked.

“Too quiet.” Your father chuckled. “I bored your poor mother.” He shrugged. “She sent me out more than once.” He said teasingly, looking at her.

“We watch different shows, honey.” She chuckled. “That’s all.” She sat down with Beckett.

Your father looked at you, making you laugh. “You are the odd one out when it comes to shows, Dad.” You smiled.

“Sorry.” Bruce said as he looked at him. 

You were finishing up dinner when the front door opened. “Mom, I need a place to crash.” Came your sister’s voice. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” You groaned. 

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. “Ugh.” He sighed, shaking his head. “I think that’ll be our cue to leave.”

“Sorry, mom.” You carefully went to get Beckett. “She just has the worst timing ever.” You shook your head.

Your mother pouted. “Alright. Maybe visit tomorrow?” She asked. “We can come to the city after your dad gets off work.”

“I’ll let you know.” You smiled. “We’ll talk more about Noah visiting again.” You gave her a one armed hug just as Nicole walked in.

“Oh.” She stared. “Didn’t expect you here.” She said, her eyes darting to Beckett. “Hmm.” She raised her eyebrows. 

Holding your son to your chest protectively, you moved to hug your father, too. “See you soon, Dad.”

He squeezed you. “Have a safe trip.” He kissed your cheek. “Be good for your mom.” He said to Beckett, making you chuckle.  

You smiled and went close to Bruce so he could lead you out. You buckled Beckett in as Noah followed to say his goodbyes. “Love you.” He squished into your back. "I'm gonna miss you." He told you.

“I’m gonna miss you, too.” You stood and hugged him tightly. “You’ll be visiting again before you know it.” You ruffled his hair. 

“I hope so!” He smiled and went to hug Bruce. “Love you!” He beamed. “Thanks for playing catch with me.”

“Anytime. Love you, kid.” Bruce lifted him in a hug. 

Nicole watched everything, shaking her head. “Fake.” She mumbled. “So fake.” She walked off towards the kitchen. 

“I wish you’d just apologize.” Your mother scolded her. “I hate seeing my daughters as enemies.”

“I admit I made a mistake with Bruce. But he’s honestly trash.” She shrugged. “It’s all bullshit.” She told her. “I feel bad that she doesn’t see it.” She said honestly. “And now it’s not just her that’s going to get hurt.”

Your mother tilted her head. “I didn’t know you felt that way.” She admitted. “What gives you that idea?”

“All I dated in school were guys like him.” She shrugged. “All pigs.” She scoffed. “They don’t change.”

“But Bruce is nice?” Your mother just wanted to understand. “I’ve never had any sign that he’s like that. He dotes on those two, even on Noah.”

“Because he feels guilty.” To her it was obvious. “He buys her off.” She explained. “Probably has a different life at work.” How she was the only one who saw this was beyond her. 

“That’s quite another accusation.” Your mother gasped. “And one I believe is false.” She pointed a finger. “I think you are just jealous and bitter.” She scolded. 

Nicole sighed. “See? No one believes me.” She shook her head. “Whatever. Can I stay here for a bit?”

Your mother sighed. “Of course.” She nodded. “You’re still my daughter, and I love you. Even if I disagree with you.”

“Thank you.” She smiled. “I love you.” She gave her a hug.

You smiled as you carefully washed Beckett the next morning. “Who’s a happy baby?” You coo’d at him. He beamed up at you, making your morning even brighter. “I love you so much!” You kissed his nose. 

"I love you both." Came Bruce's voice behind you. 

Beckett slammed the small bit of water at the sight of his father. "Want to come take over? He saw you and now he's excited."

“Together.” Bruce crouched by you. "There's our boy.* he tickled his toes.

Beckett squealed and kicked. "Let's get you cleaned up and we can go have a family day." You smiled. 

“I set up our family pictures.” Bruce told you. 

You looked at him, surprised. "Really? For when?"

“Two weeks from now.” He smiled. “The very best company.” He said proudly. "Our first set of family pictures. Well, where he's born." He chuckled, thinking how beautiful you looked in your maternity pictures. 

You smiled brightly. “Thank you! I can’t wait!” You wrapped your arms around him, kissing him.

He kissed you back happily. “I know you’ll look beautiful.” He told you. "As always." He pecked your lips before his attention was on Beckett. “The camera will love you buddy.” He grinned. 

Far too soon, it was nearing Beckett’s first birthday, which meant that the following week ...you'd be kissing your husband goodbye for work again. You were growing rather sad, loving how your life was this past year. Beckett was currently napping while you picked up around the house, and Bruce worked on dinner. You were quiet, mind racing at the thought of Bruce becoming as distant as he had for your pregnancy. You knew this is what would prove if he meant what he said.

“Y/N?” Bruce repeated, coming over when you didn’t reply. “Babe?” He put his hand on your back. “What’s wrong?”

“Huh? Oh nothing. Was just in there cleaning zone.” You nodded. “What’s up?” You looked over at him.

“Was just asking what you wanted to drink but you looked out of it.” He cupped your cheeks. “If something is bothering you, talk to me, okay?” He brushed your cheek. “Please?”

You searched his eyes and nodded. “Everything’s okay.” You pecked his lips. “I’m going to go fold the load in the dryer real quick. Lemonade is fine.” You told him. “Light on the ice?” You patted his chest before going to the laundry room. Telling him what your fears were would only hurt him. He hadn’t proved you wrong yet, so you wouldn’t fight him on something that didn’t happen. It was your own insecurity, after all. 

Bruce watched you go, worried, but thought maybe it was because Beckett was nearly a year, and that was a big moment. He would talk to you about it tonight. He was trying to cherish this last week and a half he had always being home. He loved it so much but knew he had to get back to work. Shaking his head, he went to get dinner plated, and drinks poured.

[sleepbakerau]

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[inspotlight]

she    knows    finding    their    footing    is    going    to    take    some    time.    this    is    new    for    ricky.    it's    still    new    to    nini,    but    she's    been    doing    this    for    six    months.    even    longer    before    that    just    in    taking    care    of    herself    while    pregnant.    ❝    you'll    find    a    rhythm.    just    lean    into    your    instincts,    you're    not    going    to    do    anything    wrong.    ❞    this    has    been    their    fantasy    for    so    long.    they'd    wanted    to    have    a    family    together    and    now    they    did.    things    had    certainly    worked    out    differently    than    she'd    planned,    but    they    were    together    again.    she    loves    that    he    wants    to    take    care    of    them.    it    doesn't    surprise    her    a    bit    that    being    jude's    dad    would    come    so    easily    to    him.    so    naturally.    this    is    much    sooner    than    they    ever    thought    they'd    be    doing    this,    but    he    was    already    all    in.    it    had    been    mere    hours.    she    loved    it.    loved    him.    ❝    i    know,    poor    little    thing.    hopefully    it    doesn't    mean    she'll    hate    guacamole    when    she's    older.    i    appreciate    you    being    ready    to    jump    headfirst    into    all    of    this,    but    if    you    need    to    take    a    break    and    breathe,    let    me    know.    ❞    she    says    with    a    soft    laugh.    she    hated    seeing    her    sweet    girl    not    feel    good    after    eating    something,    but    that    was    the    point    of    baby-led    weaning.    

she    snuggles    into    ricky    on    instinct    when    he    sits    next    to    her,    bowl    of    soup    forgotten    for    a    moment    as    she    takes    in    how    nice    this    is.    to    be    cuddling    with    him    on    the    couch,    their    daughter    in    her    arms,    about    to    be    held    by    her    dad    for    the    very    first    time.    ❝    you    won't    freak    her    out.    you're    her    dad.    there's    no    way    she's    anything    but    comfortable    in    your    arms.    ❞    she    says,    and    she    has    so    much    belief    in    her    words.    before    she    hands    jude    over    to    ricky,    she    gets    her    phone    out    and    opens    the    camera,    turning    it    to    video    before    she    carefully    places    their    sleepy    girl    into    her    dad's    arms    for    the    first    time.    she    wants    this    moment    on    video    for    them    to    remember    when    it's    not    so    late    at    night    and    they    aren't    tired    and    emotional.    it's    beautiful    to    watch    as    jude    stirs    and    then    settles    into    ricky's    arms,    and    nini    can't    help    but    let    a    few    tears    fall    before    she    reaches    up    to    wipe    at    her    eyes.    ❝    i    love    seeing    you    with    her.    ❞

she’s his daughter. nini’s right of course. he is jude’s dad… he has every right to act as such. to hold her if he wants to… but at the same time- this is all brand new for him. nini’s been taking care of her for six months… he’s new here. new to his baby, to being a parent. he doesn’t want to disturb their sweet girl, and he wants to respect all that nini’s been doing with her too.    ❝    i just want to do this right.    ❞    he settles on as his answer.    ❝    we have a lot to talk about. i have a lot to catch up on.    ❞    and they’re so young… he hasn’t exactly been thinking much lately about being a parent.    ❝    but i really do want to do the best i can by both of you. i love you and i already love her.    ❞    listening to her talk about her plans, and about their sweet girl, he’s happy to hear more and more. he wants to know her. their daughter…    ❝    poor little jude. and hey- i’m happy to help with laundry and whatever else. i’m in this now. and you don’t have to hold it in with me…    ❞    

his thumb brushes a tear from nini’s face before she goes to get jude from the pack and play, and he gets a bowl of hot soup ready for nini. his expression is so soft as he watches nini with the baby, with their baby… god…    ❝    we still want to be gentle.    ❞    he nods at her words.    ❝    i don’t want to freak her out.    ❞    after all… despite ricky being her dad… they’ve only just met tonight. admittedly, hearing her sweet words about him, ricky almost feels like he might cry too… as she settles onto the couch, sweet baby in her arms, ricky sets the hot soup onto the table right beside her so nini can eat once he’s settled with jude. he sits down on the couch carefully on nini’s other side, smiling so softly as jude toys with nini’s hair.    ❝    hi sweet girl… i’m your dad… i’m so happy to finally meet you…    ❞    he talks so softly as he leans into nini’s side, wanting to be closer before he takes her.

[themetaphorgirl]

Vaguely along the lines of the ask about the PSOLC gang in the future a lil prompt if you wanna do a more grown up bit - Haley tells Aaron she’s pregnant and he fully freaks out bc of his past and his parents and he’s like ‘I have no idea how to be a dad’ and Spencer is like ‘I mean you did a pretty good job being mine’ and all that cutesy stuff!! 💙

okay but now I am EMOTIONAL and I love them all grown up so much.

also there's a big reveal I'm doing with Hotch later on in Patron Saint (it happens around their winter break/beginning of the second semester of school) but I desperately want to start writing drabbles using that plot element. and some people have guessed it already. so poll time: should I start writing things with the big plot point? maybe tag it as a spoiler for anyone who wants to avoid seeing it?

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He had only planned on taking his dog for a short walk, but he was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t realize he had walked the couple of blocks to his sister’s townhouse until he was knocking on her front door. 

He glanced around. “How did I get here?” he mumbled to himself.

Before he could back away, the front door opened. “Hi!” Spencer said cheerfully. He was partially dressed for school and his hair wasn’t combed. “Are you here for breakfast? James made pancakes before he left for the hospital.”

“Uh…no,” Aaron stammered. “It’s fine. I was just-”

“Bug, is that Aaron?” Alex called from the kitchen. “Tell him I need his help for a second.”

Spencer raked his hair out of his eyes. “Birdy needs your help for a second,” he said.

Aaron sighed heavily. “Yeah, I heard,” he said. 

He followed Spencer into the kitchen, his golden retriever trotting happily at his heels. It was still slightly jarring that Spencer was nearly as tall as he was; he had stayed small for his age until he turned fifteen and then suddenly shot up six inches overnight. Now at seventeen he was all gangly limbs and voice cracks.

“Oh, Aaron, thank god,” Alex said. “Can you please give me a hand with the baby?”

“I told you I could help,” Spencer objected.

“You need to go to class, you’ll be late,” Alex said. She shifted Ethan on her hip. “And if I don’t get the baby ready for daycare, then I’ll be late for class too. And I’m the teacher.”

“Uh…what can I do?” Aaron said.

Alex brushed her hair back from her forehead; she’d gone back to her natural dark brown color but she’d kept it long. “Either get him dressed or help me with the dishes, please,” she said. “He’s gotten syrup everywhere. Baby-led weaning is going great, by the way.”

Aaron swallowed hard. “I’ll wash dishes,” he said.

Ethan babbled something, grabbing hold of Alex’s hair in his pudgy baby first, and she expertly untangled his little fingers. “Are you okay?” she asked. “You look a little pale.”

“Haley’s pregnant,” he blurted out.

Alex and Spencer stared at him. Aaron gritted his teeth. “Bubs,” Ethan said happily.

Alex blinked. “Yes, baby, Uncle Bubba,” she said, still staring at Aaron. “Well. That’s…unexpected. That’s good news though, right?”

Aaron groaned and plunked down in the nearest chair. “She’s going to have you guys over for dinner tomorrow and she’s going to make a big announcement, so please act surprised,” he said. “I wasn’t supposed to say anything about it.”

“Well, congratulations,” Alex said.

“Thanks,” he said, his mouth tugging down.

Spencer took Ethan from Alex, and she sat down next to Aaron at the kitchen table. “You sound a little shell shocked,” she said gently.

He slumped down in his chair. “I mean, we weren’t trying but we also weren’t not trying,” he said. “I just figured…I don’t know. I thought I had more time to…”

His voice trailed off. “More time to what?” she asked.

“I don’t think I’ll be a good dad,” he burst out. “I mean, it’s not like I got to grow up with a good dad, I didn’t get to see what that looks like. It wasn't even a garden-variety shitty dad, it was." He stopped. He didn't want to dive into all of that right that second, he knew Alex would know what he meant. "And the kid isn’t going to come out with an instruction manual about ‘how to not fuck up.’ I don’t think I can do it.”

“Nobody gets an instruction manual,” Alex said. “I mean, they let me and James leave the hospital with our two day old baby and I was sure that someone was going to come back and tell us that there was a mistake because there was no way we were responsible enough for that.”

“You and James are literally the most responsible people I know,” Aaron said. 

“If James and I were so responsible, I wouldn’t have had to take a pregnancy test during your wedding reception,” Alex said dryly. She reached over and squeezed his hand. “It’s going to be okay. You’re going to be a good dad.”

“I don’t what I’m supposed to do,” he said. “How am I going to raise a kid?”

“I think you’ll be okay,” Spencer said. “I mean, you didn’t have any experience before I got to St. Thaddeus, and I think you’ve been a really good dad to me.” He handed Ethan to Alex. “I got the baby dressed, but I have to go to class.”

“Wait, wait, just a second,” Alex said. “You buttoned your shirt wrong again.” He leaned over so she could fix his buttons and accept her kiss on his cheek. “James will be off at six tonight and he said he’ll make dinner.”

“Oh, thank god, he’s a much better cook than you,” Spencer said. 

“I’m not that bad,” Alex protested.

She looked at Aaron. “You’re not that great,” he admitted. Alex smacked him lightly on the arm.

“Bye, baby,” Spencer said, kissing Ethan on the cheek and making him shriek happily and bat at his face. He scratched the dog behind the ears. “Bye, Indy. Bye, Aaron. Today’s my chemistry lab so I’ll be back at four!”

He loped down the hall. Aaron looked at Alex. “He did turn out okay, didn’t he?” he said, an unexpected lump rising in his throat. 

“He’s turned out great,” Alex said. “I mean, he’s seventeen years old in grad school and he still sleeps with his security blanket, but he’s a good kid. As well adjusted as we could hope for.” Aaron squeezed her hand. “Remember when we were high schoolers trying to take care of him when he was nine?”

“It was worse when you went off to college and it was just me,” Aaron said. “I was a single father.”

Alex laughed. “See, I think you’re more ready to be a dad than you think,” she said. “And you still have some time to get used to the idea. Nine-ish months.” She handed Ethan over to him. “And in the meantime, you can practice with this one. Just please don’t let him get into the syrup again.”

[jade4813]

My baby and I are finally home!

It was a rough few days. I went in for induction as scheduled, but the very first (very minor) contractions put her into distress. Her heart rate kept dropping (and going back up after a minute or so) all through the night, so we decided in the morning that we would do a c-section since there was a concern that stronger contractions would bring on additional distress and an emergency situation with her heart rate dropping and not going back to normal.

The c-section went as well as can be expected. I really can’t speak highly enough of the L&D staff at the hospital where my baby was delivered. They truly were the most comforting and supportive doctors and nurses that I could possibly have asked for. The anesthesiologist stayed by my side throughout the surgery and comforted me, checked how I was doing, and prepared me for what was coming next so I was as UNafraid as possible (which, granted, wasn’t much). Meanwhile, my husband was on the other side, holding my hand and letting me know we were in this together and it was gonna be okay.

My little Nugget was small, though. Much smaller than expected at 39 weeks. She had some breathing issues at first, but they seemed to her better. Until the evening, when they are worsened and she had to be taken to the NICU to be put on oxygen.

The next 24 hours were some of the hardest of my life, as they tried to determine if she just had some fluid on her lungs (easily treatable) or something like pneumonia. Or even something that would mean she would have to be transferred to another hospital to be put on a ventilator. That entire day, while I could go see her, I wasn’t able to hold her, and touching her was iffy because overstimulation could cause her breathing to become worse. Again, the doctors were amazing. But there is no amount of comfort that can make it hurt less to see your baby in pain and not be able to even hold her to comfort her.

I’m crying again just remembering.

Thankfully, she turned a corner the next day, and her health drastically improved. They were able to gradually wean her off oxygen over that day and the next and, thank heavens, I was even allowed to hold her again, which was so crucial to my emotional well-being by that point. I had a bit of a personal setback in healing from pushing myself too hard to get down to the NICU repeatedly in the middle of the night to be with her, but honestly, I didn’t (and don’t) care about the pain.

Eventually, the doctor said she could be released from the NICU but would continue to be monitored regularly by a nurse. Then, last night, the doctor said she felt comfortable discharging us from the hospital (though if we didn’t feel we were ready, she’d be happy to keep her in for another night with her in our room and nurses providing support). As nice as the support sounded (and was!), we really just wanted to bring her home. So we agreed to the discharge.

We got her home late last night and realized immediately that all the “newborn” size clothing we had - which we expected to fit when we were told she was almost 8 pounds - weren’t going to work for a baby that is only 5 pounds. To a “this would be dangerous for her to sleep in” degree. Which led to some late night hilarity as we rushed to every 24 hour store to find any preemie clothing we could.

She thanked us by keeping Mommy awake all night. (She kept Daddy awake too, but she would only calm down enough to rest when I held her and I eventually told my husband to go back to sleep since his paternity leave doesn’t kick in until Wednesday. So he had to get up for work at 4 am today.) She has to supplement breast milk with formula to try to get her weight up a little, and it’s a bit hard on her tiny little tummy.

We may have a bit of a road ahead of us. The doctor did want her to be seen by a pulmonologist to be on the safe side. The pediatrician wants to do a sleep study to make sure her breathing during sleep remains at safe levels. And there’s a CHANCE, depending how those tests/exams go, that she may need some surgery at some point.

But for now, she’s home and healthy and doing well. And if you think I’m letting her out of my arms to give her to anyone but daddy or to put her down to sleep safely at night (when sleep is a thing she does) for the next few months, you are kidding yourselves.

I love this little girl so much.

[let-the-dream-begin]

In My Daughter’s Eyes Chapter 27: Vortex

Chapter 26

Read on AO3

Vortex: a mass of swirling water that draws everything to it

——

In late August, with September right around the corner, Claire and Faith were about to experience their first hurricane. Claire had experienced all levels of terrifying weather with Uncle Lamb out in the field, including floods, sandstorms, mudslides, and nearly every other manner of natural disasters. Hurricanes, however, had eluded them. They’d only gone to South America one time, and they’d merely seen some heavy rainfall.

Claire had been keeping her eye on the news, seeing how hurricane Matthew was affecting other areas along the east coast. She shuddered to think of them even losing power, let alone anything actually disastrous happening. All news and weather outlets were assuring that by the time it hit the island, it would have lost most of its power, so the storm wouldn’t be devastating, but it would do damage nonetheless.

Claire was doing another scan of the weather channel (which Faith did not appreciate) before work when her phone rang. Jamie.

“Sassenach?”

“This is she.”

“Good morning, lass. Sleep well?”

“I did, is everything alright?”

“Aye, fine. Just wanted to check in. The storm is gonna hit tomorrow; wanted to make sure ye were prepared.”

“Prepared enough,” Claire said, throwing a bar and a yogurt into her purse. “I’ve gotten the bread and milk, as they say. Stocked up.”

“Aye, that’s good. Are ye prepared for losing power?”

“Flashlights are ready with spare batteries and all. Portable charger for the iPad.”

“What about fer you?”

“Oh, I have to be at the hospital before it starts and then stay. It runs on a generator so I’ll be good with a regular charger.”

“Wait, what d’ye mean, stay?”

“Well, I’m considered an emergency worker so I can’t take off. I’m going to have to sleep there if the roads are flooded or blocked with trees.” Claire zippered her purse as she flitted back into the living room, then started pulling on her shoes.

“Ye could be there for days, Sassenach.”

“I know.”

“What about Faith?”

The little girl in question barreled into her as if on cue, waiting for her goodbye. “One second, Jamie. Yes, time for goodbye hugs.” Claire crouched down and gave her daughter a squeeze and a kiss. “Be good for Mrs. Lickett. Yes? Okay, bye-bye.”

With one final kiss and a farewell to Mrs. Lickett, Claire was out the door. “Sorry, what were we talking about?”

“What’re ye gonna do wi’ Faith while ye’re at the hospital?”

“Oh,” Claire said, opening her car and sliding into the driver’s seat. “I’m dropping her off at the Abernathy’s with a few provisions before work tomorrow. After I’ve taped all the windows, of course,” she added wryly.

“She’ll be alright?”

Claire sighed as she started the car. “She’s going to have to be.”

Her voice wavered, and she cursed herself.

“She’s never spent the night away from home. Will she no’ get upset?”

“I don’t really have much of a choice.” She was not defensive or angry, but resigned, sad. She didn’t want to leave Faith at someone else’s house, but she could not very well ask Gail to live with her toddler and child in her small apartment for an indeterminable amount of time. The fact that they’d opened their home to Faith was kind enough. She couldn’t very well ask it of Mrs. Lickett, either. Her children were older, but she still shouldn’t be away from them for that long during a potentially dangerous storm.

Jamie was silent on the other end, and as Claire turned onto the main road, something clenched in her throat. He couldn’t be upset with her, could he? He couldn’t be judging her decision, condemning her for planning to dump her child off during a natural disaster? Logic told her that of course he wouldn’t, but she was so god damned insecure about it all herself that she could not be calmed.

“You still there?”

“Aye,” he answered quickly. “Sorry, I was thinking.”

Claire swallowed. “What about?”

He paused again. “Tell me to shut my gab at any point going forward,” he began uncertainly.

Claire’s brow furrowed. “Ehm, alright…”

“What if…what if I stayed wi’ her. In her own home.”

Claire was gobsmacked. Her mouth actually dropped open in surprise.

“Please tell me no if ye’re truly no’ comfortable, Claire. I mean it. I ken it may be too soon, and I understand. I just thought to offer — ”

“Jamie,” Claire cut him off. “It’s okay…I…” She blinked away tears. “Would you really be alright doing that?”

“Aye,” he said quickly, perhaps a bit too quickly. “Anything I can do to make it easier fer her. It’s gonna be scary.”

Claire swallowed thickly. “She’s heard thunderstorms before.”

“I’m sure. But this willna be like anything she’s ever experienced. And Gail is lovely, truly, she’s a blessing fer ye both, but she’s…she’s no’ you.”

“And she’s not you,” Claire said, finishing for him what he likely was thinking but would never say.

“Claire, I’d never presume —”

“Well I would,” Claire said. “There’s no denying you have the experience that Gail lacks, Jamie. And Faith trusts you. And I trust you.”

He was silent, likely processing what she said. Claire turned into the employee parking lot.

“Besides,” Claire said with a chipper tone that was only slightly forced. “It’ll be good for her to have you all to herself. You’ve never been alone with her before.”

She heard him chuckle. “Aye. Ye think she’ll like that?”

Claire put her car in park, and her heart swelled, warming her from the inside out. “I really think she will.”

——

Jamie arrived the following morning with a duffle bag and a backpack. The sky was already gray, the air thick with the oncoming storm, the wind picking up. He’d half expected the skies to open up on his way there.

The door opened, and his heart cracked. Claire’s sweet, lovely “hello” included a smile, but he could see that frantic look in her eye. She was close to tears. He greeted her gently and then addressed the bouncing, squealing thing below them.

“Ah, yes, hello, wean.” He cupped her head gently to stop her bouncing. “I’m happy to see you, too, lass. Can ye fetch ballerina Minnie Mouse? I’d like to see her if ye dinna mind.”

Like a shot, she was off, eager to please Jamie, and Jamie pulled Claire into his arms. She clung to him tightly, breathing deeply into his neck.

“It’s times like these,” she began shakily, “that I believe Frank was right.”

His brow furrowed. “Whatever d’ye mean?”

“That I should’ve given it up, that I still should.” She sniffled. “I don’t know if I can leave her for several days during…during what they’re saying it’s going to be…”

“It’s alright, Sassenach.” He kissed the top of her head, and then Faith emerged from her room, waving the stuffed animal above her head. “Ah, thank ye, lass. What about…” He wracked his brain, trying to remember any of the dozens of toys she’d shown him. “Daisy Duck? Can I see her?”

She was off again, and Claire laughed wetly against him.

“Listen to me, Claire Beauchamp.” Jamie pulled far enough away so that he could tilt her chin up and look her in the eye. “Ye’re a doctor because it is what God put ye on this Earth to do. Ye’re a damn fine one, from what I gather. Ye’re going to help lots of people in the next few days, people that might have been much worse of wi’out ye.”

“What about the baby that He gave me?” Claire said hoarsely. “The baby with…so much that she needs from me…”

“It’s not just you,” Jamie said, with the most careful combination of firmness and gentleness he can muster. “No’ anymore.”

Claire rested her forehead against his, breathing deeply. “It’ll be alright,” he assured her, Faith puttering back in with the next toy. He praised her quietly, tucking Daisy under his arm with Minnie. “I will do everything in my power to see that she’s alright these next few days.”

“I know,” Claire said, then pressed her lips to his. “I know.”

Faith was reaching up, bouncing again impatiently. Jamie handed her back down her toys; evidently, she did not like them out of place for very long.

“I can’t thank you enough for this,” Claire said, squeezing his hands. “I think I’d be beside myself if I left her away from home. Well,” she laughed dryly, “more so than I already am.”

“It is an honor to ease yer burden, mo ghraidh.” He lifted their joined hands and kissed her knuckles fervently. 

Claire led him around the apartment to show him one last time where everything was kept; Faith’s vitamins and nighttime medicine, snacks, candles, spare batteries, matches. Jamie had remembered, but he let her show him all of it again to ease her mind. He knew it helped her feel like she had more control over the situation.

“Once the power goes out,” she said, gathering her own duffle bag with her overnight essentials. “Either soybean butter and jelly, cold cuts from that cooler that’s still in the fridge for as long as they’ll keep, or the spaghetti-o’s. Just pretend you’re using the microwave or something and she’ll never know the difference.”

Jamie nodded seriously, though he’d remembered all that, too.

“And watch her with the fridge. She’ll keep it open and stare in there looking for something which is bad enough when there is power. Make sure she doesn’t let the insulated coolness out if you can help it. Though if it’s gone for too long it’s a moot point.”

“Right. Got it.” Jamie nodded curtly. A large gust of wind howled outside, rattling the windows.

“Jesus.” Claire shuddered.

“Ye’d better get going before ye get stuck in the oncoming downpour,” Jamie said.

“Right.” Claire froze in the middle of the living room, her eyes glued to Faith, sitting cross-legged with Angus’s head in her lap, calmly stroking his fur. Jamie’s heart strained, and Claire looked like she might cry again. She exhaled heavily and crouched down next to Faith.

“Hey, baby.” She cupped her little head and smiled. Faith kept her attention on Angus, and Claire gently tapped her nose. “Can you look at me, Faith?” She did not, and so Claire took her hands off of Angus and held them between hers. Somewhat annoyed, Faith looked up at Claire, obviously waiting for her hands to be released. “Hi,” Claire said. “Remember what we said? Quiet hands, quiet feet, and quiet mouth for Jamie.” She pointed to each mentioned body part. “And listening ears on.” Claire poked each of her ears, one after the other. “Mummy will be gone for a few days, but Jamie is going to play with you, and keep you safe. It’s all going to be okay. It might get very dark, or very loud, and there might not be any tellie. But Jamie is going to make sure you’re okay. Yes?”

Faith moaned impatiently, and it was unclear if she was listening.

Jamie is going to make sure you’re okay.

Jamie’s chest involuntarily puffed out, and his back straightened. He silently and solemnly vowed to do just that.

“I’m going to miss you, lovie.” Claire cupped both of Faith’s cheeks. “I love you.” She held up the sign, and Faith mirrored her as always, pressing their foreheads together.

“I’m going to call every day. I’ll talk to you on the phone. I promise.” Claire pulled Faith in  for a hug, squeezing her tightly. “Big goodbye hugs,” she whispered into her hair.

When Claire released her, she stood up with a heavy sigh. Jamie was holding her duffle bag, and he walked her to the door.

“Please be careful,” Jamie said. “Text me when ye get there.”

“I will.”

He kissed her deeply, pressing her tightly to him. When their lips parted, he looked into her eyes, those swimming pools of amber and honey. On his tongue was something he’d known, something he’d been burning to unleash from within him since April.

I love you.

Instead, he swallowed thickly and kissed her forehead. “Drive safe, Sassenach.”

With one final squeeze of his hand and a reassuring smile, she was gone. Jamie ran a hand over his face before peeking out the window to make sure she pulled out of the driveway. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to tell her. Christ, he’d wanted to reply with it the second he watched that video; he’d wanted to tell her that day in the office, he’d wanted to tell her on the ferris wheel, the carousel, he’d wanted to tell her when she fell asleep and drooled on his shoulder halfway through The Godfather, he’d wanted to tell her when he’d finally positioned himself between her legs and entered her, and felt so completely fulfilled and complete, and every time he was in that position thereafter.

But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Not until she was ready to hear it.

He knew she was scared; no matter how well this was going, he knew she was still worried and paranoid. He wouldn’t rush her.

A giggle pulled him out of that train of thought, and he realized that Claire’s car was long gone. It had also already started to rain, and it would definitely get nasty soon. He turned to see Faith grinning impishly down at Angus, who was licking Faith’s open palm over and over. This was something she did often, put her palm right at his snout and wait for him to oblige her. Jamie supposed she liked the tickling sensation. He smiled and made his way to the couch, sitting down and watching Faith with her loyal companion for a while.

Claire had given him a whole list of things that Mrs. Lickett usually does with Faith while Claire is gone for the day. There was play-doh, the big clunky legos (both good for fine motor), the flashcards for identifying signs, and of course coloring. On the list, Claire wrote that when Faith colored with Mrs. Lickett, Mrs. Lickett always — underlined several times — signed the color that Faith picked up. Color identification would be a big deal once she started school.

Something else that Jamie knew would come once school started was the school district-provided tablet for text to speech communication. Claire had been recommended speech therapies to get a head start on that, but she’d turned them all down, insisting that it was very important to her that Faith know how to sign before relying solely on the screen. And since Faith had proven capable, she’d stuck to that.

It amazed Jamie how Claire somehow just knew what was best for her child. Jamie saw all too often at the stables parents that had no idea what they were doing. Which was understandable and nothing to be judged about. But when he’d reach out, recommend additional services, hint that they might get more out of equine therapy if they approached certain things a different way, they didn’t want to hear it. It was hard to watch those kids regress because their parents weren’t willing to set their pride aside and admit they weren’t aware of something. But his reach only extended so far, and if he was going to sleep at night, he had to let those things off his conscience.

With Claire, if someone offered her advice, she could plainly tell them that she’d already researched that and had either tried it or decided it was not going to work, but thank you very much. Prompt speech therapy, for instance. If Jamie had a nickel every time Claire complained to him that yet another person had recommended Faith try it, he’d be quite the rich man. Prompt speech involved a lot of touching, and Faith would certainly not be okay with that. Even if it meant her daughter would never say a word, Claire would not put her through it. Not even an eval.

And Jamie admired the hell out of her for it.

After letting Faith continue with Angus for a bit, Jamie intervened and ushered her into the kitchen for some “structured play with learning benefits,” as Claire had referred to it. Faith, having never done any of the listed activities with Jamie, wanted to do every single one. They went on even longer than Jamie had anticipated she would sit still for because playing these games with Jamie was a novelty. They built a castle with a wall with her legos, made several snakes and desserts out of play-doh, colored, and worked on signs. Faith was not satisfied until every single card was flipped over and worked on. Jamie knew full well that she did not insist on such a thing with Mrs. Lickett. It made him grin smugly and melt at the same time.

It was pouring in earnest by the time Jamie finished getting through Faith’s stack of flashcards. Instinctually, he checked his messages from Claire, even though she’d told him hours ago by now that she’d gotten in safely. The wind was picking up, too, turning into a constant roar.

“Ye’re brilliant, Princess Faith,” Jamie said, giving her a thumbs up. “Ye did such great work today, lass. I’m so proud of you.”

She smiled cheekily and then reached for her crayons and princess coloring book again. Rain suddenly pelted against the kitchen window, the wind having changed direction to blast the water right into the glass. Faith dropped her crayon with a startled cry and clamped her hands over her ears. Jamie had to admit it even startled him.

“It’s alright, lass,” he crooned, getting out of his chair to kneel beside hers. He stroked her back soothingly. “Just the rain. It’s alright.”

She kept her eyes squeezed shut and her hands on her ears, so Jamie switched tactics. He scooped her in his arms, cradling her to his chest. He brought her out of the kitchen and deposited her on the couch. If the wind was blowing into the window in the back of the apartment, perhaps a similar noise would not happen in the front windows. He called Angus over when Faith still would not move or open her eyes, and after a few minutes of deep pressure, she at least opened her eyes. Jamie was then able to coax her into picking a DVD. They were on borrowed time until they lost power, so he thought it best to take advantage of the tellie while they still had it.

She ended up choosing a Winnie the Pooh movie, jabbing at it with her elbow, hands still on her ears. She didn’t even take them off to put the movie in the player, though she stood by and watched every move Jamie made as he did so instead. As the DVD started playing the previews before the “play” screen, Faith got behind Jamie and started pushing against his legs. He took this as his cue to walk, and he allowed her to push him into her bedroom. He knew immediately what she wanted. He smiled widely as he stepped into the room and picked up the enormous “Pooh Bear” that he’d won for her at the carnival. Faith hummed in excitement and bounced a little as Jamie carried the giant bear into the living room and deposited him on the couch. She skipped back into her room and Jamie gathered the rest of her Hundred-Acre Wood friends, arranging them around their giant leader.

A few minutes into the movie, Faith finally took her hands off her ears and began enjoying the movie in earnest. The wind continued to howl and the windows continued to rattle, but the movie drowned most of it out for now, as did Faith’s giggling and humming along to the little songs. At one point, she moved all of the little toys into Jamie’s lap and tipped over the giant bear so she could lay bodily on top of him. It really was practically a mattress underneath her. She nuzzled further in, humming contentedly and smiling broadly, bottom lip caught between her teeth. Jamie smiled down at her, her eyes fixed on the screen, and then he brought his legs up on the couch, cross-legged, so he could fit every toy she’d given him in his lap, holding onto them with as much care as he would if Faith herself was in his lap.

The power went out before the movie finished, close to the end if Jamie deduced correctly. Faith immediately sat up, nearly toppling off the couch because of her uneven position on the bear. Jamie felt dread settling in his gut, and he immediately wanted to kick himself. He’d made the wrong move, and he was about to pay dearly for it.

Faith slid off both bear and couch and marched right up to the tellie. She began pushing all the buttons on the tellie and the DVD player, the volume of her whining increasing. Jamie set aside her toys and approached her tentatively.

“Faith, it’s alright. Remember what Mummy said? That there might be no tellie?”

With a great wail, she began slapping her hands against the television screen, and Jamie grabbed her wrists.

“No, lass, ye canna do that. No hitting.”

She began screaming in earnest, jerking against him with all her might.

“I’m sorry, Faith. The tellie is all done. I’m sorry.”

Fat tears rolled down her cheeks as she continued to pull against his grip on her wrists. He swiftly picked her up under the arms and deposited her away from the electronics. She pointed at the tellie, bouncing impatiently, wailing all the while.

“Aye, lass. I ken. It’s my fault, I’m sorry.” Jamie genuinely hated himself at the moment. He thought they’d have time before the power was gone, he thought that it would be good for her to be able to watch a movie that wasn’t downloaded to her tablet. He should’ve thought of this possibility, and he should’ve known that she’d be grossly unhappy if the movie was unable to finish. It would drive her mad for hours, knowing that the movie was sitting unfinished in the player. She couldn’t even get it out of the player to put away. One of her biggest OCD triggers had gone off, and it was his fault.

Jamie wracked his brain. Claire had said if she were melting down to either give hugs and cuddles, or to deposit her in her room and let her scream it out. That is if Angus didn’t do the trick. Jamie tried for the hug, but narrowly avoided a swinging fist. Clearly she blamed him for the tellie’s sudden malfunction. As she should, he thought miserably.

He called Angus over just as Faith started swinging her arms with abandon, and Jamie caught one of her fists before it collided with a picture frame on the table behind the couch. She pushed at his hand, punched his arm, pulled backward, but Jamie knew that if he let go, she’d dive right for trouble and possibly break something. Angus arrived just as Faith sank her teeth into the skin of Jamie’s hand.

He swore in Gaelic, and then he pinched her nose shut, causing her mouth to immediately open as a reflex. Jamie shook his hand, hissing in pain, but he didn’t skip a beat. He maneuvered himself to be behind Faith, and he scooped up the photos in her reach. He stood back and let Angus do his job, shoving his bleeding hand into the pocket of his shorts to avoid dripping anywhere else. At least if it stained, it wouldn’t be where anyone could see.

Angus kept hopping up on his hind legs so he could brush his snout against Faith’s screaming face, gently patting her chest with his paw before falling to all fours again. Every time, Faith pushed him away with an indignant yelp, but he kept trying until she sank to the ground with him, tightly squeezing his neck. Jamie sighed with relief when girl and dog were settled in a pile on the floor. He took the opportunity to put a bandaid on his hand before it soaked through his pockets.

When he returned after being in the bathroom for mere seconds, Faith’s screaming had been reduced to a heartbreaking, whimpering sobbing. Angus used his front paws to stop Faith from scratching and hitting her face or pulling at her hair, and he started licking her palms to keep them otherwise occupied. Jamie sighed and quietly made his way to the kitchen, where he could sit down and still see her through the doorway. He kept his eyes glued to her, his leg jiggling and his left hand tapping on his thigh. The urge to press her to him for comfort was painfully strong. Ignoring the urge to comfort was just as painful as it had been with her mother, all those months ago, before he’d ever really held her.

Jamie’s eyes must have glazed over, either with tears or weariness, because when he blinked, Faith was standing right in front of him, still weeping quietly.

“Hi, leannan. What d’ye need?” He restrained himself from touching her. Her hands were laced in Angus’s fur, sitting dutifully beside her. “What d’ye need, Faith? Show me?”

She inhaled slowly with a great tremor, and on the exhale, she put her arms up in front of her with a long, drawn out whimper.

I need a hug.

He heard her, loud and clear.

“Oh, lass…” Jamie’s voice broke, and he practically sprang forward. “Come here…I’ve got ye.” He scooped her into his lap and hugged her tightly, rocking gently. “It’s alright, now. Ye’re alright. I’ve got ye. Dinna fash, now. It’s alright.”

Claire had said that during a meltdown she wouldn’t want to be touched, but that perhaps after, she’d need to be held. Jamie had thought about it, then brushed it off. This was his fault. It was clear she’d blamed him for the mishap. She’d bitten him, swatted at him. She’d take her comfort from Angus until she was calm, and then she’d ask to be fed. That was what he’d thought.

But here she was, clinging to his shirt and sputtering into his neck, wetting his collar.

“I know, mo chridhe, I know…” he soothed. “I’m sorry, leannan. It’s alright. I’m sorry…”

He continued to whisper such platitudes, in both English and Gaelic, rocking her and holding her tightly. He knew how silly his train of thought had been. He’d seen with his own eyes this exact same pattern of kids coming back again and again despite how much it seemed like they hated their parents or guardian. He was always the first to assure a parent that it was never personal, that the child just could not see past their distress and only wanted to swat at whatever was in the way.

But even the thought of Faith resenting him had made him sick, however briefly it came to him. He couldn’t mess this up; god, he just couldn’t.

She burrowed in further, nuzzling her wet cheek against his neck, and then her hands came up to caress his beard stubble. Jamie smiled involuntarily. He knew she liked how that felt. He let her rub her hands and arms all over his cheeks, even shaking his head back and forth so she could feel it across her skin.

And then, after an indeterminable amount of time, she was quiet.

——

Claire [9:22]: Made it here alive. Just in time it would seem. Have a good day. xx

Jamie [9:25]: glad to hear it. stay safe. good luck. xx

Jamie [10:03]: cheerios and a banana for breakfast. made sure she had milk too.

Jamie [10:03]: not in the cereal, mind. I ken she doesn’t like that.

Jamie [10:37]: *photo attachment*

Jamie [10:37]: look at the size of that castle :)

Jamie [11:16]: *photo attachment*

Jamie [11:16]: “snakes. why did it have to be snakes.”

Jamie [11:16]: since i ken you’re too busy to answer, i’m just going to trust that you got that reference.

Jamie [11:17]: don’t panic, they’re made of play-doh. lol.

Jamie [11:56]: *photo attachment*

Jamie [11:56]: the art gallery we’ve created today

Jamie [12:32]: *photo attachment*

Jamie [12:32]: the gang’s all here for movie time. bet ye can’t guess what we’re watching ;)

Jamie [12:32]: got through a bunch of signs cards today btw. she did great. very proud.

Claire [12:46]: Thanks for all the updates. Faith looks so happy in all these. You’re amazing Jamie. Thank you.

Jamie [2:17]: power went out a bit ago. wee meltdown, but she’s alright now. eating soybean butter and jelly. already picked oreos for her treat.

Claire [2:18]: I saw the word meltdown. Do you need me to call? Are you okay? Any blood or bruises?

Jamie [2:19]: everything is fine. angus did a great job. i swear she’s perfectly content now. back to work missy.

Jamie [3:24]: *photo attachment*

Jamie [3:24]: needed to hold the flashlight while she did this so i couldn’t help. shame. i love puzzles. can’t believe how dark it got.

Jamie [3:24]: she’s got the headphones on now. wind is really loud. hope everything is ok by you.

Claire [4:04]: I’ll be able to call at 7:30. If she starts asking for me, tell her that.

Jamie [4:05]: aye aye captain

Jamie [6:02]: dinner promptly at six. spaghetti-os.

Jamie [6:55]: *photo attachment*

Jamie [6:55]: a wee faerie in her den.

——

Jamie tucked his phone back in his pocket after sending the latest message, smiling contentedly. The “faerie den” was a fort of sheets in the living room, tall enough for Jamie to sit up. Draped around the edges above their heads were battery powered string lights that Jamie had picked up a few days ago. He’d also blown up the air mattress that he’d known Claire had (with a battery powered air pump), put on a fitted sheet, and piled it with blankets and pillows from both Faith’s bed and Claire’s bed. Claire had told him to sleep in her bed, so he’d assumed the pillows would be up for grabs to do with as he pleased.

Faith was absolutely enamored with it. The smallness of the space made her feel cozy and safe, and it also made it easy to illuminate, so it was very bright in there in an apartment that was otherwise very dark. The worst of the storm was happening right at that moment, and it was dark as night at six in the evening in August. If Faith hadn’t been wearing her headphones, she’d be inconsolable at the sound of the wind, the occasional crack of a tree, the rattling of the windows. But she was blissfully unaware, petting her dog in her faerie den, tablet at the ready.

After Claire’s phone call, Jamie pulled out his flashlight and led Faith to the bathroom to brush her teeth. On their way there, she tried turning on every light switch they passed, growing increasingly distressed the more she encountered that would not work. When they reached the bathroom, she flipped the switch an uncountable amount of times and then started crying. No matter what Jamie did, she would not allow him to brush her teeth; she just sat on the floor with Angus and cried inconsolably. Jamie brushed his own teeth to the sound of her wailing, and she only got off the floor when Jamie pushed aside one headphone and she heard the words “faerie den” in her ear.

She calmed down very quickly after she was settled back in her bright little safe space. Jamie quickly shot Claire a text that teeth-brushing did not go very well, but that he’d snagged the Risperdal and dropper from the medicine cabinet so he could give it to her without reminding her that the lights weren’t working.

Apparently, she’d be sleeping in the fort tonight. Jamie had anticipated the possibility, which is why he’d included the mattress, blankets, and pillows. The question was whether or not he’d be sleeping in there.

The answer came shortly after when Faith had fallen asleep in his lap at the end of the movie she’d put on for them to watch on her tablet: Brave. Jamie couldn’t hear since she was using her headphones to continue to block out the storm, but he watched it playing, laughing when she did, pointing at the screen and signing to her occasionally. It was a whole new experience, watching her watch it rather than watching it with her. The only audio he got was from Faith herself, humming along to the music. It made his heart ache with love.

They were nestled in a veritable nest of blankets and pillows when Faith fell asleep in his crossed legs, head resting against his heartbeat. For a moment, he told himself he would simply stay in that position all night, that it would be worth it if it brought her a good night’s sleep after the chaos of the day. But then his hip started cramping in the open position, and he remembered he hadn’t given her Risperdal yet. So he had to move. 

Cradling her like a tiny infant, he lifted her off his lap and laid her gently atop a free section of the air mattress. He commanded Angus to lay beside her and left the fort to put on the sleep clothes he’d brought in his duffle bag. Just as he got his shirt off, Faith started whining. He quickly finished dressing and crawled back into the fort.

“I’m here, leannan. I’m right here.”

Right. So he was definitely sleeping in there.

After coaxing her to take the dropper of her medicine, Jamie swiped a pillow off the air mattress. She began whining again.

“Come on, lass. I’m no’ going anywhere. See?” He settled in on his pillow, facing the air mattress and looking up at her. “Go back to sleep.”

She did, and Jamie flicked off three out of the four strings of lights inside the fort before laying down again, getting as comfortable as he could on the floor.

——

Jamie [9:02]: she’s asleep. we watched brave in the fort and she crashed. made sure she had her medicine.

Claire [9:11]:  Of course you watched Brave. That’s the one she associates with you.

Claire [9:11]: I’m in bed now myself. These cots are not nearly as comfortable as my bed. Especially when you’re in it.

Jamie [9:11]: don’t start talking about me being in your bed. not when i can’t do anything about it.

Claire [9:12]: ;)

Claire [9:12]: Really though, I’m about to crash myself. Sleep well, darling. Give Faith a kiss for me.

Jamie [9:12]: what about me?

Claire [9:12]: I think you know exactly what you can give yourself. From me.

Claire [9:12]: ;)

Claire [9:12]: Goodnight, Jamie.

Jamie: [9:12]: goodnight sassenach

[magalidragon]

it must be puppy love | part 2 | teaser

Distracted by work and fandom wank yesterday (don’t slide into my DMs with your BS. 😑) so I didn’t work on this how I wanted. As apologies for not getting it up today like I wanted I will offer a teaser and cross fingers I can get it done by Friday. Enjoy!

That was about the extent of it, he thought, reflecting on that particular morning. It was only a few days ago. He was so fucking confused. He brooded about it the entire way to the vet clinic, parking behind her car, and going up and inside. One of the vet techs-- every one of them wore red scrubs, so weird-- led him to the exam room, where Drogon was resting on the floor, poking at the crate where the pups wiggled around, squealing in displeasure that they’'d been taken from their mother.

Ghost rushed immediately to his children, Jon nodding to Dany, who was scrolling on her phone. "Hey," he greeted, unclipping Ghost's lead.

She smiled briefly; she had a very nice smile, he'd been remiss to tell her. "Hey. Oh look at that, Ghost you've got a new accessory."

"Passed his trials this morning."

"Amazing," she murmured, furrowing her brow as Ghost began digging at a divot in the tile. She darted a glance to him, silently questioning. He shrugged; he could pass the K-9 trials, didn't mean he had to be fully smart elsewhere. She smiled a little wider, scratching Ghost's ears. "Good boy. Check on your babies."

Drogon wagged her tail, looking up when he approached her. He knelt to her level, ruffling her ears and pressing a kiss to her nose. She was relatively cute, when you studied her long enough. He still gave Dany shit for having an ugly dog though. "How're you girl? Hmm? Pups keeping you up?" He turned to hte crate, reaching in and collecting the one closest, the little girl, whose fur had begun growing in and was now about the same snowy white as her father. She nuzzled into his chest, squeaking, litlte paws scrabbling at him.

He rubbed between her ears, lifting his gaze to meet Dany, who was still attending to Ghost. He cleared his throat, shrugging, pretending like he hadn't already been thinking about this. "You know...they're getting bigger and stuff and...we need to think about...are we gonna' keep them or...sell..."

Even he didn't feel good about the last word. He was relieved when Dany jerked her head up, horrified. "Sell them? Fuck no! You might have a heart of ice, but I actually care, these are Drogon's babies and I will not...”

"Whoa, chill out Dragon Queen." He made a 'time out' motion with his hands, not at all expecting that to stop her, which it did not. He sighed, while Dany ranted another moment about how he was just "dumping" the children because he couldn't be bothered, and finally he chose drastic action.

He swooped in and kissed her.

It had the desired effect. She stopped talking, her words catching in the back of her throat, mouth parted in surprise. He took the opportunity to lightly cup the back of her head, at an awkward angle as she was looking up from her seated position and he was bending over, the dogs and crate between them, and a wiggling pup against his chest. He was surprised himself, mostly by how gentle it was. He didn't intend it, it just...happened.

She reached up, her hand curling around his forearm, fingers digging into the thick fatigues material, and she returned the kiss, lips soft under his. He broke away first, eyes wide on hers, and saw her expression likely mirrored his, violet irises wide around her dilated pupil, her pink lips swollen, open slightly. She darted her tongue to wet them, her hand still around his arm. He dropped his from her head, lightly stroking over one of her braids across her shoulder and drifted away.

The room was quiet; the pups squealed and Drogon huffed a sigh, moving into a more comfortable position. Ghost panted, whipping his head between them both. He swallowed hard, murmuring. "No one's selling the puppies."

It threw her off, her throat bobbing, a muscle in her jaw ticking when she swallowed. "Alright," she rasped. She dropped her hand from his arm, like she'd been burned, and fisted her fingers against her thighs. Coughing, she composed herself, and he took the moment to do the same, also thrown off, not just by his initial reaction to bloody fucking kiss her, but the way hed done so. And even the way she reacted.

Like what the fuck Snow? They had no label on whatever this was, didn't want to even think about it, and he was not interested. He'd been married for five miserable bloody awful years, the only thing he'd come to realize out of that situation was that he never wanted to feel like that again and that meant no bloody relationships.

Ghost, the stupid mutt, did not seem to understand that they were in this together, and had gone and started something with the dog next door, and now it seemed he was in the same situation. Even if Drogon seemed a bit more reluctant, despite Ghost's best efforts. He was now sitting right beside her, his big fluffy butt sitting on her back legs, but Drogon didn't mind.

Dany's eye twitched, almost imperceptible. She cleared her throat and reached into her tote bag, removing a very "lawyerly" black leather portfolio. She flicked it open and took out a red pen with dragons engraved in it, uncapped it with her teeth, and began to scrawl atop a yellow legal pad. He scowled. "You suing me?"

"No," she snapped. She set the pen cap down and primly rested the notepad on her knee, legs crossed. She spoke as she wrote. "In the matter of Ghost Snow and Drogon Targaryen....custody arrangements for...." She glanced at the pups, hte one still in his arms and the other who had wiggled out of the crate and straight to Drogon, suckling eagerly. She squinted. "Well they need names, but for now we will refer to them as Child A and Child B."

He drolled, "How sentimental." What on earth was she doing? He said nothing, his heart skipping behind his ribs.

Dany continued, writing quickly. "Custody agreement shall commence upon the date of first weaning, after which Child A and Child B are no longer fully dependent on mother, Drogon Targaryen, for sustenance."

"You are so clinical, my gods."

"I am being thorough," she said, but there was no heat behind it. She lifted her eyebrows, smirking at him. "Do you want them every other day or week or what?"

He looked at Ghost, who cocked his head, tongue out at the side of his open mouth. "I think Ghost would like to see his children as much as physically possible." He furrowed his eyebrows, thinking, an idea forming. He nodded to her legal pad. "Keep working on that, but I have an idea."

"Dangerous."

[amelinksanatomy]

would u write one of scouts first word? like amelia wants him to say mama and link dada so is funny and fluffy

First Word

A/N: Thank you for the prompt! Enjoy!

"Open for Mama." Amelia says in her baby voice, holding a small spoon of scrambled egg in front of her 10-month-old son's mouth.

While Amelia still breastfed Scout throughout the day, they had started baby led weaning once he turned 6-months-old. Although it was often messy, sitting down to feed Scout was one of Amelia's favorite parts of the day. Even more so recently as she took it as an opportunity to convince her son to start talking.

"Oh, you like that huh baby." Amelia smiles at the boy who was giggling and flailing his arm about happily.

Once Scout had finished eating, Amelia put his dishes in the sink before going back to start cleaning him up.

"For such a small person, you make a lot of mess!" Amelia says dramatically causing Scout to start giggling at his Mom again.

"Oh, it's funny is it little man?" Amelia took hold of his small hand and shook it in the air, "You might find it funny but Mommy's the one who has to clean it up huh."

"Can you say Mama?" she gasps, waiting to see if she could coax it out of the baby, who seemingly wasn't having any of it.

Amelia and Link had noticed that Scout had started babbling to them a lot more than usual the past two weeks. Thinking that it was a sign that he would soon start talking, the first time parents had been spending a lot of their time trying to encourage his first word to be their names.

"Scout, who's this?" Amelia pointed to herself, making a big performance out of it to get his attention, "Is this Mama?"

Scout ignored his Mom's attempts and continued aimlessly babbling away to himself, picking up the small toy car from the tray of his chair and smacking on it plastic repeatedly.

"Come onnnn, I know you can do it!" Amelia holds her hands to her baby, smiling big at him, "Say Mama!"

Amelia laughs, shaking her head as she wipes Scout's face clean, watching as he happily continues babbling. She makes her way back over to the sink to start tackling the dishes when she hears the apartment door open. She excitedly skips over to Scout's high chair again and gasps dramatically,

"Who's that?" Amelia points to the door, "Is that your Daddy?"

"There's my two favorite people!" Link smiles as he walks into the open plan living room and kitchen, dropping his bag at the door as Amelia make her way over to him. Link wraps her in a hug, holding her close and kissing her head gently.

"Dada!" Scout shouts suddenly, stunning his parents as they turn to face him, jaws dropped.

"Did he just say-" Link starts, pointing towards where their son was smacking his hands against the plastic tray in front of him.

"Are you kidding!" Amelia smacks Link's chest, "I grew him inside me, my boobs keep him alive, I've spent all day trying to get him to say Mama and all you had to do was walk through the door!"

Link laughs as he walks over to Scout, picking him up out of his high chair after Amelia had unwrapped herself from his arms.

"He said Dada!" Link smiled, bouncing his son on his hip excitedly

"Yeah. Okay. You don't need to rub it in." Amelia rolls her eyes, crossing her arms and pouting.

"That's my boy!" Link holds Scout on his hip and takes hold of one of his hands, holding it up in the air and jiggling it in celebration causing the baby to start giggling.

"I feel betrayed by my own child." Amelia says quietly, still pouting across the room, "Oh, come on Ames."

"It's alright for you, he said your name, he likes you better."

"He does not." Link walks over to where Amelia is standing, Scout immediately reaching his arms out for her to take him, "See."

Once Amelia had taken her son from Link, Scout snuggled into her chest sleepily. Link wrapped his arm around Amelia's waist and kissed her head, "The most important thing here is that our little baby just said his first word!"

"You're right." Amelia holds her son's head gently against her chest, kissing the top of it, "I'm so proud of him, he's so smart."

The family stand in their place for a moment, taking in the moment. Amelia looks down at her son in her arms, smiling at how perfect he is as he makes a little sound while he yawns, "I think someone needs to take a nap, huh buddy."

Amelia sways Scout gently in her arms, pulling away from Link's embrace and beginning to walk towards the door to take Scout to bed, looking back at Link when she gets there,

"I'm still mad at you for getting to be his first word."

[cowperviolet]

A Guide to Medieval Childhood

Our popular imaginings and depictions of medieval childhood tend to be somehow both scarce and bleak. It’s often supposed that childhood as a category didn’t really exist until the twentieth century, and that even the highborn children before that blessed time were regarded as basically inconvenient mini-adults until they were old enough to fight or marry, respectively.

The sources we have tend to favour the royal families and the high aristocracy with some wealthy merchants thrown in the mix, so, unfortunately, the information below would mostly be concerned with these groups - although I’m going to do my best to include some facts about the lives of children from lower social strata, too.

Infantia, or infancy

As Maria von Trapp used to sing in technicolor meadows, let’s start at the very beginning - it is, after all, a very good place to start.  

A mother rarely gave birth unattended - and I’m not talking about medical professionals; more often than not, these would be represented by a sole midwife. However, having a close friend or a relative with you as you are waiting for the baby to arrive was a practice well-established by the early fourteenth century even among royal women, whose births, marriages and deaths alike were always ruled by strict ceremony.

In their case, as in the case of all great families of the land, the practice also had a purely pragmatic side - additional companions mean additional witnesses who would be able to swear, should a scandal arise, that the little heir really arrived in the lawful way and had not been, say, smuggled into the bedroom in a pan. (In the case of the British royal family this precaution eventually led to the Home Secretary being obliged to attend all royal births, and was only done away with in 1930, when the late Princess Margaret was born).

Of course, for all the companionable support, the birth was not without its risks - for the child even more so than for the mother. It was for that reason that, uniquely, the Church allowed the midwives to baptize newborn - or unborn - babies in case they don’t survive by the time the sacrament in question could be performed properly by a priest.

If everything went well, it was the time to prepare the child for an ‘official’ baptism in the local church, which was going to not only save his soul for the world to come, but to help his standing in this one - after all, being baptized in a particular church meant being integrated into the larger community of the parish. The mother could rest - she was not required to attend the christening (or, rather, she couldn’t, as she would only be able to enter a place of worship again after being purified via a brief ‘churching’ ceremony on the fortieth day after giving birth). The child’s godparents would have been there to stand in her stead.

In fact, many contemporaries considered that a woman needs at least a month to properly recover after birth. Nor was it supposed to be a time of solitude - receiving female visitors was both allowed and encouraged.

Meanwhile, the child would be transferred into the care of a wet-nurse. Breastfeeding your baby yourself usually signified that you simply cannot afford wet-nurse of good character. The good character part of the job description concerned itself both with the purely physical characteristics - the wet-nurse had to be a little below thirty, to have white teeth, sweet breath, and a child of her own not above eight months of age, otherwise her milk could be considered stale - and the moral ones. It was believed that virtues and vices both could be transmitted through milk, and thus it was imperative to choose a wet-nurse both sensible and respectable.

Once hired, she rarely left the baby’s side - contemporary writers acknowledged that leaving an infant to cry is harmful for the child’s health, both mental and physical, and therefore a nurse should always be at hand with either her breast or a lullaby. In the highest households of the land, such as that of the royal children of Henry VII and Elizabeth of York, one or two women were also employed as specifically the child’s rockers, tasked with, well, rocking their little charge to sleep - though not too quickly or too harshly, ‘for fear of making the milk float in [her] stomach’.

Every medieval baby, regardless of his family’s income, was swaddled from birth and until he was about eight or nine months of age: not only would he be kept warm, the parents judged, but it’s also going to help his limbs grow straight. A ‘breechcloth’ – essentially, a premodern nappy - was a piece of easily-washable linen, doubled over and then fastened into place with pins. Then a linen shirt would be gently placed over the infant’s body, after which the swaddling bands proper – sometimes three yards long – would come out. They were long, narrow pieces of – you guessed it - linen.

This swaddling part was universal for everyone; however, even here, before the child could partake in any fashion proper, the class divides came out to play. Babies from wealthier families could sport crimson mantles and bands decorated with gold embroidery (sometimes coordinated with that on their mothers’ outfits, like on the famous Cholmondeley Ladies painting at the top of this post).

Another – perhaps, more familiar to us – sphere of baby-related conspicuous consumption was the cradle. When, in 1494, the son of Beatrice d’Este and Ludovico Sforza was born in Milan, the proud father presented his guests a four-poster cradle covered in white satin, where the little heir now lay. When Lucrezia Borgia gave the d’Este family an heir, she splashed out on the cradle for the little Ercole even more. According to contemporary witnesses, the cradle was located under tent-like Moorish-style silk draperies done in the Este colors. It was on a platform encased in a great carved and gilded canopy, six feet long and five feet wide. The cradle proper was curtained in white satin, with the sleeping baby covered with cloth-of-gold.

The weaning tended to come, by our standards, rather late: some contemporary arguments recommended three years for boys and two years for girls (the former, after all, were expected to lead more active lives, and thus needed their mother’s nutritious milk more). Even then, hard food was to be introduced gradually – starting, for instance, with a chicken leg the child could chew on.

Once out of swaddling, the boys were dressed in smocks, and the girls in gowns – not that there was much visual difference between the two, mind. Regardless of their parents’ social standing, they all also wore tight linen caps that bore the charmingly hobbit-y name of biggins.

Naturally, the higher one stood upon the social scale, the more ornamental these gowns and smocks tended to be. The toddler Princess Elizabeth, who was the daughter of Henry VII and thus the aunt of her much more famous namesake, was dressed on separate occasions in a green velvet gown edged with purple tinsel and lined with black buckram, a dress of black velvet edged with crimson, or a kirtle of tawny damask and black satin. Admittedly, these were mostly for ceremonial occasions, and in the privacy of her yellow ochre-coloured chambers even the princess probably tended to wear something more comfortable. In winter, she was kept warm with furred robes fastened with silver buttons and caps trimmed with peacock feathers, and, regardless of the time of the year, indulged with sweets made from sugars flavoured with rose and violet, as well as with fruits from sunnier climes like pomegranates, quinces, and almonds.

Royal families were never noted for modesty of consumption in any era, but even the middling merchants of Florence were often criticized for spoiling their children with fine clothes. Fra Dominici wrote scathingly about parents who dress their children in ‘fancy garments, stamped shoes, short waist-coats, tight and fine-knit hose’. Neither did he approve of toys like “little wooden horses, attractive cymbals, imitation birds, [and] gilded drums,” recommending instead more virtuous playthings like “a little altar or two, … little vestments … little candles … [and] little bells,”, so that the children could pretend they were acolytes or priests. Three guesses no prizes as to which category ended up being the more popular one.

Some types of toys would have been surprisingly familiar to us – for example, doll furniture. In Germany one could find whole doll kitchens with dishes, meat plates, cutlery and furniture since the 1550s at the latest. Wealthier girls were also bought so-called fashion dolls that showcased, you guessed it, the latest fashions in the land.

Of course, poorer children had to make do with dolls stuffed with straw, and play with such props as animal knucklebones or wooden wheels.  However, it doesn’t mean that their lives were completely devoid of fun. Contemporary paintings, such as Peter Brueghel’ Children’s Games (1560), show children playing blind man’s bluff, ‘paper, scissors, stone’, roll hoops and rock barrels.

Pueritia, or childhood

A child’s education started with learning his (or, rarer, her) letters. A rather charming contemporary advice recommends the parents to do it by carving each letter on a piece of fruit, and reward the child with the fruit in question if the letter is correctly identified. These kinds of basics could be learned at home (though, if you decided to choose the method above, better do it specifically in the kitchen) – however, once the rudimentary parts were done with, the paths of learning could branch wildly.

The wealthiest families hired tutors for their children, and these posts, prestigious and coveted as they were, could sometimes become subjects of competition. For example, when the future Elizabeth I grew old enough for her first lessons, it was assumed that these are going to be provided by her aunt and godmother, Lady Troy. However, the less highborn, but more ambitious Katherine Champernowne had other ideas; Henry VIII ended up being impressed by reports of her as a woman of good education, and appointed her to be his daughter’s governess in 1536. She held that post until 1544, when her precocious charge overgrew the standard highborn lady’s curriculum that consisted of reading, embroidery, music, riding, falconry, and chess. After that, the scholar William Grindal became the princess’ tutor, introducing her to classical authors such as Plato.

Latin and, to a lesser extent, Greek literature was not exclusively the preserve of the upper-class education. The cathedral school of St. Paul’s, for instance, taught children from middling walks of life - such as one Geoffrey Chaucer, the son of a wine merchant - and placed a great emphasis on the learning of Latin. The recitation of the Latin alphabet started with the sign of the cross and ended with ‘Amen’: quite a sign of respect, coming from a religious institution. The school’s library was full of books on logic, law and medicine, as well as such still-popular classical hits as Aesop’s Fables.

The boys (unlike in the more flexible world of private education, school pupils were invariably male) also owned some books of their own: contrary to a common misconception, even before the invention of printing press books were not necessarily objects of luxury. For example, when in 1337 John Cobbledick left twenty-nine books to Oriel College, each of them was priced at about 6 shillings. Two centuries later, when William Chatsworth sent his beloved wife Bess of Hardwick gifts during his sojourn in London, he included some learning materials for their children: three French grammars, a copy of Cosmografie de Levant, and psalms in French.

Charitable institutions could sometimes take care of the education of poorer children: for instance, in 1542, the Alderman William Dauntsey of London directed in his will that his executors should build a charity school of eight chambers (one of them for the schoolmaster) in West Lavington, Wiltshire.

Boys who could boast some musical talent had an unusual route for both education and promotion: chapel choirs. Many noblemen - and noblewomen such as Margaret Beaufort, the mother of Henry VII - engaged in cultural patronage, supporting at times dozens of choristers. Margaret herself had hired a composer, Robert Cooper, who was entrusted with finding gifted boys for her chapel from ‘London, Wynesore and in the west country'. She also made sure that, apart from musical education, the boys in her choir received tuition in Latin: in January 1506 the same Cooper was responsible for purchasing five 'gramer bokes ... for the chyldryn of the chapell', costing 4s 3d. Their education ensured that, after growing out of their roles in the choir, the boys would be able to continue academic studies. One Thomas Freston left Margaret’s chapel at the age of 13 to attend Winchester College, while the 1460 statute of Tattershall College specified provision for ‘four poor boys’ who were 'teachable in song and reading, to help the choristers, each of whom is to have commons and clothing and all else that the choristers do'.

Girls could be educated in convent schools; some, though by no means all, later chose to enter these nunneries as actual novices (they couldn’t legally make such a decision until the age of twelve, however, just as they couldn’t legally consent to marriage). Within the convent walls, as outside them, their comforts depended a lot on their parents’ standing - if their entry fee was generous enough, the girls, whether they came as pupils or little novices, could count on having a bedroom to themselves, a generous provision of wood to burn in their fireplace, and rare foodstuffs for their tables. When Edward I’s daughter Mary entered the convent of Amesbury as a novice in 1285, at unusual (and frankly illegal) age of seven, her lifelong allowance included an annual provision of twenty tuns of wine from the Bordeaux claret merchants and forty oaks as kindling for her fireplace.

Convents were supposed to foster the life of prayer and quiet contemplation, which was even harder to get used to for her teenage novices than it were for the secular boarders, who weren’t,  after all, handled as strictly. However, even in a nunnery, there was a certain softening of the rules when it came to young girls. For example, at the Feast of St Nicholas, the patron saint of children, the youngest novice was named the Girl Abbess and allowed to lead the community in dancing and revelry.

Adolescentia, or adolescence

This stage of life was thought to start at about fourteen and end in one’s early twenties. Highborn children of both sexes were usually sent to foster at the homes of friends or relatives of equal standing, both to finish their education and to establish useful connections. When the teenage Jan of Brabant was sent for foster at the English court, he devoted his years there to perfecting the arts of jousting and hunting with falcons, as well as the less official, but nonetheless useful skills of party planning, people-charming, and careful gambling. His future bride Margaret of England, meanwhile, was improving on her feminine arts of weaving and embroidery, often spending substantial sums on gold thread and silks of different colours.

The machinery of altar diplomacy was already in full swing by the time they reached that age, even though marriage proper - with the consummation implied - was usually still a few years in the future. The fate of Margaret Beaufort, who gave birth to her first husband’s son at age thirteen, was considered grotesque and frankly unsafe; after all, it’s no coincidence that she could have no children after. For instance, Thomas Aquinas cautioned in his Mirror for Princes that consummation should be delayed until the woman had reached the age of eighteen, and the man twenty-one.   

The complicated diplomatic and legal negotiation process behind such agreements was left to the heads of the families and their respective employees, without the involvement of the betrothed ones themselves. After all, it included such charming tasks as drawing a complete summary of all villages, farms, rents, forests, and windmills belonging to the future groom’s family which would be able to provide the income for the bride’s dower, or widow portion, in case she outlives him - a pretty significant possibility, considering.

Lower down the social scale, marriage arrangements were not so pressing a concern - urban artisans, male or female, often married only in their mid-twenties. When their children reached adolescence, they usually worried about arranging an apprenticeship for them rather than a betrothal.

A child could be apprenticed to a master who practiced one of the trades regulated by the guilds of the town. These included mercers, grocers, fishmongers, drapers, tailors and even artists. The training usually took seven years, during which the master in question was obliged not only to educate the apprentice, but also to feed and clothe them and generally treat them like a member of their family (which usually also meant having them help around the house). This way, the future artisans spent their adolescence in a situation of indenture and completed their training in their early twenties. The ultimate dream after that was becoming a master in their own right and acquiring one’s own workshop; but, like people in their early twenties everywhere, most were too broke for that, and ended up working as journeymen in their master’s workshop for some more years - or sometimes for the rest of their lives.

Although the most prestigious trades, such as those of mercers or goldsmiths, only admitted men, others - the tailors, the bakers, the printers, the bakers, sometimes the painters - were open to apprentices of both sexes. Female artisans often ended up marrying their colleagues from the same guilds, and then keeping workshop together, but sometimes they kept their trade and conducted their business separately.

At this point, gaining the trappings of trade and marriage, they progressed into the adulthood, and thus beyond the scope of this post.

Sources:

Devices and Desires: Bess of Hardwick and the Building of Elizabethan England by Kate Hubbard

Daughters of Chivalry by Katie Wilson-Lee

The Lives of Tudor Women by Elizabeth Norton

Chaucer: A European Life by Marion Turner

Kisby, Fiona. “A Mirror of Monarchy: Music and Musicians in the Household Chapel of the Lady Margaret Beaufort, Mother of Henry VII.” Early Music History, vol. 16, 1997, pp. 203–234

The Early Modern Italian Domestic Interior, 1400–1700: Objects, Spaces, Domesticities by Erin J. Campbell et al.

[pbandcas]

Say it Again

Done for @bend-me-shape-me ‘s SPNAdventCalendar prompts! Warnings: referenced drug addiction, recreational drug use, hypothermia, hurt/comfort, Cas’s actions can be read as latent suicidal tendencies Pairing: Endverse Destiel Read on AO3 Master Post Day Seven:  Phone calls and late night texts

Say it Again

Cas couldn’t sleep. It was cold and the wind made all of the window panes creak. And he was lonely. He knew it was stupid, it was his own fault Dean wasn’t there. He told the other man he didn’t want to see him, and Dean, being the ever considerate leader, had stormed out. Yelling about how he’ll just go warm Lizzie or Amanda or Nathan’s bed instead.

At the time Cas had been too angry and worked up to care. They’d just returned from a scouting mission. A mission that Dean refused to listen to Cas’s advice to turn back and regroup. A mission that left three dead and more injured.

Now though? With the frozen air drifting through the off kilter door and the echoing howl of the wind Cas let himself think of it. Of Dean leaving him behind. Of Dean crawling into someone else’s bed, giving them the love Cas so desperately craved. The thought made him sick.

He wasn’t the best company anymore. He knew it, of course he knew it. He just thought that Dean understood him better than that. He thought they had reached an agreement. He thought— but apparently not.

Reaching over the bed, Cas dug around under the mattress blindly. If Dean was allowed to break their promise, then so was he. If Dean was allowed to go sleep around again, Cas was allowed his Vicodin. His hand made contact with the small pill bottle and he smiled ruefully.

Popping the top off he dumped four on to his palm and stared at them. It’d been so long. He’d done so well, weaning himself off of them. For Dean. Always for Dean. His close brush with death one night on an accidental overdose made the tension between Dean and him snap.

The following days and weeks and months were saturated with desperation and fear and it had made Cas nauseous. He’d been doted on like a lover. Like he was something more. Like he mattered to the hunter. He’d promised to help him. To stay by his side, if only Cas would try.

He’d said he couldn’t lose him. But Cas… Cas needed to feel.

He craved that attention Dean had given him. He needed it like the air in his lungs. He’d promised, but Dean wasn’t here, and Cas needed to feel something again.

Dean had never liked Cas’s mounting drug addictions. So naturally, Cas made a point to rub it in his face every time they had an argument. It gave him a sick sense of pleasure to see his partner’s face twist in disgust. It reminded him he still had power over something. Though at the same time, Cas never liked Dean running off after anyone in camp willing to spread their legs for him.

Unfortunately, the two usually came hand in hand. His fingers trembled as Cas folded them over the pills and let out a shaky sigh. Closing his eyes he tipped his hand over and dumped them on the floor, the almost empty bottle following with a muted clack. The truth of it all was, he was tired.

He was tired of this stupid power grab. He was tired of seeing who could push the other further. He was tired, and cold, and lonely.

He reached for the weed instead as tears started streaking his face. ~~

The continued beeping from beside his head had Dean scowling. Cracking his eyes open he glanced out the window, aside from the bright snow building up on the glass it was still dark. The beeping continued and he groaned as he pushed the blanket down enough to reach over to the side table.

Grabbing the beaten up electronic he jabbed the button on the side to make the sound stop. Belatedly he hoped Chuck hadn’t heard the noise. He knew the other had no qualms hosting the camp leader, but he wasn’t so sure he’d appreciate being woken up. Again.

Bringing it up to his mouth, Dean pressed the button down and hissed quietly, “What are you still doing up?” There was static on the other end of the walkie talkie and Dean wanted to throw the damn thing at the wall. It was the middle of the night. What on Earth could be so important that Cas needed to buzz him at that instant?

What could be so damn important that he’d call on Dean not even hours after their spat. Silence met him and he could feel his anger mounting. So he’d incessantly buzzed Dean, in the middle of the night, just to ghost him again? Who the fuck did Cas think he was? He was done with these games. He was sick and tired of the bullshit.

“What the fuck did you want, Cas. Some of us normal people are trying to sleep.” The sharp edge of the button dug into his thumb as he pried it back up after releasing it. He’d have to have someone take a look at it soon. Especially if this is how Cas wanted to communicate with him now. There was a crackle as the static disappeared signaling the other end of the line came to life. " Then Cas’s gravely voice seeped through, quiet and hesitant in Chuck’s silent cabin. “Nothing I just—" There was a sharp inhale and Dean froze at the slight watery sound, the forced out breath, “I missed you.” The line took a moment to disconnect and in that split second Dean heard it. The sound of pills shaking in a bottle.

Shit. Shit shit shit. Dean shot up from his half laying down position and instantly all thoughts of sleep vanished. “Cas? Hey, hey hey hey, Cas what’s up? What’s wrong?” He was almost afraid the walkie talkie would snap in half with the force of the hold he had on it. He didn’t care if he broke it though. He didn’t care that his fingers were starting to ache. He didn’t care that his hands were shaking.

He didn’t care, because Cas had gone silent on the other end.

Springing from the couch Dean grabbed his shoes and shoved his feet in them carelessly. “Cas? Cas, Angel, talk to me.” More empty static and Dean could hear his heart pounding in his ears. Shit. Shit fucking shit. “Angel— don’t do it. Please, Cas, please—"

He was throwing his coat on when he heard the distinct click again and a rush of relief washed over him. It froze in his chest the second Cas spoke, his voice was rougher now and faded out quickly, “I’m so sorry… so sorry.” The line didn’t disconnect and Dean heard a choked back sob.

Flinging the door open Dean took off down the path that led to his and Cas’s shared cabin. Pressing the walkie talkie to his lips he pressed the button to override the other line. “Talk to me, Angel. Talk to me, I’m right here, Cas. I’m right here.”

“I love you, Dean.” It was barely a whisper and there was something… off about the way he said it. Then the line went staticky again and Dean swore under his breath.

“Cas? Castiel, baby, I love you, too. Okay? I know you can hear me. I’m on my way. I’m on my way home to you. Hold on for me, Angel. I’m almost there.” He could just make out the cabin through the still falling snow and his stomach dropped out as he realized there was a dark shape slumped on the porch steps.

Fuck. Cas. Without a thought, Dean dropped the walkie and pushed himself to go faster. The snow clouded his vision and made running difficult but he couldn’t stop. Couldn’t slow down, because that was Cas. That was Cas and he wasn’t moving and Dean felt his heart seize up. “Cas!”

The wind was picking up again by the time he reached Cas’s limp form. His eyes were closed, and his skin was bright red and icy, “Cas? Cas, please— Cas you gotta—“ He cut himself off as he hauled the former Angel into his arms and cradled him to his chest. “It’s okay, Angel. It’s okay, I’ve got you. I’m here now.” ~~

The first thing he became aware of was the pounding in his head as consciousness slowly started to take over. The second, was the heat along his side, curling over him almost protectively. Cas forced his eyes to open against the searing light, only to shut them again with a groan.

The small sound was enough to make the warmth pressed against him jerk awake as well. In the next second there were hands pressed against his cheeks, forcing his head back to look up. Frantic green eyes looked back and he felt his brows draw together in confusion.

“Thought you were at Lizzie’s.” He murmured, voice dipping off slightly because he was still so tired. Why was he so tired? Dean’s right hand slipped to cup the back of his head as he pulled Cas forward to tuck his head underneath his chin.

“Fuck.” Dean huffed, voice wavering to match his trembling hands. “Fuck.” He repeated louder and Cas almost wished he could see Dean’s expression but he was held firm, tucked up close to Dean’s neck. “Fuck, baby, no. I wasn’t— I didn’t— I went to Chuck’s.”

“Chuck’s?” But that wasn’t right. Dean had left him. He’d broken his promise and went to someone else. He’d… hadn’t he? Wasn’t that how he’d justified the— fuck. No wonder that frantic look was so familiar. Dean thought he’d taken them again. He thought-- “Didn’t do it.”

It was mumbled out and Cas frowned in frustration. Why was he so damn tired still? He needed to talk to Dean. He needed him to hear it he needed—

“I know you didn’t, Angel. I know you didn’t. I saw them on the floor. I’m so proud of you.” Dean whispered almost reverently into his hair as he combed his fingers through it. “So proud of you.”

He could feel his eyelids growing heavier by the second. What was wrong with him? There was no way he’d smoked enough to cause this, even if he had blown through his whole stock pile he shouldn’t have felt like this. He’d been so lonely and hurt and cold and it’d helped so much so why—

Cold. The memory of stepping outside, of sinking into the snow to try and numb the pain. It’d been such a stupid decision but Dean hadn’t been there to tell him not too. He hadn’t been there and it’d helped and— “‘m sorry…”

And Dean just held him tighter. Breathed him in longer. Brushed his thumb across his cheek like he was something precious to behold. “I love you, Castiel.” There was something in the way he murmured the words. In the way he let Cas’s full name roll off his tongue like he still deserved the angelic designation. Like he used too, before Cas fell. Before he became human.

Cas felt his heart crack open at the sound. “Say it again?” He begged softly, hoping Dean understood what he actually meant because he wasn’t sure he’d be able to voice it. He let his eyes fall shut as he felt Dean nod above him.

“I’m here, Castiel. Always.”

[pedros-mustache-main]

back to the hedgerows

summary: every relationship has its difficulties, you know that. but it just so happens that the first significant problem in your marriage to gwilym is more of a mountain than a molehill. 

word count: 6k+ (oof she thicc-ish)

warnings: angst to the gods!, language, innuendo, assumed infidelity, allusion to child abuse, did i mention angst? like there is literally nothing but angst here and i’m absolutely living for it

a/n: hi, lovelies! super super excited to be sharing this collab fic i wrote with @almightygwil​! as i am the self-proclaimed Queen of Angst, i’ve written the first part and ellie wrote the second (which is amazing), which will be coming out soon. we hope you enjoy and sorry in advance. :)

(side note: i do want to make it really clear that this is simply fiction. i don’t believe gwilym would do some of the things outlined in the fic below in real life. just fiction, y’all, and makes for good make-up smut a la ellie!) 

you blame hulu for ruining your marriage. 

unless it’s gwilym’s fault; maybe it’s yours. perhaps even charlie’s. whoever is ultimately at fault, you do know that if it hadn’t been for hulu, if it hadn’t been for ‘the great’, you wouldn’t be hastily packing your bags, shouting through tears for your son to gather his belongings and put them in the damn suitcase. 

if it hadn’t been for hulu, you wouldn’t be on the verge of losing your husband for good.

“mama?” 

you turn at the sound of charlie’s voice, small and shy, filled with concern. he stands in the doorway of your room, clutching his raggedy teddybear. the poor animal is threadbare and stiff around the edges. it is worn with seven and a half years of love, and try as you might to wean him off it, he won’t let go. so you don’t push the matter anymore. after all, a boy who has endured as much as he has deserves to love a stuffed animal for as long as he wishes.

“yeah, baby?” you hope your face isn’t as red and splotchy as it feels. but god you’re tired, tired of waiting by the phone like a fool when you know he won’t call, tired of wondering, tired of crying into your sleeve.

“is daddy gonna meet us at grandma’s?” his question is innocent enough, but it stirs the fire in your belly. your fists clench around the shirt in your hand, and you shake your head.

“no, he’s not.” you switch the subject, afraid that if you continue further, you will lose control. “have you packed your things?”

charlie nods. “come see!”

with a sigh, you drop the clothing in hand and follow. your legs are weary, as is your heart. it’s been a long week. if you’re being honest, it’s been a long few weeks. ever since you kissed gwilym goodbye at the airport, the days have grown longer and your loneliness has only increased. it’s rather sad, how much you depend on him, but he’s your husband, and you love him. 

even this week, some part of you loves him still.

charlie’s room could be photographed and used in the dictionary as a reference photo for ‘pigsty’. in an effort to pack his suitcase, he’s unearthed everything in his possession and scattered it across the floor. you’d smile, but you’re too tired. instead, you pick a pair of trousers off the lampshade and step over a mountain of toys. 

“i don’t know who you think is gonna be cleaning all this up,” you say, dropping the trousers in the suitcase, which is empty of clothes and full of toys and books. “also, i think you’ll need at least one pair of clean clothes at grandma’s. something besides these books.” you lift the first book you see, and a fresh bout of tears prick the corner of yours eyes. 

brian’s first gift to charlie: a book on stars. the pages are dogeared and stained with food. memories—memories of brian and gwilym and charlie in the back garden, stargazing like a trio of schoolboys—fill each page. you set the book down, sure that if you open it and reread the heartfelt note from brian on the inside cover, you will burst.

“here, we’ll take this.” haphazardly, charlie lifts a pile of clothes from the floor and dumps them unceremoniously in the suitcase. for extra measure, he adds his favorite pajamas—a dinosaur onesie, given by joe. “we need to leave most of the room for toys.”

for the time first in days, your face softens. you reach out to cup your son’s freckled cheek. he truly is the light of your life. if you had to go back and do it over again, you would still say yes. even if it eventually led to losing gwil, you would always pick charlie.

“i’m sure grandma has toys waiting for you.”

“but not these toys.”

“no, not these ones.” you glance around the room and search for the muster to tell him to clean before going to bed, but the muster isn’t there. you don’t even have the heart to properly fold the clothes in his suitcase. “brush your teeth and get in bed. we have an early morning.”

charlie pouts and slumps against the bed frame. “but i can’t brush my teeth without daddy,” he whines.

“you’ve had to brush your teeth with him for weeks now, charlie.” your voice is tight, on the edge of rage, so you clear your throat and nod toward the bathroom. “hop to it.”

he drags his feet, but soon you hear the water running and the buzz of his electric toothbrush.

for a moment, you stand in the center of his room. you can still remember the day you moved in two years prior—newly married, newly a mother, everything so exciting and raw with potential. 

charlie had stood in awe of the empty space, his teddybear tight against his neck. you’d watched him from the doorway, heart in your throat, and leaned against gwilym’s chest when he held your shoulder.

“i don’t think he’s ever had a room this big,” you’d whispered. “or one to himself.”

“how do you want to decorate it, charlie?”

at gwil’s question, charlie spun on his heel. his eyes narrowed, still wary of his new father. his gaze had slid to you, and you’d nodded in encouragement.

finally, speaking only to his shoes, he’d said, “i want planets.”

gwilym had laughed, shaking his head. “he’s gonna fit in just fine.”

you can still feel gwil’s hand on his shoulder and his breath on the curve of your neck. you can still feel the way his love for charlie in that moment made you marvel. no other man would be so willing to marry his girlfriend of seven months and adopted her former student three months later. but he’d been willing, and he’d been excited to start a new chapter.

father, mother, and son.

but perhaps now your worst fears have come true. perhaps gwil’s woken from the dream, realized his mistake in marrying you so fast, in agreeing to father a child not his own. perhaps that’s why he hasn’t called or reached out in four days.

you can only assume that’s why. assuming anything else might kill you.

when charlie reenters the room, toothbrush in hand, you palm at your wet cheeks and smooth a hand across your twisting stomach. you force a smile and take the toothbrush.

“i’ll put this in my bag,” you say. “where it’s safe from all the dinos.”

“mama,” charlie chides as he crawls into bed. “dinos need to brush their teeth too.”

“oh, of course! i just mean you don’t want to share dino germs. it’s bad for you.”

charlie rolls his eyes and tugs his comforter to his chin. “how do you know? have you read my books?”

“only a hundred times.” sitting by his side, you tuck the covers around his small frame. you release a slow sigh and study his face. “grandma is going to be so excited to see you,” you say.

“is she nice?”

“always.”

“why haven’t i met her before? i’ve met daddy’s parents, and grandpa brian and grandma anita. why not your mummy and daddy?”

you shrug. “life’s been crazy, and they live very far away. but they’re bursting to finally meet you.”

“but daddy’s not coming?”

you snap before you can stop it. “i wish you’d stop asking that! daddy is not going to be there!”

when you open your eyes, charlie’s are filled with tears and his lower lip quivers. it’s rare that you lose your temper. months of counseling before and after adopting him taught you to control your anger—however justified it may be. his home before yours had not been kind, and any hint of unhappiness sets him on edge.

cursing under your breath, you lean forward, pressing your hands to his shoulders. “i’m sorry, baby.” the pools of tears in your own eyes match his, and you wonder if it is possible for tears to run dry completely. “i’m sorry. i’m not mad at you, sweetheart.”

a fat tear rolls down his cheek, and you brush it away, swallowing past the lump in your throat.

“daddy’s at work,” you say. “he can’t come. but i bet—i bet he’s missing you right now and wishing he could be there.” the words taste like a lie, bitter and sinful. still, you say them, hoping they will ease charlie’s fears.

“well, maybe he’ll surprise us.”

clenching your jaw, you nod. “maybe he will.” rising, you kiss his forehead and ruffle his sandy hair. “goodnight. fall asleep fast because before you know it we’ll be leaving.”

with a yawn, he curls onto his side. “i’ve never been on a plane before,” he whispers.

“there’s a first time for everything.” you kiss his temple again and tiptoe out of the room, but not before tripping on a mislaid firetruck.

in the solace of your bedroom, you drop to the carpet beside your bed. your head falls against the firm mattress. your fingers itch to reach for your phone but you stop yourself. it’s a bad habit, always has been. you check your phone too often because the worrier in you is convinced if you aren’t attached at the hip, something dreadful will happen and you’ll miss it. this past week, it’s gotten worse. every few seconds you flip your phone over and wait for the screen to light up. the photo of gwilym and charlie—charlie on gwil’s shoulders, ice-cream smeared all over his cheeks—is always devoid of any new messages. well, any new messages from gwilym, and that’s all you’re looking for.

you knew keeping in close contact would be difficult; you weren’t that naive. you’d expected periods of silence on either end. charlie was a handful and, with school ending for the summer, your full-time job became keeping him out of trouble. gwil was thousands of miles away in a different timezone, not to mention working odd hours. you could handle a day, maybe two, with simple texts—a short good morning or hasty i love u written as you run out the door—but it had been four full days since you’d last heard even a murmur. and that wasn’t counting the week before when day by day his responses grew shorter and his calls more infrequent. 

god, you hate him.

aside from your mother, your reason for leaving the country remains secret. you’d tell your cousin, katie, but she’d get too worked up. hell, she’d probably board the next flight and rough gwil up herself. you’d tell joe, ask if you could crash in his apartment with charlie on your layover in new york, but you’d rather not subject him to your marital issues. you’d ask anita for advice, but you can’t stomach the idea of crushing the good image she has of gwilym. 

so, you stay quiet. suffer in silence. it’s easier for everyone else that way.

just as you’re about to stand, shower off the layer of disgust forming on your skin, your phone pings. the way you dive toward the bedside table is pathetic. your fingers scrabble, shaking, as you lift the phone. flipping it over, the screen lights up, that stubborn sliver of hope in your heart coming to life as you wait.

a text from the airline. confirmation of boarding numbers.

your eyes flutter shut. you should feel disappointed, but you aren’t. it’s what you’ve come to expect. you’d given up two days earlier, finally decided that if gwilym wasn’t going to answer any of your voicemails or texts, then you’d simply stop nagging him. clearly, he wasn’t interested in being a husband or a father at the moment.

dropping the phone to your bed, you head for the shower. the water is too hot, scalding your skin, but it feels good. it feels like something. you press your hand to the steamed glass and allow the water to run down your face, fill your eyelashes, stream off your nose. you breathe hard against the pain in your chest.

an image—your wedding day—flickers to mind: katie’s backyard, covered in string lights; your gown, hastily bought from the local dressers; the night sky, alive with stars. aside from your cousin and gwilym’s family, the ceremony had been next to empty. you needed to get married fast in order to speed the adoption papers along, and you didn’t mind the small gathering. charlie had sat on katie’s lap the entire time, rolling the ring cushion between his hands. he’d been so small then—five years old and already so scarred by the world. but gwilym had held out his hand, beckoning charlie over during the vows; he’d crouched, looked deep into charlie’s eyes, and promised to love and care for him as his own—the memory made you choke on a sob, the sound echoing around the shower walls.

god, you hate him.

you slip into bed, hair wet and unbrushed, with a groan. travel to prince edward island and your parent’s retirement home will be long and exhausting. an eight hour flight from heathrow to jfk, a six hour layover in new york, and then another flight to charlottetown. your head already aches, and you haven’t even reached the airport.

despite everything in you screaming don’t do it, you check your phone one last time. it’s blank, but you pull up gwil’s name in your messages anyway. as quickly as you can, averting your eyes from the long line of unanswered texts, you type your message: 

headed to pei. taking charlie. don’t have a return date yet.

message sent, stomach churning, you fall into a restless sleep.

you’re antsy. after eight hours on a plane, your legs are tight and you long for fresh air. charlie’s in much the same state. though he’d enjoyed the novelty of a plane ride for the first hour, for the remaining seven it was a chore just to get him to sit still. now, he’s bouncing on his heels, teddybear in hand, humming a nonsensical tune far too loud in the line to the toilet.

“charlie.” you squeeze his hand tight. “shush.”

the line inches forward, and charlie blows a raspberry with his tongue. “i’m tired, and i’m hungry.”

you sigh. “i’ve just got to go to the loo and then we’ll find something to eat.”

“are we going to go into the city?”

“no, i don’t think we have the time.” it’s a lie—you have six hours to kill—but you can’t think of anything you’d do that wouldn’t make you pine for gwilym. it’s easier to stay in the cool airport, plug charlie in with a movie, and read your book.

“doesn’t uncle joe live here?”

“yes, he does.”

leading charlie into the bathroom, you corral him to the nearest open stall. he pushes his forehead against the stall door, his back turned to you as you relieve yourself. 

“we should go see him.” his voice is muffled against the door, and you try not to think of all the new germs crawling over his face. 

“i told you, baby, we don’t have the time.”

after washing your hands and exiting the bathroom, you find an empty table and sit down. charlie sits next to you, his legs swinging back and forth. he watches the people passing by, and you wonder if he’s picked the trait up from gwilym. 

he looks so much like gwil it’s startling. maybe it’s because you’ve watched them side by side the last two years, but charlie truly does look like gwilym’s natural born son. it’s in his face: the soft eyes, strong nose, full lips. it’s in his mannerisms: his easy smile, soft voice, eagerness to listen. not for the first time, you wonder if you’ll have any more children and if they will take after their father. you used to hope so; now you’re not so sure.

shaking your head, you clear your throat and reach for your phone. you’d left london to get away from the house so full of memories and sweet times together. you’d left london to have a moment of peace, cry in the arms of your mother, and figure out what to do next. you didn’t leave home just to have it all follow you.

sliding open the phone, you search for joe’s name in your contacts list. you dial the number, glancing at your son as the phone rings in your ear. some part of you hopes he won’t answer, so you don’t have to answer any questions. another part of you wants—needs—a familiar face.

he picks up on the third ring. “[y/n]! to what do i owe this great honor?”

you find yourself smiling at the genuine happiness in his voice. “well, it’s short notice, but charlie and i are currently sitting in jfk. we’ve got a six hour layover...” you let the implication hang in the air, knowing full well he’ll pounce.

you can already hear his keys jangling on the other end. “i’ll be there asap.”

an hour later, you’re sat in a restaurant overlooking times square. you hadn’t planned on going into the city, but joe insisted. he wanted to show his nephew the sights—as many as he could in a few hours time—but charlie insisted he be fed first. now, sitting across from your son and joe, plates laden with overpriced food, you notice a lightness in your chest you haven’t felt for some time. it’s nice to see someone you care about, and joe is unusually tactful in his conversation. he’s tiptoed around the topic of gwilym and ‘the great’ and for that, you’re thankful.

“so, charlie’s told me all about school, which, apparently, rocks,” joe says between bites of a burger. “what’s up with you, [y/n]? how’s married life treatin’ you?”

you know it’s partly a jest—he’s asked the same question nearly every time you’ve spoken since you married gwilym—but there’s also a level of true interest in his query. but you shift in your chair, wincing as you turn to look at the busy street below. and perhaps he notices because he hurries to say instead:

“seen brian lately?”

this you can answer without crying or shouting or slumping low in your seat. nodding, you look to charlie. “we went over for dinner a few nights ago, didn’t we? tell joe what grandpa bri said.”

charlie keeps his focus on his mac & cheese as he speaks. “he said if i tried really hard i could have hair like his, but i told him i don’t want to look like a poodle.”

joe laughs, his head tossed back, his hands clapping together in sheer joy. you laugh, too, despite remembering the utter embarrassment you’d felt at brian and anita’s dining room table. 

charlie grins, his eyes darting back and forth between each adult’s reaction. he’s pleased with himself, the pride on his face all too real. “mama made me say sorry.”

“i hope she did,” joe says with a chuckle. “that’s brutal, charlie.”

charlie’s forehead puckers in a frown. “daddy says always tell the truth.”

“yeah, but you gotta...” joe waves his hand, shaking his head. “never mind.”

a moment of quiet falls over the table. you’ve barely touched your salad, finding that, although your stomach growls with hunger, you don’t have the energy to eat. joe’s looking at you with open curiosity, and it makes you squirm. he knows something’s up, but now is not the time to unburden yourself. not with charlie sitting so close, not with your heart as tender as it is. one wrong move and you knew you’d fall into joe’s arms, a sobbing mess in the middle of the restaurant. 

what dignity you have left, you’d like to preserve.

“what do you think about going to the park?”

joe’s eyes narrow across the table. “central park?”

“you said you want to show charlie the sights.”

joe glances at your unfinished food then your face. still, he says nothing. instead, he pays for the meal, even though you try and slide your card over his when the waiter comes by. you leave your salad and grab charlie’s hand as you exit the restaurant. you’re possessive that way—always needing to hold on to some part of your son; you’re the same with gwilym. neither seem to mind, so whenever you’re able, you hold charlie’s hand while crossing the street or you run your nails gently over the back of gwil’s neck as he likes it. you suppose, with charlie, it’s a mother thing. one day he won’t lean into your shoulder when you wrap an arm around him, so you take every chance to hold him that you can. you suppose, with gwil, it’s a wife thing. though you aren’t a huge fan of pda, you like letting others know he’s yours.

you hope he still is.

the day is warm, sticky with humidity. as you walk the few blocks to central park, joe points out his favorite landmarks. charlie seems interested enough, though he’s much more concerned with pointing out every pigeon than he is responding to joe’s explanations of the buildings around him. a fine pool of sweat gathers under your arms, and you soon shed your cardigan. the frigid air conditioning of the airport will be a welcome feeling once you’ve returned to jfk.

joe leads you to a playground, tucked away behind overgrown hedges. charlie drops your hand and rushes for the jungle gym, his faithful teddybear flinging in the wind behind him. with a soft smile, you collapse on the nearest bench and reach for your water bottle. after a sip, you offer it to joe, who shakes his head.

you know what’s coming. he’s going to ask about gwilym, and you’re going to have to come up with a suitable answer. you don’t have a suitable answer, not one that would keep your issues private but at least clue him in somewhat. finally, when the silence is overbearing, you give a short sigh.

“well, out with it, mazzello.”

he feigns shock. “out with what? i’m enjoying the sound of the birds.”

“you’ve been studying me all through lunch. tell me what you’re thinking before i scream.” you know you sound petulant, but it’s hot and eight hours on a plane with a wiggly child was hard. more than anything, you want to be home—not in london. the last two weeks have been hell, walking through the halls, visibly watching gwilym slip away, and having no clue what to do. no, you want your mother, and her home—whether it be prince edward island or the ridiculous summer home in lyon—is your home.

joe glances sidelong at you, his face drawn tight. when he speaks, his tone is serious, one you don’t hear from him often. “is there something going on? between you and gwil?”

despite knowing it was coming, the question still makes you want to wretch. you look away, curling your hands around the water bottle. it cracks between your fingers. 

you decide to lie. it’s easier that way.

“no... no, not really.”

joe tries, but fails to catch your eye. “it’s just that... you seem really depressed. i thought maybe with him being gone...”

he’s given you an excuse—maybe on purpose, maybe on accident—but you jump for it, cursing yourself for not thinking of it on your own. “i mean, yeah, it’s been hard. it’s been—fuck—nearly two months now.”

“that’s a long time.”

you nod and return your attention to charlie, who is swinging on the monkey bars with ease. “yeah, it is, but he should be due for a few days off soon. he might be able to come back for a long weekend.” you grit your teeth against the words. they taste sour, and you take another sip of water to wash away the bad taste.

“[y/n]—”

twisting on the bench, you give joe a look that shuts his mouth with a snap. “we’re fine, joe,” you say, though, now more than even, it is clear you are not fine. you hold his gaze, daring him to push further.

he doesn’t. he just stands, hands in his pockets, and shuffles over to charlie with a nod. 

wrinkling your nose against the sudden sting of tears, you lean back against the bench. a branch from the bush behind you digs into the skin of your shoulders, and any breeze which drifts your way smells vaguely of piss. that’s new york, you suppose: people as prickly as branches and the persistent smell of bodily functions. altogether, not terribly different from london.

your phone pings, but for once, you hold still, your tongue clamped between your teeth. your heart tells you it’s gwilym, finally woken from whatever slumber he’s been under, apologetic and eager to make amends. your mind tells you otherwise; it’s likely the airlines or your mother or katie. never gwilym; not anymore.

the message on your screen is from instagram, and you ignore the traitorous twinge of disappointment in your chest. frowning, you open the app, certain you’d turned notifications off long ago. what loads first in your timeline is a series of five photos. days off in pompeii, gwil’s caption reads. you don’t bother to swipe through the photos. you exit the app, delete it for good measure, and slide the phone back into your purse.

rising from the bench, you find joe and charlie hunkered beneath a slide. they’re imagining dinosaurs and jeeps and dangerous missions in the forest. with a smile, you drop to your hands and knees and join them, intent on enjoying what time you have left.

joe drops you off at the airport with plenty of time to spare. in the cell phone parking lot, you gather around the hood of his car for a final goodbye. joe slips charlie a fresh five dollar bill for the snack machine when he thinks you aren’t looking, and it’s the most uncle move you’ve ever seen. it warms your frigid heart, so much so, you nod to the back of the car. 

“make sure you haven’t forgotten anything, love. we don’t know when we’ll be back if you’ve left something.”

charlie ambles his way behind the car, inspecting his new money, and when he’s out of earshot, you turn to joe.

“i’m going to talk,” you say. “and you’re going to listen and say nothing when i’ve finished. is that understood?”

his eyes are wide as he nods.

“i haven’t heard from gwil in nearly five days now. last week, his texts got shorter and more infrequent and he stopped calling. this week, he hasn’t responded to any of my messages, voicemails, or otherwise. so two days ago, i gave up and i stopped reaching out. it’s been radio silent since, and i don’t know why. so, that’s what’s going on, and why i’m so goddamn depressed. but if i find out that you’ve called him and tried to make him see sense, i will never forgive you, joseph. do you understand me?”

his only response is a shocked blink, but it satisfies. 

“it’s my marriage,” you continue. “i have absolutely no idea what i’m doing, but it’s my marriage, and i’ll figure it out whatever way i can.”

there’s a pause then joe crushes you against his chest before you can stop him. his hug is painful. your left arm is caught between his chest and yours, your right shoved across his shoulders awkwardly. his arms tighten the strap of your purse against your neck, and you’re sure there will be a harsh red line when you pull back. but you don’t care. you let joe hug you. there’s pity in the embrace, but more than that, there’s love, and you feel it. love for you, for gwil, for charlie.

charlie’s voice breaks the moment, for which you’re glad. a second longer and you’d have started crying. “i didn’t leave anything but i found a dollar.” 

wiping the underside of your eyes, you push away from joe and turn to your son with a smile. “wow—six dollars in one day! what are you going to do with all that cash?”

charlie shrugs and shoves the bill in his pocket. “i dunno. maybe buy my own plane.”

“so fiscally responsible. i’m proud.” joe ruffles charlie’s hair, grinning. “will you let me take a ride for free?”

charlie looks joe up and down then nods. “i guess. you did buy me lunch, so it seems like a fair trade.”

“we’d better go.” you reach for charlie’s shoulder. “thank you, joe,” you say, hand curling around the handle of your suitcase. 

his smile fades around the edges, and you see a sigh lift his shoulders. “take care of yourself, [y/n].”

“i always do.”

he rolls his eyes. “you know what i mean.”

you look away, but nod. “tell your family we said hi.”

joe sticks his hand out to charlie, who shakes it with some trepidation. “look after your mom, charlie.”

“yeah, okay.”

you leave, bags dragging behind you, slamming against your ankles, with a wave. it hurts to watch joe stand there, hands in his pockets, ratty baseball hat on his head, looking so forlorn. you know that, if you asked it, he’d find gwilym and make him set things right. but this is your fight. no one else’s. 

an hour and a half later, you’re strapped in your assigned seat, charlie’s head on your lap. his cheek is hot against your thigh, his chest rising and falling to the gentle rhythm of sleep. as the plane takes off, you glance out the window and watch as the world fades from view. you can’t help but think that somewhere below is a family much like yours. 

you imagine them sitting down to dinner, laughing, catching up on the day, looks of love shared across the table. you imagine the mother and father, finding a moment of stolen passion against the pantry door as the son settles down for an evening movie. you imagine her laugh as he mumbles filthy things against the skin of her neck, things that set her heart ablaze. you imagine the way his hand strokes over her leg throughout the movie, his eyes meeting hers every now and then over their son’s head. and you imagine him laying her down on the bed, caressing, loving, worshipping her until they are spent.

some time ago, your life had looked similar. it doesn’t anymore, and you aren’t sure why or what you’ve done wrong.

the flight attendant pulls you from your thoughts. “can i get you anything, ma’am?” she asks.

a flood of answers rise to your chest. a phone call, an answer to prayers, my husband. instead, you shake your head. “no, but thank you.”

your parent’s home is picture perfect, like something out of a magazine: the long, winding drive framed by lush trees, the pale stonework crawling with ivy, the faded green shutters, and chipped picket fence. you’ve come once since it was bought. your parents, ever the world travelers, surprised you when they announced their move to their maritime provinces, and due to your teaching job, new relationship with gwilym, and concern for your student charlie, you’d only had the chance to visit for a short weekend. 

as your father pulls up the drive, you nudge your mother with your shoulder. “if i didn’t know any better, i’d say you were trying to be anne shirley, mother.”

your mother tosses her head back with a laugh. her sunglasses are overly large, but you can still see the laugh lines around her eyes. “of course i am, dear. much to your father’s chagrin.”

from the driver’s seat, your father merely huffs. he makes a face at charlie who, buckled tight in the passenger seat for the last few miles of the journey, giggles behind his hand.

your mother slides her hand across the bench. her fingers tap the bone of your wrist, and you look away from the window. she’s pushed her sunglasses over her hair, and her painted lips are drawn light.

“we’re so glad you’re here, sweetheart.” her tone is soft, apologetic.

the corner of your mouth twitches into something close to a smile. “me too.”

“okay, last stop. everybody out.” your father parks the car and pops the trunk.

you follow your parents to the front door as charlie races around your legs, babbling questions and comments as if he’s never spoken a word in his life. your father, who bears the brunt of charlie’s attention, takes it all in stride. tim, your brother—god help him—blessed your parents with eight grandchildren before you managed to give them one of your own. anything charlie has to throw at your parents, they will surely be able to handle.

after a light supper, charlie convinces his new grandfather to take him to to the river at the base of the property. he’s eager to find worms and, if your father can get free labor in return for fish bate, he’ll take it. they walk off, the sun dipping closer to the horizon as the day draws to a close. your mother stands in the doorway and nods her head toward the garden.

“come help me.” her request is more of a command, but you listen, grabbing a watering can from the back stoop as you trail after her.

the air on the island is fresh, slightly salty but sweet. you breathe deep, reveling beneath the open sky, unobscured by wires or skyscrapers or aircraft. your mother’s garden sprawls across the backyard. a ladder rests against the apple tree in the corner, heavy with fruit. raised flowerbeds with soft brown dirt sprout with tomatoes and snap-pea vines and peppers. a strawberry patch, struggling but alive, stands on its own. there’s a foam pad on the ground, and your mother kneels on it, reaching for her gardening tools.

“there should be some grape tomatoes ready,” she says, pointing to the plant. “gather what you can in this.” she passes you a paper container, and you set to work.

the birds twittering and the unhurried breeze work to soothe the ache in your soul. you could get used to this, a simple life here. the thought startles you, and you drop the tomato in your hand. it lands on your foot with a splat, covering your toes in sticky juice.

coming here, leaving london, you never thought for a moment it would be permanent. you just needed a change of scenery, a place to clear your thoughts. you have no intention of leaving gwilym. god, though he’d ripped your heart out, until he said the words, you’ll stay by his side forever.

“sweetheart? [y/n]?”

you look up. “huh?”

your mother frowns. “you’re just standing there.”

“am i? oh, sorry.” you turn back to the tomato plant and rip whatever red bubble crosses your eyeline. the tomatoes drop to your container with a muted thud, echoing the fragile beat of your heart.

“do you want to talk about it?”

you meet her gaze, and the worry, the concern, the love there nearly drives you to your knees. for days on end, you’ve been shoving it down—the fear. it’s not helpful, not to you or charlie or anyone else. for days on end, you’ve been choking back your anxiety, telling yourself it’s all just a misunderstanding. now, in your mother’s garden, with the weight of the world bearing down on your shoulders, you break.

the tomato container falls to the ground as your hands clamp against your mouth. you cannot stop the sobs which shake your frame, but you can at least muffle them against your fingers. the world becomes hazy, a blurry mess as your tears flow free and steady. vaguely, you’re aware of your mother’s arms around you, holding you tight; her hands rub soothing circles over your back. she smells of vanilla and shampoo.

you don’t know how long you cry, but when you finally step back, the sky is a dark red. you wonder if charlie’s come back from the creek, if he’s seen you in such a state. you pray to god he hasn’t. gently, your mother leads you to a wooden bench tucked against the fence. you sit together, your head cradled between her chin and shoulder. she smoothes your hair with one hand and holds your other.

“i’m so afraid, mum,” you breathe. your throat is clogged with emotion, your nose, too. 

“of what?”

sniffing, you wipe your nose. “that he’s gone and met someone else. that he’s forgotten us.”

you feel her shrug against you. “well, i’ve only met the lad once, but he doesn’t seem like the type.”

“he’s not,” you say, stronger, clearer. “he’s not. but it’s been five fucking days. five days! and he’s been half-there for longer.”

“i don’t know what to tell you, love.” she twists to look at your face. “your father and i... we’ve had a good run of it, but that doesn’t mean we’ve not had our own issues. sometimes—sometimes people hurt those they love most.”

“did dad ever disappear on you?”

“no, i can’t say he did.” she sighs. “but he did shag my best mate cheri.” 

“aunt cheri?”

nodding, your mother looks into the distance. “i nearly chopped his balls off.”

“why didn’t you?”

“because we love each other. we worked it out.”

with a scoff, you look away. “you’re in the minority.”

“you can be in that minority, too.” she grabs your hand. “your relationship... everything you’ve had with him has been so much so fast—”

“i know.” your head drops as a fresh flurry of tears rise. “that’s what i’m afraid of.” 

“you didn’t let me finish.” your eyes lift to see her watching you, a faint glow of motherly pride on her cheeks. “everything you’ve had with gwilym has been so much so fast, but every time i see your photos or your videos, he looks like he’s about to fall over because he loves you so much. i don’t pretend to know what’s going on in his head; i’d reckon he doesn’t know either. but you have something worth fighting for, [y/n]. i’d hate to see you give that up.”

“i don’t want to,” you whisper.

“then don’t.”

you kiss charlie’s forehead and slip out of the guest room, shutting the door behind you. the house is quiet, asleep before ten thanks to the excitement of the day and the weariness of travel. you find your bedroom, cozy, tucked away in the third floor attic. your mother claims she had it redone just for your visits. the window seat framed by bookshelves and the wrought-iron bed frame remind you of your childhood room, yet there is an elegance here your room lacked as a child. 

after readying yourself for bed, you glance about the room. the rug beneath your feet is soft to the touch, and the upholstered chair in the corner has a fresh set of bath towels. there’s an exposed brick wall with three photos nailed to it. you step closer to inspect. 

three photos. 

a family photo from age nine, your parents side-by-side, your brother’s arm slung around your shoulder. much of your childhood consisted of moving from country to country, always following your father’s job. you’d been happy, though, and looking at the photo now, you feel a surge of gratitude. 

a photo of your first classroom, the students sat at your feet. charlie stands directly to your left, his face leaning into your hip. you hadn’t known then, what he would mean to you know. you run your finger across his face, still pudgy with baby fat. 

the third and final photo, a picture from your honeymoon. the austrian mountains tower over you in the background, the sky effortlessly blue and picturesque. gwilym is well-dressed and handsome, smiling down at you, his arm curved around your waist. you’re looking up at him, laughing, holding the straw hat against your head as a gust of wind attempts to whisk it away.

your chest expands with love, for your family, your son, even your husband.

you aren’t sure how things will turn out. for all you know, gwilym very well could have met someone else; he could be making plans to leave you as you slide under the covers. yet something tells you—maybe it’s hope, maybe it’s foolishness—that’s not the case. 

you check your phone. empty, as per the usual. this time it doesn’t fill you with as much dread as normal. he’ll come around. one way or another, things will get sorted. you’re willing to fight for that.

[theflashdriver]

Guardian (A Silvaze Fanfic)

For as long as Blaze had known him, Silver had always been an overprotective person. Outside naiveté and obviousness, the hedgehog’s strong sense of justice and want to make things right were his strongest traits by a wide margin; he’d take far countless burdens upon himself of both miniscule and galactic proportions. Even with the future saved, even though he was now living peacefully in the Sol Dimension, that fire had never truly left his heart. His protective passion had merely been lying dormant, searching out something new to focus upon. Well, starting around three months ago, it’d found its new target.

Blaze the cat, the queen and guardian of the Sol emeralds, was lounging atop a floating couch formed from pure psychic energy; being paraded around the library she’d once freely walked. Silver the hedgehog, the king and co-guardian of those aforementioned emeralds, was pulling book after book from the shelves in search of a tome she’d requested, constantly glancing back to make certain that she was comfortable. Psychic aura had begun to flare in an effort to expedite the process; books were being tugged from shelves, held to his eye, and flung back when they were found to be incorrect.

He was being silly, the feline was more than capable of seeking out the book for herself but, truth be told, she was enjoying this little display. Beads of sweat were gathering upon his brow; Silver had only been searching for ten or fifteen minutes but he was clearly worried that he was taking too long. It wasn’t as though they were in a rush and the book was hardly that important, it was just another addition to their ever-growing pile of baby-related literature, but he was seeking it out with the same fervour he’d used to pursue Iblis. This was all so mundane, but Blaze couldn’t help taking joy in it.

“Are you sure we’re in the right section?” He managed to ask, raking ten books from a shelf only to just as quickly throw them back, “We’re getting close to the end.”

“It’s here somewhere,” She cooed, reclining deeper into her floating chair, “I’m certain it was around this section.”

That was all the convincing he needed; Silver doubled his efforts immediately. Books from even higher up began to tumble but refused to contact the ground, encased in psychic cyan light. He threw glances in every direction, knowing instinctually when a book was hovering at his side. To put it plainly, the hedgehog was putting far too much effort into a relatively simple task.

The royal library was quiet today, devoid of visiting scholars and legal practitioners, but it’d been that way for a while now. Certain recent events had caused activity within the palace to slow and work-based visitation to greatly diminish. Well, it wasn’t as though the childcare section was usually bustling with life (in fact, they’d found it quite dusty upon their first visit) but the more complete calm of their surroundings had made their literature reviews far easier. Nowadays they couldn’t leave the palace without someone prying into their lives. It’d been years since life was last like that.

He froze in place, eyes darting twice across a single cover, before it was snatched from the air and presented to her, “Is this the one? The cover’s just like you described it.”

The hedgehog had produced a tome medium in size, only around one hundred pages long and (if she recalled correctly) filled with pictures. Its cover art depicted an array of cartoon fruit and vegetables tumbling free from an overfull mixing-bowl. Now that she’d seen the title, she immediately recalled her frantic flip-through a month ago; Nutrition and Newborns. This was indeed the book she’d requested.

She didn’t take the book immediately; instead, she leant in and beyond his outstretched hand, allowing her lips to weave their way onto his cheek, “Thank you, Silver.”

They’d been married for years and had of course performed acts far more intimate than such a tiny kiss, but watching his blush grow in response to her tenderness had rather become one of Blaze’s pastimes. As the book left his hand, it came to cup that very cheek while his prior beaming smile transformed into a more crooked, embarrassed, grin. He was still so plainly love-struck; rather recently she’d caught him in the wee hours of the morning, rubbing his wedding band and throwing her supposedly sleeping form all manner of tender glances. They’d been married for years but that reality still seemed to surprise him. Well, given the lives they’d lived, he could hardly blame him for feeling that.

“Do you want me to find anything else, do any others come to mind?” He asked, “I could go back through this section, see if we’ve missed anything good?”

“Perhaps later, this will do for now,” She attempted to quell his eagerness, “Let’s take things one book at a time, we’ve still got a few months after all.”

He smiled at that, almost daydreaming as the last books jumped back onto their shelves, “Yeah, just a few more months…” Silver reached up, she quickly took his hand.

Rather than simply float her, it was almost as though they were walking together; he led her back through aisle upon aisle of books to their little workspace. The worn couch and low table rather stood in stark contrast to their surroundings. While the royal library was filled with exquisitely crafted dark-wooden fixtures and floored with a deep emerald carpet, their table was formed of wrought iron and pale driftwood (crafted by Marine the raccoon herself) while the couch had more than a few patches sewn into it but was, mostly, wrapped in a soft red material. Truthfully, getting furniture that better matched their surroundings would have been easy, even if Blaze hadn’t been the queen, but the pair rather loved those mismatched pieces. Those out of place furnishings reminded her, and surely him, of their childhood amongst the flames but not the chaos tied to it. This spot reminded Blaze of ramshackle homes made in prior libraries, schoolhouses and musty old churches, their sanctuaries within a dangerous world.

The feline felt herself turn in the air, her hand slipped from his as she was gently lowered onto the couch; his psychic chair dissolved from the bottom up as it made contact with a real one and left sitting on the couch’s left side. Silver didn’t join her on it though; instead he stood on the far side of the table, concern still plain in his eyes. Knowing what was coming, her mouth curled into a small smile.

“Do you want more pillows or a blanket or…” Silver scrambled for more things to offer. He was trying so hard already, she felt lazy but so very cared for, “Something to eat, a drink…?”

He wanted to help so badly; Blaze felt herself grow softer still. She wanted to give him something to do, “We could take tea and read this together?”

“I’ll make a pot of decaf and hurry back,” He promised, beginning to turn away, “Are you sure that’s all?”

Ah yes, they had to cut back on caffeine… well, only she had to, but he wasn’t willing to let her face that alone. She was well beyond vomiting every morning, but cravings still lingered. The mere consideration of her common cravings caused one to spike.

Pinning her gaze to the book and trying to act nonchalant, she posited, “Perhaps a little bit of chocolate.”

Silver halted. He reached into his back quills and, as if it was the most normal thing in the world, produced a small, unopened, chocolate bar. Without so much as blinking, he presented it to her.

When he, eventually, noticed her befuddled expression, Silver simply smiled, “It’s your most common craving and I don’t like leaving you uncomfortable so…”

She felt heat across her face as she gingerly took the bar from him. Her eyes latched onto it, she could feel her tail flailing wildly, “Thank you, Silver…”

Was she really that obvious? Has she had this hankering that often? He interrupted her train of thought to reaffirm, “I’ll be as quick as I can, just shout if there’s anything else!” Before shooting between a set of bookshelves and towards the door, surrounded by psychic light.

Blaze slowly pulled back the foil and took a bite, but the taste did nothing to dispel her embarrassment. Her royal position had meant that, in this life at least, lots of people had tried to look after her, but none of them did it quite like him. Despite how oblivious Silver was to certain things, the hedgehog could notice the slightest of shifts in her disposition and pick up on things even she didn’t truly understand. Apparently, there were differences in the ways she purred and oddities in how her tail flicked but she’d be hard pressed to describe them. She supposed her cravings were far more obvious than those physical quirks, but it still seemed so bizarre.

Having eaten two of the bar’s eight total squares, the queen folded closed the wrapper and set it aside. She took up the book and scanned through the contents page: Foreword, Introduction, Nutritional-Timelines, Common-Mistakes, Weaning, Liquid-Foods, Solid-Foods and Additional-Recipes. Flipping through, only glancing, Blaze found that the wording was simple yet detailed, intended to be easily read but simultaneously informative. The illustrations also seemed helpful, they’d seemed rather useless on a cursory glance but, in hindsight, the feline needed all the help she could get with regards to cooking.

Before she could make a true judgement on the book’s quality though, the whir of psychic energy re-entered the room. She looked up from her book just in time for him to land in the exact spot she’d last seen him, tea tray in hand and a strong pillar of steam rising from a large pot. His quills had swept back to pin against his head and the sweat on his brow was plain. The kitchen wasn’t too far away but he’d plainly rushed, utilising far more of his power than he probably should have. The tea couldn’t have had more than a moment to brew; they’d have to leave it for now.

Despite this, Silver so very casually set the tray on the table and slunk around to sit beside her, “So, does it look alright? Anything interesting inside?”

“Well, it looks to be half nutritional guide and half cookbook; just like I remembered,” She responded, flicking her way back to the start and shifting to hold the manual between them, “I think it’s intended for slightly younger parents, but that just means it’s thorough and well detailed.”

The hedgehog shifted closer still, outer leg brushed outer leg, “So we’ll get a few new recipes out of it at the very least.”

With that, the pair begun their shared reading session; they quickly worked their way through the foreword and into the meat of the book. Her initial impression was proven correct, as she took in the nutrient-timelines, the information about baby’s requirements was handled gently yet informatively. Unfortunately, however, it was at this stage that Blaze noticed a change in her companion’s demeanour. The hedgehog wasn’t truly looking at the book, rather he was looking through and past it to what lay on the other side; a goofy smile had spread across his muzzle.

Knowing what was distracting him, Blaze rolled her eyes, but her smile grew further, “Go on, get it out of your system so that we can focus properly.”

Upturning the book and placing it upon the couch’s arm, Blaze gently raised the hem of her blouse. Her belly was revealed, still far from its full size but undeniably substantially grown. The royal baby was well on its way; the pyrokinetic feline was four and a half months pregnant. The father of her unborn child dropped to the carpet and began to tickle and brush his way through her white fur, plainly enamour by the growing form residing within her. Parenthood was so strange but it plainly excited him. Well, it excited them both, but he wasn’t literally attached to the baby twenty-four hours per day. He had to make his love known in more sporadic bursts.

They weren’t wandering into this blindly; they’d spent almost a year just questioning whether it was right to do. The life of a royal was one embroiled in politics and, even with the threats to their world long gone, the duties of a guardian were a lifelong burden. Working against that notion were their similar histories; Silver could hardly remember his parents and neither of Blaze’s had lived beyond her birth, their younger years had been wrung of relaxation by terrifying responsibilities. They’d been thoroughly enticed by even the notion of normalcy tied to parenthood. Their potential to give someone the comfort that they’d lacked had finally pushed them to decide.

Other factors had been considered of course, such as whether or how their inherent abilities would be passed on and the latent additional responsibility that would come with them. Silver’s powers were still an anomaly, unknown in origin and genetic nature, while Blaze’s had been consistently passed on for generations. Historically, her family’s powers had never mixed with another so, even as the baby grew inside her; they had no idea what would happen. It’d all been an almost blind endeavour that had, thankfully, come to bear fruit.

Blaze’s eyes closed as she felt his muzzle gently press against the bump and his fingers found her sides, “Hello there, it’s just me again.”

No response came from the baby bump, of course it didn’t, but that didn’t stop the hedgehog from listening intently. From her position it was difficult to make out Silver’s expression but from the way his ears had slightly flopped forward and the steady beating of his tail, Blaze knew this was exactly what he wanted. Despite the effort he’d gone to searching out that book, Blaze found herself forgetting their task as she looked upon him.

“I hope you’re doing okay in there, we won’t get to see each other for a while yet but I can’t wait,” He’d shifted slightly, letting his forehead press against the bump instead, “Your mum is doing wonderfully and I’m trying my best to help. I want things to be perfect when we finally do meet. Things are nicer here than they’ve ever been and we’re doing so much to prepare for you.“

Purrs broke past Blaze’s lips, their rumbling filling the quiet library. Her hand slowly came to mingle among his quills, gently rearranging them with no real purpose. Perhaps she’d braid them again tonight, their evening routine had rather changed due to their upcoming arrival. Where once they’d simply snuggle their way into bed, their journey to the land of the sleeping now took a few twists and turns. They always tried to do something before bed, considering that they’d soon be so much busier, they wanted to cherish such quiet moments. Massages would be given, books would be read, they’d play chess, watch a movie or she’d simply find herself playing with his fur.

Her touch caught his attention, the psychic’s eyes flickered up to her before returning to her midriff, “The baby’s right there, I can practically feel them, but it still doesn’t seem real…” Silver mumbled, leaning backwards and into her view, “I never really thought we’d get to…”

Words left unsaid resonated with Blaze’s very soul. One hand slipped from the depths of his quills to cup his cheek, “I wake up some mornings and question it myself, it almost seems impossible.”

“A-All of it does,” He managed to respond, “Even just being here, that weight being off our shoulders, is ridiculous. W-We’re safe, we’re comfortable, we’re together, we’re married…”

She could feel his wedding band as he brushed and rubbed the bump, hers was pressed against his muzzle, “I don’t regret a single thing, not a single moment.”

His eyes shot to meet with hers, “Me neither! I don’t at all, I just…” His head slumped into her grasp, seeking out her warmth, “Its been years since we settled, and I thought I had fully settled, but this it’s a step even further. This is normal, this is how things were meant to be; so very normal.”

She watched his tears begin to well and couldn’t help but smile. After all this time, he could still be so insecure, “Parenthood seems normal yet abnormal. We know it in theory and have our assumptions but it’s an all-new challenge, a brand-new adventure. No matter how we prepare, I’m certain something will surprise us.”

“We can read all we want but…“ As tears spilled panic came with them, “If I’m going to be a good dad I need to be even tougher than this,” He’d raised the back of his right hand to rub at his eyes, he was trying to hide his expression, “I-I shouldn’t be crying, there’s nothing to cry about, this is wonderful. I’m meant to be strong…”

“You’re still so naïve,” Refusing to let her hold be broken, Blaze thumbed away his tears. He managed to resettle in her grasp, “It’s just as you said; we were so on saving the future, neither of us thought we’d make it this far. You’re allowed to feel like this,” She promised, “We went through so much to get here, that’s why you feel this way. That and, well, parenthood scares most regular people. We’ve not lived the normal life we want for them.”

“You’re going to be wonderful at this,” He relaxed back into her touch, “You’re smart and strong and warm, you’ll do great,” He paused, as if unsure whether to ask his next question, “Do you think I’ll make a good dad?”

“Silver,” She sighed, shifting to cradle his head in her hands, “I’ve told you before and I’ll tell you again, you’re going to be a fantastic father. The baby’s not even here yet you’re trying so hard. I can hardly imagine how caring you’ll be when they finally arrive. I doubt you’ll put them down for days.”

He smiled at that but concern still cut his brow, “I’m so excited but so scared, what if we have to fight again? What if they have to fight,” He fretted, leaning deeper into her touch. They’d of course discussed this in the lead up to her pregnancy but, while they’d decided they wanted a child regardless, Blaze had anticipated that worry returning.

“What if we did have to fight again?” She asked, knowing it was best that he finished his train of thought.

“I would, of course I would, but…” He struggled for the right words, “I just really don’t want them to. I don’t want them to have to do what we’ve done,” Fighting for one’s own life was bad enough, the pressure of fighting for whole worlds was terrifying. It was a fact they both knew, first-hand, “I want them to grow up safe and happy and peaceful. I want to be able to look out for them rather than whole universes.”

“Well, then you don’t have to worry about being a good dad, I know you’ll make a great one,” She promised, “You want them to be secure and loved, that’s what’s most important,” The queen insisted, “We’ve done all we can to make sure that they can live peacefully, more than any normal parents could have, even if that wasn’t our intent at the time.”

He’d slowly gone from kneeling to standing; his right hand had shifted to cover the top of her baby bump and the left had arrived to hold her shoulder. The echoes of his tears remained, but his smile was almost blinding. Slowly but surely, he leaned in and closed his eyes. His forehead met with hers as he began to nuzzle. Without a moment’s hesitation, Blaze returned that gentle contact.

Sweet nothings were murmured, her hands found his chest fur and soon they were freely kissing. They were gentle and brief kisses, little more than back and forth pecks, but Blaze could feel his heart in every single one. Silver’s defensiveness had easily led into softness; while he’d fight ferociously to protect others, he would also handle them with care. Blaze knew that she was going to be the sterner parent, she’d be the one to insist that they get out of bed or do their chores, but she was more than fine with that. It was in her nature, not his. For as defensive as he was, for as much as he wanted things to be just, he’d always been softer than her. Of course he was worried that he’d have to feign hardness, she hoped he’d never have to again.

Wispy words broke the quiet library air. She wanted to reassure him, even if she didn’t know what the future held, “We’ve done so much together; we can do anything together.”

“If we can manage something as impossible as this,” She felt his hand trace across his midriff, “Th-Then we can do anything.”

This intimate session could have lasted hours, perhaps even the rest of the evening, but it was interrupted by something neither of them had expected. As Blaze was leaning in again, the words “You’re such a softy” tumbling from her lips, she felt what she could only describe as a small fluttering inside her abdomen. It’d taken a moment to register but by the time the sensation repeated Blaze had realised what it meant. The baby was moving inside her, she’d felt their first touch.

Silver’s eyes had opened wide, “Did you feel that?” He half whispered.

No, they had felt their first touch. This was the quickening, the first tangible sign of life.

She managed a nod in response, her purring grew louder still as she shifted her hands from him and to her sides. Silver dropped back to his knees, returning to eye level with her swollen belly. Ever so gently, he returned his second hand to her form just in time for another flutter, “I-Is that what I think it is? They’re…”

“Y-Yes, I think they’re kicking,” She managed to stutter, closing her eyes in an attempt to focus on the sensation.

This was the first real sign, their child’s first real impact on their world. It’d been clear that they were there for a handful of months now, but they’d never acted; simply grown and waited. This was entirely new; excitement coursed through Blaze’s veins just as it plainly ran through Silver’s.

“Hey there little one, I’m sorry. Am I taking up too much of mummy’s attention?” He responded to her bump, gently rubbing small circles into her fur, “She’s just too lovely, I can’t help myself.”

Her child’s kicks having alleviated thoughts of silliness or feelings of embarrassment, Blaze also began to talk to the baby, “Or is it that I’m taking up too much of daddy’s time? Keeping him from playing with you,” She felt Silver’s eyes upon her and, emboldened, pushed further, “I did marry him you know; I do want to kiss him from time to time. I hope that won’t be a problem for you...”

Another flutter drummed within the feline; the unborn child could only be voicing their outraged. A snicker breached Silver’s lips and was quickly mirrored on Blaze’s own. Soon they were fully laughing; Blaze’s hands slipped to the pillows in an attempt to steady herself as Silver finally pulled away from her belly.

When she’d finally recovered, the hedgehog managed to respond, “I think we might have a problem.”

“Picking favourites already,” The queen jokingly scolded, gently combing through her white fur, “You know, I’m the one carrying you around; he only insists on carrying me because he’s scared that you’re making it hard for me to walk. Your dad can be so overprotective. He’ll go out of his way to solve the smallest of problems, even when there are far more pressing issues,” She was almost chiding him, though she was doing so purposefully, “But I like that about him. He’ll always look out for you, just like I will.”

No further quickening was felt but, in its wake, Blaze couldn’t help identifying a tender calmness that had overcome Silver’s disposition. He managed to make his way back onto the couch beside her, almost dissolving into the floral material.

Bright yellow eyes collided with her amber set, “Did that really just happen?”

“If it’d only been me here, I don’t think I’d have believed it,” Blaze admitted, “I’d have told myself it was something else.”

He was beaming again but the combined endeavours of overly tending her, talking so deeply and observing the phenomena that was his child’s first actions had clearly exhausted him. Reaching just past the book, Blaze drew the chocolate bar and held it out to him. It took no more than a moment for him to understand, lean in and bite off the top square. As Blaze claimed a little more for herself, a blue bioluminescence engulfed the teapot and brought it to pour. The book was flipped open and gentle chatter ballooned to fill their little corner of the library as they shifted ever closer.

They were finally making their own future, no longer struggling to fix other people’s problems. Despite how unreal it all seemed, they were more peaceful than they’d ever had before.

[vadaschiquita]

Chiquita | Ch. 18

Chapter 17

It had been an agonizing game of musical chairs riddled with anxiety and unanswered questions sitting in the ER of a New Jersey hospital.  From nurses, to doctors, to social workers had accosted Nevada with questions of her whereabouts and even threatened with police involvement when he’d refused to provide the answers they sought out of him.

Nina and Jess had sat with him, receiving the news of Mariana’s reappearance from Pucho.  The both had shown up hastily, shouting his and her name to every medical personnel they managed to pass by from the second they’d entered the emergency room to the second they’d found him with his head in his hands.  Jess had asked all the hard questions firsthand, attempting to keep her voice even as she got out of Nevada what truly had happened in the confines of the storage container in order to deflect any trouble without the need of lawyer.

“You gonna stop with the fucking leg bounce, Valentina?” he scolded his sister.

Nina sighed heavily, rolling her eyes as she came to a stand.  “What the hell are they doing to her, Vada?  She’s been in there for fucking ever!” she paced in front of the row of chairs.

Nevada trailed her with his eyes, leaning back, and stretching his leg in front of him.  “Nina, you irritating my soul isn’t helping.  Stop with the fucking questions… and the pacing!” he waved his hand towards her direction when he caught sights of a doctor approaching their general direction.

Nevada stood, pulling Nina behind him as the doctor smiled, “Mariana?  Mariana Santos?”

“Yes, yes! How is she?  How’s the baby?  Can I see her?” Nevada shot in rapid fire, unable to stop when the doctor raised his hands in order to put a stop to his rambling.

“Easy, Mr. Santos,” the doctor appeased, checking the tablet in his hands.  “There’s good news and there’s bad news.  Now, I understand that she was in labor when brought in,” Nevada nodded, running his hands against his jaw at the mention of bad news.  “Giving birth is a marathon and we need mom awake and alert in order for her to push.  We considered taking her to the operating room and perform an emergency C-section, but baby was coming, and coming fast so we had to rely on medication to strengthen the contractions.  That allows the contractions to be strong enough so that the patient doesn’t have to do anything.”

“O—Ok,” Nevada stumbled, looking over his shoulder to his sister for some type of assistance.

“Is the baby safe?  Is she safe?” Nina asked, watching the helpless green in her brother’s eyes grow by the second.

“Yes, both Mariana and the baby are in good health,” the doctor smiled.

“But?” Nevada took a step forward.

“The oxytocin given to strengthen the contractions has left Mariana with an accelerated heart rate and some arrhythmias that are being monitored as we speak.  Your son has a little bit of jaundice—nothing that we're worried about—and she’s protecting her airway as she should, but due to her arrhythmias and the stress her body endured for the amount of time she was in captivity, we’ve placed her in a medical induced coma and we’ll wean off sedation once we know her heart has recuperated.  Other than that, we’ve stitched the gash at the back of her head, and we’re letting her body heal her other contusions and abrasions the natural way.”

“So—Son?” Nevada sighed, feeling his chest inflate at the thought of someone continuing his namesake to the world.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the doctor looked between Jess, Nina, and the appalled man in front of him.  “I—I thought you knew the gender of the baby before—”

“No, no; we wanted to find out whenever they were born,” he chuckled, feeling his elation travel through his body.  “Can—Can I see her?  Please, doctor, I need to see my Chiquita—and my papito.  Where—Where is he?”

The doctor smiled, cocking his head in the direction he’d emerged from, “Your son is currently in the NICU under bili-lights for his jaundice, but I can arrange for him to be brought to Mariana’s room so that the three of you can be together.”

Nevada nodded, falling into step with the doctor as they approached the ICU room where they’d placed Mariana.

Mariana’s doctor had done well by his training, keeping idle conversation as they accessed the main hospital through the emergency department, but Nevada had only heard some of it and answered to ten percent of what he’d heard.  His mind was still crowded with the sounds of her cries as Ricky choked the near life out of her, the muddled sound her skull made against the concrete floor of the storage unit, and the whisper of his name from her lips when she’d finally noticed that he was real and there to not bring harm upon her.

If he needed to go home and return later on to Mariana’s room, he wouldn’t know the way to her.  

He couldn’t stop thinking of the thousands of ways he’d failed her during her pregnancy, during her captivity, and how much he was failing her now.  He knew nothing of being a father to a child, a child he did not want to raise without her.  

The needs of a newborn were different to the ones of a toddler and child.  

What little experience he had with children came from his ability of having cared for Sofía from a young age.  He never kept her when she needed her mother at every turn, but once Sofía had been able to walk, to talk her way into basic needs, had been when he’d trusted himself to do more than just a prolonged visit to his sister’s place.

The severity of the situation weighed heavily on his shoulders, not only did he needed to care for a slightly vegetative Mariana, but now he had to care for a newborn that wouldn’t know his mother until the sedation could be weaned off.

“You’re free to go in and visit for as long as you please, Mr. Santos.  I’ll make sure to speak with NICU nurses to bring by your son sooner rather than later.”

Nevada looked up at the doctor and extended his hand to him, shaking it for good measure.  He’d never been one to engage in such… pleasantries, but there was no other way he could express the gratitude he had for him and his team in the roles played in Mariana’s safety and in the delivery of their son.

He entered the room slowly, hearing the soft air release the breathing machine produced indicative of Mariana’s in and outtake of air.  

He coughed his sob, watching the bruising across her face, vivid against her ashen skin.  Her hair and face had been cleaned of the blood, her wet clothes had most likely been tossed, and her stomach was as flat as he could remember before her pregnancy had taken over.  Her wrists were securely tied to the bed and all the lines feeding her medication, food, and monitoring her heart rate were coming out of her body at her arms, chest, nose, and neck.

Nevada stood at the foot of the bed, taking in the feeble form of his Chiquita.

“Ay, Chiquita,” he mused, approaching the bedside.  He took her hand in his, placing his lips to it multiple times, “You can't give up on me just yet, mami.  Tenemos un varoncito, Mari…”

He pressed his forehead to her knuckles, feeling the tears escape his eyes when he sniffled, raising his eyes to her face.  His knees were already protesting, but in comparison to what he knew she’d endured, slight discomfort showing his age and lack of continuous exercise were the least of his concerns.

It felt like hours of him staring at the beauty of her face even through the stains of Ricky’s work when soft cooing and an apologetic remark caught his ears.  

He sniffled, following the noise with his head when he saw the nurse hauling in an acrylic box containing a small bundle of chunky joy.  He stood, placing one more kiss on Mariana’s hand as an added bonus.

The nurse accommodated the acrylic box next to Mariana’s bed away from the IV pumps and other staff’s general way.  She opened the side door, reaching inside for the baby to wrap him in the bili-blanket to maximize the results of the phototherapy.

“He already breastfed before we started her medications and he had his first bowels, so, little man is doing really great,” she turned, smiling at the stirring child in her arms.  “We let them have skin-on-skin contact for about an hour, hence the reason it took us so long to come fetch you.”

He let go of a long breath of air unaware of its presence when the nurse placed his son in his arms.  He hummed, watching the beautiful contours of his son’s face.  He saw resemblances of Mariana’s features staring back at him: from the color of his skin, to the pout of his lips.  Mesmerized by the beauty of his son, he almost missed the tap on his shoulder from the nurse offering him a comfortable chair so that he could sit and continue admiring the beautiful thing he’d helped bring to life.

“Por poco me matas, papito,” he mused, scoffing airily.

He smiled at his newborn son, running his thumb over the smooth flesh of his cheek.  The baby stirred, scrunching his face, and sneezing consecutively.

“Dios te bendiga,” he smiled, leaning forward to press his lips against his forehead.  He murmured his love for him, nuzzling his nose to the baby’s forehead, whispering a prayer over his son.

Nevada had never pegged himself a religious man, but more of a spiritual one.  He respected the teachings of the Church, the ones instilled in him as a young boy by his mother.  He proudly wore the gold cross gifted to him on the day of his thirteen birthday and whenever he played with lives too closely, forgot the teachings that his mother worked day and night for him to remember, he took time away on his knees, asking for forgiveness, and a little more clarity.

He knew the life he led was not ideal, but it had been fruitful.  

It’d help him provide for his family, not only his sister, but his extended family in the Dominican Republic.  And, now, with his son in his hands, and his Chiquita lying next to him, he knew that now more than ever, the need to work his ass off would quadruple and intensify.

The tip of the iceberg was what she knew—what everyone knew, but Nevada’s operation and connections ran deeper than that.  Two people in his entire operation knew how deep his hooks were in the city, the two people he trusted with his life, and the two people he would trust with their lives from now on.  

He’d made the mistake of not listening to her, of not allowing her to call her shots knowing that in the deepest existence of her body, all bells and whistles were going off when it came to Dylan Perrot, and that because of his mistake, he’d almost lost the love of his life without the chance of admitting his undying love for her.  In consequence, he’d endangered the life of his then unborn child… deliberately!  And for that, he’d never forgive himself.

Ten days it had been since the fateful night of the rescue and almost suicidal mission in Union City.  

Nevada had set up camp in a hotel a couple of blocks from the hospital.  He was there from the minute visitation started to the second it ended.  

The nurses knew when he was coming, they knew the way he wanted things, how he wanted things, and they knew that if he saw something out of line, something that was out of place, the never ending tongue lashings would be the best part of their shifts.

They had a schedule set, one that for the last ten days everyone had abided to.  

As soon as visiting hours started, Nevada would stroll in, without a word to anyone, and plant himself at Mariana’s bedside.  Once the nurse noticed his presence in her room, they’d go in, let him know of the findings and progress, and confirm her nightly bath.  If for any reason, the bath had not been completed, they’d assure him that it was the first thing on their to-do list once medication had been administered.  

Minutes later, they’d roll the baby in and a breastfeeding nurse would help him latch against Mariana.  All of the medication given had been cleared and safe for lactation, and once he was done, Nevada would burp him, and allow for skin-on-skin contact with his mother even if Mariana’s body remained unconscious.

She’d been free of sedation for six days, her body having flushed out all remaining harmful additives to her milk, and though still intubated, her reflexes and neurological responses were great, she just needed to wake up.

During quiet time, and after his feeding, they would take the baby back to the NICU.  He’d been off the bili-lamps and blanket, but remained under observation for slight elevation of heart rate.  Even though, hospital policy was for no visitors during quiet time, the nurses at the ICU where Mariana lain, allowed him to stay.  He was never a bother and he never disrupted their workload.

“Chiquita,” he rasped, her hand in his.  “Chiquita, stop being so fucking stubborn and open your eyes,” he scoffed ruefully, placing his lips to her knuckles.  “Papito needs you, I—” he stopped; feeling the way his heart hanged on by a thread at the thought of losing Mariana.

He squeezed her hand in his, groaning softly to prevent his sob to fill the room.  “I—” he sniffled, shaking his head.

He stood, lowering the bedside rail in order to hover over the still body of hers.  He pressed his lips to her temple, tipping his chin to press his forehead to the side of her head.  If he wanted her to wake up, then he’d coax her back to life.  He would speak the unspoken words that threatened each and every second to come out of his mouth by the mere thought of her existence.  He’d say the words like a prayer, a contract devoid of annulment until he’d gotten what he’d come looking for the past nine days: her eyes.

“I need you, Mari,” he whispered against her face.  “Te amo, Chiquita.  Te amo tanto…”

He sighed, pressing his lips to her brow, lingering at the spot until he felt her quiet stirring.

For her, it was like a large tunnel filled with echo.  She heard the words he’d whisper to her every day, she heard the plight of his voice, and she heard the cry of her child.  Now, she couldn’t discern what was real and what wasn’t, but the ache and discomfort she felt constricting her throat caused her eyes to shot open.

Nevada took a step back, “Mari, Mari—”

A cough broke through her, the vein in the middle of her forehead prominent with stress.  The breathing machine had begun blinking red, making the most harrowing sound that filled the room.  She attempted to raise her hands, but they’d been restrained as a precaution to prevent what could’ve happened had her hands been free of them.

The nurses were quick to enter the room. “What's going on here?” one of them asked with a small smile.

“I—” Nevada stumbled with his words, glancing at Mariana struggling to catch her breath.

Mariana continued coughing, her eyes bulging out of their sockets as she struggled to catch her breath.  Nevada stood to the side and watched, listening to how the nurses were begging her to relax and take it easy.

“We’re going to have to give an Ativan bolus,” the nurse said, looking over her shoulder to one of her coworkers.

Nevada sprung into action, “No!  No!  Let me try something.”

The nurses paused, stepping back quickly to allow Nevada to stand besides Mariana.  

Mariana was frantically scanning the room; only able to see the blurry, jumbled mess in front of her.  She couldn’t focus her eyesight on anything concrete.  The nurse’s face was unclear and she couldn’t hear over the blood rushing through her ears.  She was tugging at her restraints when one of her hands was finally freed from them, but it’d been stopped mid air by a pair of hands she thought she recognized.  She moved her head as carefully as possible, attempting to not stir further the discomfort in her throat.

“Mari, mami,” Nevada cooed, stepping closer to the bed to be in her line of sight.  “Chiquita, you—you’re at the hospital. You have a tube down your throat that’s helping you breathe, mami, pero you can’t pull it off.  I—I know, I know you want your hands free, but you have to promise me you’ll calm down, ok?”

The breathing machine lagged in its response, but it stopped its noise, just like the heart monitoring machine stopped its chirping.  The room became quieter; the only sounds now were the low murmuring of the nursing team, and Nevada’s heartbeat in his ears.

Mariana’s vision still hadn’t clear.  Not even after the fluttering blinking from her part.  She squeezed Nevada’s hand as he brought it to his mouth to place a kiss to her fingers.  She opened her hand, spreading her fingers along his jaw, flexing them to scratch at his beard.  He hummed, closing his eyes, and enjoying the feel of her hands against his face.

Her eyes watered because even though she could not see him well enough, she still knew it was he.  She would always know it was he.

A nurse placed her hand on his shoulder and he turned his head, “We’ve paged the doctor to see if we can get that tube out in the next couple of hours.  Keep her calm and with company, ok?”

Nevada nodded, turning to grab in both of his hands one of hers.  “Ay, mi Chiquita,” he breathed out.

A couple of hours indeed had gone by and Nevada decided to keep busy on the other side of the hospital where the NICU took place.  They’d kicked him out, respectfully so, and not being able to sit on his ass quietly for more than a few minutes at a time, he’d busied his time in visiting his son over in the NICU, and allowing Nina to sit with them as well.

Nevada had returned and was now sitting across a very animated Mariana bickering her way with a doctor.

“That’s still not answering the question of my supply, doctor.  Am I going to be able to breastfeed with this medication in my body?”

She sounded a little hoarse, but her… gumption and bravado seemed intact.  “Yes, Miss Santos.  We actually recommend labetalol for postpartum complications.  You wouldn’t be the first nor the last of my patients who’s suffered some mild complication… that isn’t easily fixed,” the doctor said with a smile.

Mariana sighed, leaning back against the elevated headrest, giving a nod and a shy smile.  “When can I eat?  And, I mean, real food.”

The doctor nodded, “Unfortunately, due to the stress the tube puts on your throat, we want to make sure you heal for at least twenty-four hours before you can eat or drink anything.  We are keeping the feeding tube until tomorrow, so we won’t completely starve you.”

“And, my vision?”

The doctor nodded and offered an apologetic smile.  “I understand that it’s been blurry since you woke, but that your left eye is back to normal, now?” Mariana nodded, fidgeting with her flat sheet.  The doctor sighed, tucking his arms in his white coat pockets, “There’s really nothing we can do about that, Miss Santos.  You suffered a concussion to the occipital region of your brain on the left side, which figures why your right eye is still struggling to catch up. You just have to relax and let your body do its job.”

Mariana nodded and had resulted to silence when Nevada piped up, “How long?”

“Anywhere from a couple of days to a couple of weeks.  We really do not know,” he offered simply.

“When can I—” Mariana’s musings had been put to a stop when the NICU nurse walked, rolling a fussy newborn baby in.

Nevada placed his coffee cup on the rolling tray lodged between Mariana’s bed and the chair as he stood, approaching the shrieking baby.  He thanked the nurse just as the doctor excused his self.  He bounced his knees, shushing his son lovingly, and placing a kiss to the baby’s cheek.

“Ready to meet our son?” Nevada asked with a smirk.

“Son?” Mariana said in a low gasp.  “Ian…”

“Matías Alexander Ramirez,” Nevada corrected.  “Meet the most incredible woman you’ll ever meet,” he finished, handing Mariana their son.

Mariana stretched her neck, waiting for Nevada’s impending kiss upon her lips.  As soon as skin-to-skin contact had been made, Matías sighed, opening his beautiful eyes to search his mother’s face.  

Mariana lowered the hospital gown at her shoulders.  “He prefers the right one,” Nevada said with a wink.

“Nevada,” Mariana warned, adjusting the baby to suckle with the nurse’s help and guidance.

Once Matías latched, Mariana sighed, feeling tears spring into her eyes.  She listened to the suckling noises he made, running her free hand through the soft jet strands on the baby’s head.  She saw as her teardrop startled Matías and she chuckled ruefully, wiping away the tear from his face.

“Seven pounds, thirteen ounces, and twenty inches of pure Ramirez,” Nevada gloated, sitting down on the recliner that had become his home throughout Mariana and Matías’ hospital stay.  Mariana smacked her teeth, unable to contain her happiness as she looked at him.  “I told you he likes the right one.”

“You would know,” she bit her lip, turning to face her child once more.  “Vada… ¡mira qué hermoso!”

“Tiene a quién salir,” he finished, tipping his chin in the air causing Mariana to giggle softly.

She was mesmerized by the beauty and easiness of the baby’s face.  What once seemed like a dream, something she’d thought she could have, but after having faced Ricky’s abuse had been torn from her life, seeing the miracle that was her son in her arms had made her particularly emotional.  It could’ve also been the fact that for a month, the uncertainty that clouded her mind every day on whether or not she would see this pregnancy through, or worst, the thought of her never getting the chance to meet her son, had her sitting with airs of elation.

She’d made good on the promise she’d made to her child: Nevada would get them out of there and they would be together once more.

She sighed, all love-filled, and she raised her elbow, allowing for greater reach and to place her lips upon Matías’ relaxed brow.

He was suckling contently, the veiny, thin flesh of his hooded lids protecting the beautiful shine of his eyes.  His tiny fists were tucked under his chin, yet it was the steady beating of his heart that most excited Mariana.  Being able to hold her child in her arms for the first time, to provide him that comfort, had her floating on cloud nine.

She turned towards Nevada with a smile, “What happened to Ian?  I thought we were set on Ian as a name.”

Nevada smirked, basking in her happiness.  “He was named Ian… for about two hours,” he smirked, biting his lip.  “Then, I stared at him, and he didn’t look like a Ian Ramirez, but Matías…” he clicked his tongue.  “Matías Ramirez es un hombre de palabra y autoridad… como su papá,” he finished with a wink.

Mariana shook her head, glancing down at Matías as he elicited a soft coo.  “Why Matías?” she asked, smiling down at her newborn.

“Gift of God,” Nevada looked at Mariana, thoroughly in love with her.  “Just like his mother.”

Mariana bit her lip, giving her newborn once more all the attention she harbored.

Nevada hummed; engulfed in all the love he had for the both of them.  “Chiquita,” he called out for her hearing her hum.  “Mírame,” he asked of her and once she smiled at him he admitted his love for her: “Te amo.”

Mariana’s smile grew on her face, biting her lip furtively, “Te amo, más, papi.”

tags: @bananas-pajamas​ @scarletsoldierrr​ @imjustreallynosy​ @katierpblogg​ @angelicdestieldemon​

[aquadestinyswriting]

Sharing is Caring

Summary: Dagrun and Gavid are being baby-sat by Hilde and Aurianna while Elowyn and Merri are working. Unfortunately, Gavid hasn’t quite grasped the concept of sharing yet and Dagrun just doesn’t want to.

words: 1,068

Warnings: None, unless you count the torture of poor Aurianna's ears.

Tags: @druidx, @strosmkai-rum, @homesteadchronicles

Notes: Dagrun would be Merri's little brother, who would be around 5 years old here and Gavid is her son who is around 2 and a bit. Hilde is Merri's older sister, who's been roped in to give her mum and sister a break ^_^;

“I wanna play wi’ bwock!”

“It’s ma block!”

“But I wantit!”

“Mama said not to snatch!”

Hilde rubbed her temple as the argument between her little brother and her nephew escalated. She had forgotten how...bratty the children of the Ironforge clan could be when they were this young. The head of a Woodling popped through the door, concern written over her features,

“Who’s getting kidnapped?” she asked. Hilde glanced over to her guest and shook her head,

“Nobody.” she replied shortly, “The weans are havin’ trouble sharin’ their toys.” At that moment, Gavid threw a toy cart that had been nearby at Dagrun, which hit the older child on the arm. Dagrun screamed at such a high pitch that Aurianna had to clap her hands over her ears. Hilde sighed, the last of her patience wearing thin,

“A’right, that’s enough, the pair o’ ye!” she snapped, striding over to the mat where the two dwarflets had been playing. She grabbed Gavid’s hand before he could pick up another item to throw, “Gavid! We do not throw our toys!” Gavid squirmed in his aunt’s grip, and started screaming as well,

“Nonono!” Hilde ignored the younger of the pair and rounded on Dagrun, who was wailing loudly and holding his arm,

“An’ you should ken better! The toys that have been left here are for ye both!”

“B… but I wis use… usin’ it first!” he bawled. Hilde growled,

“I dinna care who wis usin’ what first!” she snapped. She looked over to Aurianna, who was hovering in the doorway, “D’ye think ye can make sure that Dagrun’s arm’s alright, hen?” I’ve got ma hands full with this one.” she asked, nodding to Gavid, who was still squirming in his aunt’s grip and screaming his little head off at the restraint,

“Wanna play! Wanna play!” The younger dwarflet’s face was turning bright red and clashing with the strawberry blonde of his hair and fluffy scraps of beard. Aurianna nodded and strode over to Dagrun, gingerly taking his hand. The sandy-haired dwarflet sniffled and used his free arm to wipe his nose on the sleeve of his tunic as the dragon-come-woodling led him out of the sitting room and into the kitchen.

Hilde groaned, she was sure that babysitting hadn’t been this hard when she was younger and looking after Meredith and Dugal while they were still little. She yelped as she felt a sudden pinch in her hand and swivelled her head in time to see Gavid release his mouth from her wrist. His pudgy face was scrunched up in the unhappiest frown Hilde had seen yet, his eyes now turning slightly bloodshot because he had been crying so hard. Hilde took a deep breath through her nose, and closed her eyes,

“Moradin, give me strength.” she muttered, before glaring at the two year old, “Gavid, no! We do not bite!” she said sternly. Ignoring the defiant scream coming from the dwarflet, she picked him up with her free arm, “Right, since ye canna play nice, we’re gonna go an’ sit on the step.” Gavid kicked and let out another scream,

“No step! No step!” he wailed. Hilde ignored him and carried the squirming dwarflet to the hall, sat down on the third stair up and plonked her nephew down beside her, keeping a firm hand on his arm so he didn’t just run off. Aurianna poked her head through the kitchen door,

“If you like I can sit with him.” she offered, “Dagrun was fine, he just got a scare.” Hilde nodded,

“That’s something, but aye, if ye could keep this one here while I go and have a chat with ma wee brother.” Aurianna quickly scooted to the stair and took a hold of Gavid’s arm to allow Hilde to leave. The toddler attempted to climb from the stair he had been sat on, and screeched when Aurianna picked him up and put him back on.

“Wanna play!” he cried, starting to hiccough as he did. As soon as Hilde was through the door, Aurianna sighed, concentrated and changed into a slightly smaller version of her normal self. The dragon curled around the screaming child and rumbled a deep growl that shook the floor,

“Auntie Hilde said you needed to come to the step, Gavid.” she told him patiently, “You can’t play until you calm down.” When Gavid simply screamed in protest again, the gold dragon laid her head near his shoulder and started purring. After another few moments, Gavid had finally stopped screaming and sat down heavily, hiccoughing and sniffling,

“Want mama.” he keened. Aurianna moved her head a little closer so the child could lie on top of it. She glanced up at him,

“I know, mama will be home soon.” she assured the little boy, “Do you want to have a nap?” she asked. Gavid nodded, hugging the dragon’s head tightly and gripping some of the scales a little too hard. Aurianna gently lifted her head and allowed the sleepy toddler to slide off before she gingerly picked him up in her teeth, stood and deposited him on her back. Gavid mumbled sleepily as Aurianna gingerly moved into the sitting room, purring quietly to soothe the toddler into a proper sleep. Hilde looked up from her book and Dagrun from his puzzle as the gold dragon entered the room,

“Tired himself out then?” the older dwarf inquired. Aurianna nodded as she lay down near the fire, curled up and deposited Gavid on the floor next to her side,

“Yeah. All that tantruming really did a number on him.” she replied quietly. Hilde sighed,

“The joys o’ small children.” she grumbled, “Ach well, at least he’s asleep for now. He should be better behaved when he wakes up.” Aurianna looked down at Gavid,

“You wouldn’t think that such a small child could be so…” she trailed off. Hilde chuckled,

“Intense? Dwarf weans are at their worst from about two through to about seven years old. They’re too wee to really have a handle on their feelin’s yet. You should have seen some o’ Merri’s tantrums at that age. Gavid’s a total angel in comparison.” Aurianna gave the dwarven woman a scrutinising look, then shook her head,

“I’ll take you word for it.” she said, “In any case, we have at least an hour before this little one wakes back up, so we might as well enjoy the quiet.”

[uzumaki-rebellion]

“Wet Sugar” [Part 24 of 30]

"Every time I make a run, Girl you turn around and cry, I ask myself why oh why, See you must understand, I can't work a 9 to 5, So I'll be gone 'til November,

Said I'll be gone 'til November, I'll be gone' til November, Yo tell my girl I'll be gone 'til November, I'll be gone 'til November, I'll be gone 'til November, Yo tell my girl I'll be gone 'til November, Janurary, Feburary, March, April, May, I see you crying but girl I can't stay…"

Wyclef Jean – "Gone 'til November"

"Shh…don't move. Stay still…"

Erik looked down at Sydette who sat next to him hidden behind some large bushes.

Sydette rocked on her backside to move closer to him. She patted his arm.

"Mama coming?" she whispered.

"Yeah…here she comes. Shh…"

They both turned to peek through the leaves as they heard Yani walking down the path to the cove. Her head turned left and right as she tried to find any clues to where they were hiding. Sydette's right hand clutched at her mouth as she bounced next to him, her eyes shining with excitement.

"She can't see us…" Sydette said leaning into him.

"Nope."

Yani passed them by and Erik gave Sydette a high five.

"C'mon, let's go hide in another spot. Remember…quiet all the way baby girl."

He bent down and clasped her hand in his as they moved in stealth mode in the opposite direction.

"This time I want you to hide by yourself, okay?"

"'Kay," Sydette said looking up and watching his eyes with intense concentration.

"Look for a good place," he whispered.

"Like Jerome?"

"Yeah, like Jerome. So Mama can't see again…"

Erik watched Sydette scurry behind the bushes lined up against the wall that led up to the pool.

"Move back baby girl, I can still see your shirt and jeans."

Sydette scooted further back until he couldn't see her at all.

"Don't make a sound," he said moving away from her.

He walked up the stairs that led to the pool and positioned himself where he could see the bushes and the path that Yani would come up. Erik texted Yani to let her know that Sydette was hiding by herself around the middle house grounds.

He heard leaves rustling and soon Yani emerged from the hidden path. She looked around carefully and he allowed her to see him up at the pool area. She spent at least ten minutes walking around the entire area, and when she circled back around, she gave closer inspection to the bushes and trees around the pool wall. Yani looked up at him and shrugged her shoulders. Erik frowned and tilted his head. He leaned over the pool wall and looked down to where Sydette had chosen to hide. Yani saw his eyes look there and she took another peek.

"I can't find her," Yani said.

Erik walked down the steps and went directly to where he last saw her.

"She was right there," he said. He thought for sure her bright yellow shirt would give her away. Yani pushed plants and flowers aside and Erik scanned the area using his own keen skills.

"Killmonger…where is she?"

Yani's voice held a touch of panic.

"Sydette!" he called out.

"Sweet Pea!" Yani shouted.

They split up and searched section by section of the middle grounds, each tree, bush, and flowering plant.

"Let me go put some shoes on and we'll go back down toward the cove," Erik said jogging up the pool steps. Yani was right behind him. They rounded the pool and came to a halt when they heard soft giggles.

Eyes scanning the pool, they rested on a dirty pool towel tossed inside a large hamper.

Erik and Yani walked to the hamper.

"Sweet Pea?" Yani said.

They saw the hamper move slightly and more giggles erupted.

Erik lifted up the towel.

"Boo!" Sydette's big black eyes twinkled at them as she gave them another giggle fit after surprising them.

"Little gyal!" Yani said reaching down and lifting her daughter up.

Erik stared at Sydette flabbergasted. How the hell did she get past him without him noticing her moving and climbing into the hamper? He was standing less than ten feet away from the hamper.

"How come you didn't answer when I called?" Yani said.

"Baba say be quiet. So yuh can't find me."

Yani stared at Erik and he found himself grinning with pride. Stealth mode for real.

Erik glanced over the pool wall and tried to fathom how he didn't see her bright yellow shirt moving among the dark green plants or the slate gray stairs…

He looked at Sydette again. She wasn't wearing the shirt.

"Where's your shirt Sweet Pea?" Erik asked.

Rocking her little tan undershirt, Sydette pointed back at the hamper. Erik looked inside and saw her yellow shirt balled up. She had taken off her bright shirt and crawled through the bushes and right behind him blending into the background…

"I'll be damned…" Erik said staring at Yani.

"You have to answer me or Baba if we call you, okay?" Yani said.

Sydette nodded.

"Good job," Erik said giving Sydette another high five.

Sydette wiggled on Yani's hip until she was put back on the ground.

"Let's hide again, Baba," she said grabbing for Erik's hand.

"We have to go, Sweet Pea," Yani said.

"Find us Mama…Baba come on…"

Erik stared at the tiny viewscreen on his armband. The tracking device he had on Klaue was indicating a return.

"Hey Sweet Pea, it's time to go. Baba has to work," he said.

Yani glanced at his face.

"Klaue and them are on their way back," he said.

He gave a weary sigh and reached out to give Yani a hug.

"I can come over later tonight if you can swing it," he said.

"Nannette is having her study group come over tonight and I have to watch the girls. I wish I could."

"How late?"

"I don't know. I can get away tomorrow for a few hours after four—"

"I'll be with Klaue then…shit…"

He looked back down at Sydette. Holding his hands out for her, he lifted the girl up.

"Time to go baby girl."

Sydette's face twisted up and they both heard the whine in her throat.

"I wahn play more," she said.

"Another time."

They headed up to the compound entrance. Leona saw them and came out of the front house to greet them.

"On your way out?" she asked.

Her hands stroked Sydette's back as she rested on Erik's hip.

"Yeah," Yani said.

Leona glanced at Erik.

"They're on their way," he said.

"I better get dinner started early then. You men act like starving wild beasts when yuh leave here and return after a few hours."

Leona headed back inside the front house. They could hear Cee Cee calling out to Leona for assistance.

"Klaue won't be upset that I brought her here?" Yani asked.

"Nah. I stopped the security feed. I'll turn it back on when you leave."

"You sure?"

"Don't worry about it."

She nodded and gave him a warm smile.

"Today was fun. You have fun, Sweet Pea?" Yani asked Sydette.

"Yes."

"I'll call you," he said.

Yani took Sydette from his arms.

"Bye Baba."

Erik gave Sydette a kiss on the cheek and watched Yani itch to kiss him too. He kissed her forehead and felt her lean into him wanting more. The struggle was real. He was trying his best to wean himself from her. And that included not being overly affectionate with her. Hugs and quick kisses on the cheek or forehead were his cut off points.

"They will be here soon, Yani," he said.

"Maybe we can get together later this week? Go out to eat…?"

He nodded, not making any verbal promises.

It had been so hard for them to see each other.

Klaue had them on an accelerated work schedule. Free time was at a premium and unfortunately, it never matched up with Yani's schedule. Their get-togethers were Disney-rated because it was always with Sydette present. Erik didn't mind. He was happy to spend as much time as he could with them both and it was easier to be with Yani if they kept things platonic. The moment Klaue gave the word, they would be heading to Sweden to hide out. Erik's Aunt Serah had sent an urgent and private message to him weeks earlier letting him know that the British Museum would be getting the first viewing of ancient East African art pieces at the end of the year. Art pieces that spanned the time period he was looking for and also the tribal affiliations he was after. He and Klaue wanted to be in striking distance. They were still baiting Agent Ross from the C.I.A.

Klaue made the brash decision to tell Ross that he had a large chunk of vibranium to sell when they did not have any more surplus in their possession. The man was sent a minuscule sample to make it look like they had some, but Erik was worried that Klaue would get caught up in the C.I.A. scheme and forget the plans to go back into Wakanda. It was truly difficult keeping the man focused. And even more difficult for Erik not to kill him. Something was going on with Klaue. He was brasher and more erratic than usual, changing his mind every other day and cursing his crew when they pointed out any contradictions or oversights in his plans. Most of the head-butting came from Erik, but he did his best to keep even-keeled. He couldn't afford to lose Klaue's trust and confidence. Linda was in Erik's corner, but even she couldn't get a handle on Klaue's behavior. The man acted like he was a God who couldn't be stopped. Especially with his new arm and the power he held within it.

Erik watched Yani drive away from the compound and the weight of the world returned to his shoulders. Being with her and Sydette lightened the days for him, and each time they left his side, the gulf of what was to come only grew wider.

Erik focused on breathing and he went into his bedroom to take some medication. Stress was eating him hollow. One of the last times Erik saw his child therapist Dr. Davis was right before his father died. His parents had reunited after a trying separation and he couldn't process all the feelings he had. His brain couldn't turn off. Dr. Davis explained to him that he was caught in a loop. His anxiety had him thinking about the future and worrying about his parents staying together, and his depression had him caught in the past still coming to terms with his Aunt Lia's assassination in front of him. He had to learn how to live in the moment, especially the good ones. That's what he tried to do with Yani and Sydette.

Stay focused on the sweet limited moments he had left with them.

Like playing hide and seek.

Listening to the precious laughter coming from his Sweet Pea knowing how close they were to losing her.

Seeing the smile on Yani's face when he snuck away to meet up with her in her university parking lot to bring her a surprise lunch.

Hearing Yani's voice singing made-up lyrics in her apartment to an old track his ex Disa had made from one of her d.j. mixes from his M.I.T. days.

Eating oxtails or stew chicken with Yani in her apartment as rain showered around outside as she told him stories about her life as a young girl being wild with Twyla.

He had to stay in the now.

Keep his thoughts away from their past beginning or shooting far ahead into the future when he would be on another plane to his destiny.

###

Klaue's eyes looked irritated.

Erik stood next to him in the living room of his main house as they stared at the wall viewscreen.

"This Ross prick is stringing me along," Klaue grumbled.

"I don't know why he's trippin'. He has a real sample of vibranium, so he knows we're legit. I smell a setup." Erik said.

"Let's sell to another buyer, fuck the C.I.A.," Linda quipped.

Her impatience at being on the island was wearing thin. Erik suspected it was more than just the waiting around. The island was a playground for the other mercs, they were happy to hang and wait.

Linda was annoyed at him.

Because of Yani.

For someone who prided herself on being the end all to be all, Linda was beginning to act like a jilted Ex with Erik. After drinking with the guys, she tried to tag along with him on one of his late-night runs off the compound but he refused her.

"Sneaking to see the cleaning lady," she said with a bite in her tone.

He didn't confirm or deny what he was doing, but she knew.

"So typical," she tossed at him.

"What's your problem?"

"You men and the low-level shit you settle for—"

"Mind ya business—"

"I thought you were better than that."

Erik jumped in her face.

"Fucking watch your mouth."

"Got a diamond in front of you but you go for the—"

"Understand something-"

"Please-"

"Focus on Klaue and not my dick. Got it?"

"Think I'm concerned about your—"

"You funny. Seems like you worried about someone else's shine being brighter than yours."

"You're not the only man around here you know."

"Then go get you some dick."

He walked past her and she grabbed at his arm. Her legs were shaky and she kept smoothing her hair back the way she did when she was one drink away from being sloppy drunk.

"Killmonger…wait…don't go. Stay here and have a drink with me. Smoke a little herb."

"No time for that."

"I just want to talk with you. We haven't hung out and talked in a long time…like we did in Jo'burg…remember? The guys here are boring."

She slinked up to him, her voice a seductive purring in his ear.

"Not tonight. I gotta go girl."

"That bitch…" she mumbled.

He could've snatched her up by her neck and throttled her. Backhanded the shit out of her for disrespecting Yani, but Linda would like that. Think he was being his usual dominant self and find it a turn on. It would make her come at him harder. He just glared at her. She wasn't worth the trouble. But he didn't want to alienate her and maybe cause her to leave the team. He needed her around. For a little while longer before he cut her loose.

"Tomorrow night. Some pool and good weed," he said, knowing Klaue had plans for them and he could blame the man for when they couldn't chill together. A sly smile painted her lips.

"Alright," she said stepping back from him, "go do your slumming tonight, but I'm holding you to tomorrow."

The fake smile he gave her pleased her and she sauntered away like she had won something.

Staring at her on the couch, her focus was on the work and not him.

"The C.I.A. will pay the most," Klaue said.

"What about…?" Erik stared at Klaue.

"Not those fuckers," Klaue said.

"Hey, the enemy of your enemy," Erik suggested.

"Who are you talking about?" Linda asked.

"H.Y.D.R.A," Klaue spat.

Erik glanced over at Linda.

"Another greedy group trying to take over the world…the usual bullshit. There's always some organization wanting to be the big swinging dick. They just a bit more ruthless," Erik said. Linda's lips puckered up.

"Sell to as many who want to buy, that's what I say. Klaue, is there a time limit you're shooting for? If the C.I.A. is stringing us along, and this H.Y.D.R.A. is sketchy too, who else can buy the vibranium quickly for your asking price?"

"I've got other options, but I need the C.I.A. in my pocket. Things are afoot my friends. I've got some other deals brewing in Eastern Europe, so we'll be busy in Sweden, but I have to have Ross," Klaue said.

"What about Wakanda?"

Erik let his father's homeland settle on the open air. Klaue's eyes regarded his with annoyance.

"We'll get there."

"When?"

"Wakanda is not Angola or South Africa. It's not Nigeria or the Congo. You need to comprehend the amount of pre-planning we have yet to begin in order to get into that place. That country is beyond anything your mind can conceive."

"Then we need to work on it now. We have time. I've made you weapons. I've made you money. I'm ready to move on that place—"

"You don't run this show, Killmonger! I do!"

Linda flinched when Klaue shouted at Erik. Erik stared at the man without backing down.

"You've been running a shitshow the last few weeks—"

A streak of blue heat shot past Erik's head and destroyed a drum fixed on the wall behind him. Klaue's wild eyes ogled Erik, but Erik wasn't fazed by the behavior. Klaue stood with his weaponized arm stretched out.

"That shit won't last forever. Eventually, it will run out of energy and what do you have to replace it? Nothing. Want to try for the drum on the other side? Or maybe the masks hanging above me?"

"Killmonger…don't…" Linda whispered. Her back was pressed harder into the couch. The stench of incinerated wood and ancient goatskin singed their nostrils.

"You know I'm right. Stop fucking around and let's get cracking on Wakanda. I'm ready. You're ready too. We just need to focus on it with the time we have now."

"You're such a brazen bastard, you know that Killmonger? I could blow your head off—"

"Then do it. Be about it."

"Jesus, Killmonger, don't goad him," Linda hissed, her eyes watching Klaue's arm shut itself down.

"He won't kill me. He needs me. And I need him. Ain't that right, Klaue?"

A smirk dragged across Klaue's mouth.

"I might just kill you after Wakanda. What do you think of that?"

"Not if I kill you first."

Linda stood up.

"Clearly this meeting is adjourned for the night. Ciao, gentlemen."

"Sit down, I was just joking with him," Klaue said walking over to his globe liquor bar.

He poured himself a shot of scotch and poured another for Erik.

"Drink up you smug bastard," he said.

Erik took the drink and gulped it down.

"Only you have the balls to talk to me like that with shit blowing up all around you."

"I'm 'bout that work. Not the bullshit. I came into this game with you to get to Wakanda. Get my hands on a motherlode."

"You'll have it. I promise. But those Wakandans…those savages…you have to be more ruthless and more cunning to outsmart them."

Klaue's eyes swept over Erik's face. He drank down his scotch.

"You're right. We need to go there soon. We start planning once we get to Sweden."

"Bet."

Klaue wandered off to his room in the back. Linda crept over to Erik and he poured her a drink.

"Why do you push him?" she asked.

"Because I can."

"He's unstable when he drinks. You know that. He could've killed you."

"He won't."

"Let's make our money in one piece, okay? Without antagonizing him."

Erik poured more scotch into her glass and his own.

"Chill," he said.

"You chill."

He slapped her on her butt.

Keep her close.

Comfortable.

He let his hand squeeze her ass again as he pushed up on her. He felt her breathy sigh blow on his cheek. He slapped her butt again. Linda punched his arm and he winked at her. She relaxed.

The way he needed her to.

###

He stood in the parking lot waiting for Yani. Right next to her car. He saw her walking toward him.

"Is that a Grand House Ceasar Salad?" she asked.

"With the champagne dressing and cheese biscuits," Erik said.

Yani jumped for joy and ran to him grabbing the large brown bag he carried. She grabbed his hand and pulled him toward an open area where there were benches to sit where she could eat her lunch.

She tucked into her salad wasting no time drowning it with the dressing and smacking her lips over the biscuits. She tried to keep from spilling anything on her steel blue nursing uniform.

"I needed this…Jesus…classes were intense this morning…and I have to tell you about volunteering at the hospital…."

She wolfed down her meal and Erik watched her while eating one of her cheese biscuits. His mood lately had been quiet. Contemplative. They interacted as affectionate best friends and that was hard for her. She knew why he did it. Trying to make their upcoming separation easier for her. But it was doing the opposite.

Once she finished eating, she drank up the soda he brought with her food.

"Tell me about the hospital," he asked.

Yani held the cola can against her chest.

"Oh…the babies…they are so tiny. Dr. Candace has me spend two hours on the preemie ward and I just hold them against my chest. They don't even feel real to me. When I had Sweet Pea, she was so big and plump, even at seven pounds, but these babies…like fragile tiny dolls. So small…but they have the fight to live in them. I held a little boy that squirmed on my chest the whole time I had him, and I could almost see through his skin. Next Saturday I will observe the critical care unit for children again and shadow Dr. Candace's colleague there."

"Which do you like better?"

"Mmm, maybe the critical care unit. I can talk to the children and I like the different ages. There's a lot more to do there because of the different needs. Most of the time in the preemie ward I am sitting and holding the babies quietly."

Her mind went to her morning class and she grew quiet.

"What?" he asked.

"We're doing an Intro to Epidemiology unit in one of my classes and since Sydette was ill and Star passed…I think I'm interested in studying diseases. I've been reading a lot into that, and I think I want to move into that field."

Erik nodded his head encouraging her thoughts.

"I want to work with babies and children so I have to figure out what will make me happy. That virus came through the island so fast and so deadly. A lot of the islands were hit hard and were so unprepared throughout the Caribbean."

She crushed up her soda can and put it inside the brown bag her salad came in.

"Seems like school has you beyond excited."

"I'm having so much fun! My mind is soaking up everything and Dr. Candace has become a great mentor to me."

"Black women uplifting other Black women."

"She is from here, unlike some of the other doctors, so she really understands the needs of our people. You know what she told me last week?"

"What?"

"She thinks I should consider becoming a doctor again. She says I have an affinity for medicine and the smarts to be a doctor. I thought it was too late to dream that big again, but…"

"Hey…Yani…," Erik stroked her back.

Yani wiped her eyes. The unexpected tears surprised her.

"I used to think I was a failure for giving up Uni after getting pregnant. My parents and a lot of my family made me feel like it was too late to have that. But now…to have a doctor tell me to my face that I have what it takes to be like her, another Black woman doctor…mi feel like anything is possible again."

Erik pulled her in for a hug.

"I know you can do it," he whispered in her ear.

"Now I believe it too," she said.

She wiped her eyes again and leaned back from him. Glanced at her wristwatch view screen.

"I need to get to my next class."

Erik took her trash and tossed it in a waste receptacle near the bench. She reached out and touched his hair.

"Getting so full," she said.

"I want to loc it back up again."

"I can do that. Come by tonight?"

"Can't."

"Tomorrow night?"

"Maybe."

"Chez is taking Sweet Pea to his mother's church for a gospel fest. I can do your hair at my place uninterrupted. Nannette will be around, but she always stays in her room watching her tv shows."

Yani didn't want to sound desperate, but she wanted to be alone with him. Even if it was just to do his hair for him. She needed to touch him. She leaned in to kiss him and he accepted her lips. He allowed her to throw her arms around him and she nuzzled her face against his neck. He smelled like expensive aftershave.

"Get back to class," he said pulling away from her.

"Thank you for lunch."

"See ya later, Dr. Galiber."

Yani smiled and he gave her some dimples with his grin.

He kissed her cheek and she walked away from him. Stomach happy. Heart slightly heavy.

"Yani."

She turned to look at him.

"I'll come by tomorrow."

Her face beamed and she had to stop herself from skipping away from him like a little school girl.

The rest of her day sped by fast, her brain filled with facts and ideas and a need to do more personal research on viruses and bacteria and public health policies.

Sydette had a great day at daycare and Yani treated her daughter to ice cream before dinner. Back at their apartment, Yani packed Sydette a little overnight bag to give to Chez. He would take her with him to stay with his mother after the gospel fest. Yani would be able to sleep in an extra hour Thursday morning because Chez would drop Sydette off at daycare for her.

She fell asleep on her couch with her laptop glowing in front of her face with completed homework sent to her teachers and Sydette snoozing right next to her.

###

"What are you doing?"

Erik's voice was curious as he watched Linda standing in the middle of Klaue's living room. He caught her staring at the floor.

"Just admiring the tile. Seems discolored in some places."

"Grout cleaner probably discolored some of it,' he said walking past her.

He opened up the globe liquor bar and poured himself a bourbon on the rocks.

"Want one?" he asked.

"No. Trying to keep this tummy down," she said patting her flat stomach, "been overindulging a little too much. Drying out."

Erik sipped and her eyes dragged over him. She studied him.

"What do you know about Wakanda?" she asked.

The wall view screen popped on when she waved her hand over the power source and a map of Africa filled out his vision. Linda swiped the screen and East Africa came up in sharp 3D relief.

"About as much as you," he said.

Linda glanced behind her to see if Klaue was in earshot.

"It's land-locked. Not really on anyone's radar…"

"And?"

"How does a poor country with no real GNP and an unknown resource it doesn't harness have complicated security monitoring? I can't hack into any computer source around it or inside of it. It has a powerful blackout network that I can't crack. And you know I can get into anything anywhere if given enough time. I've spent two months trying to find a way in. Klaue says that it is a powerful place. I thought he was exaggerating, but now…this is some next level shit, Killmonger. Vibranium is just the tip of the iceberg. Who are these people…for real?"

"The future, Ma. The future."

Linda's eyes regarded him to assess if he were truly serious. He didn't flinch.

"How the hell is our skeleton crew going to go up against that?"

"We're not going to war. Just taking vibranium."

"I didn't sign up for a suicide mission."

"You signed up to make bank. So make bank."

Her eyes were wary.

"Does he still have the Kabul goods?"

Erik stayed silent.

"That's why he has you here for the long term."

"Wakanda is not a suicide mission."

Linda's eyes gazed at the map. She outlined Wakanda with her hand.

"Wakanda is my last big job. After that, I'm out. Retiring," he said.

"You retire? You love this shit. You were made for this shit."

"I'm done after that place. On God."

"On God? Hmmm. You must be serious."

Her eyes flitted about the room before she walked over and made herself a drink.

Erik turned off the view screen and stepped out onto the balcony. Closing his eyes, he listened to the surf down below rush in. The liquor coursing through his veins warmed up his insides as a cool breeze tickled his skin.

Retire.

Right.

The soldier in him had to stay vigilant.

"I'm so ready for Helsingborg," Linda said.

She stood next to him and watched the water.

"You'll miss all of this, won't you?"

"I lived well here," he said.

"Suits you. Sun. Surf. Someone to cater to your needs all day. Cooking your food. Cleaning your housing. La dolce vita."

"Life is sweet here."

He felt her eyes on him, but he concentrated on the view in front of him. His cell vibrated. He ignored it while Linda stood there. The gentle ping on the intercom system notified them all that dinner was ready.

Erik walked with Linda up to the front house and found the other men there already surrounding the dining table and drinking heavily. The energy was festive and relaxed. A change of pace from the last few weeks of tension and shutting down operations in St. Thomas. He watched Leona and Cee Cee place trays of meat and vegetables on the serving tables and the motley crew fixed their plates.

Erik didn't participate in any conversations and ate his food fast. He wanted to get to Yani. He was eager to feel her fingers on his scalp. When dessert was brought out, Erik made his leave.

###

Yani dipped her finger in the fresh loc butter she brought from Twyla's house. It smelled like lemon cookies, and she kept her nose in the jar until Killmonger walked into her apartment. His hair was freshly washed and she had him sit on the floor between her thighs. The heat from his body warmed up her legs. She wore black shorts and made sure her legs were shaved and smoothed in cocoa butter.

She sectioned his hair and massaged the loc butter into his scalp and onto the ends of his strands.

"Smells good," he said.

"How thick you want them?"

"Same as before."

She started at the front of his scalp, palm rolling the soft texture of his hair and clipping the new locs to the side. When she got to the patch of red hair on his scalp, she took her time there and created three locs. One for him, one for his mother, and one for his father. She clipped the birthmark strands and his head turned up to look at her. She bent down and kissed his cheek. He closed his eyes and she moved her lips to his mouth. Her tongue licked the seam of his mouth and his lips parted. The tip of his tongue darted out and touched hers and she sucked on it eagerly and moved her upper body down closer to his. Erik reached up and touched her neck before pushing back and allowing her to continue palm rolling.

His head slumped forward and his breathing was relaxed and deep. His hands reached around her ankles and rubbed her feet as she finished up the back of his head.

"You sleep?" she asked.

"Nah."

"Almost done."

She unclipped his hair and finger-combed the new locs back. She spritzed it with some floral-scented distilled water.

Yani passed him a hand mirror and he stared at her work.

"Looks good."

He pulled a wave cap from his back pocket and she helped place it over his hair. He leaned back into her thighs and rested his face on her right one. He kissed the inner flesh there and she felt a giddy fluttering in her belly.

"Kendall has a show this weekend. A promo party for his new EP. You want to come?"

"When is it?"

"This weekend."

"If I can get away, yeah."

Yani glanced at her cell phone when she saw it light up on the end table. She read the text Chez sent her and cracked up laughing.

"Lookie, Killmonger. Chez says Sweet Pea is trying to play Hide and Seek in the church right now."

She held her phone out to him and he saw the picture Chez sent. Sydette was under a pew.

"Getting her dress all dirty. See what you started," Yani said.

Killmonger grinned and handed her phone back. He checked his watch.

She held onto his shoulders.

"You have to go back?"

"Nah, just checking the time. When is Nannette coming back?"

"I don't know."

She felt nervous. Jumpy. Fearful that he would leave.

Switching channels on her tv, she found a show she liked and moved back into the couch. He moved to sit next to her and she leaned into him. He settled down more and threw his arm around the back of the couch. She lost interest in the show and glanced at his face. He seemed to enjoy what he saw. She stroked his thigh.

"Killmonger…why won't you touch me anymore?"

"I touch you—"

"You know what I mean."

"Told you…surface level."

"I don't want that. I know you think it's to help me get over you. But it won't. I want to be with you… in all ways."

His eyes focused on her chin and not her eyes.

"It hurts me not to be the way we used to. I crave everything about you. Don't you miss me too? Touching me like this?"

She reached out and placed his left hand on her breast. His fingers clutched at the soft cotton of her shirt and the fullness of her.

"Mi still yuh sugah, yeah?"

His breath sped up and he squeezed her breast.

"Yani…"

She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him with everything she had.

"Baby…"

His hands snaked around her waist as she bounced on him.

"Yuh miss me?" she whispered in his ear. Her tongue darted along the shell and the groan from his mouth made her bolder. She pulled off her shirt and let her breasts bounce in his face.

"Shit!"

Erik's eyes watched her tits and she felt the swelling from his dick under her mound. Winding her hips, Yani slowed down her movement.

"Love me?" she asked.

His dick jumped under her and he thrust up.

"Tryna make me cum in my pants again."

Erik stood up and she wrapped her legs around him. He walked them into her bedroom where he released her. They undressed and crawled onto her bed.

His mouth was on her neck when she heard Nanette enter the apartment.

"Yani!"

"I'm in my room studying."

Erik pressed his mouth into her neck to muffle the laugh that bubbled out of him.

"My sister is with me. We have some take out, you want some?" Nannette said.

"No, I'm not hungry…thank you…oooh…"

Yani's hands shot out around Erik's neck. His erection separated her sticky folds and she lost her breath for a moment.

Nanette and her sister moved around in the living room and her daughter ran around in the next room playing with her toys.

Erik lifted up Yani's legs and drilled down into her pussy. They both tried to keep quiet, but Erik's pants were so loud in her ear. She gasped and clutched at his back, clawing his skin, his muscles moving beneath her fingers. The firm scars all over his traps anchored her even though he was making her bed move. The headboard clanked against the wall. Erik reached up and held onto the metal bar headboard, his thighs widening as he shifted above her. His dark brown eyes watched her face as she tried to keep quiet.

"Fuck me…" she gasped.

His eyes narrowed and became more intense.

"Pussy so wet…fuck…I love that sound," he groaned.

Yani didn't know what was more erotic, Erik's facial expressions and soft moans trying to keep quiet, or her own breathy pants. The more they kissed, the tighter her pussy felt surrounding his length.

The loud babble of Nannette and her sister and the banging of toys on the floor in the next room swirled around them. It didn't matter though, she and Erik only heard each other. Yani lifted her legs higher around Erik's waist, wanting him deeper and harder inside of her.

"I'm not pulling out!" Erik groaned in her ear.

He held still and Yani felt his heavy dick pulsing inside her pussy. His cum shot deep inside of her thick, raw, and hot. A sharp cry flew out of Yani's mouth when she felt her orgasm spasm around Erik's rigid length. He kissed her to keep their noise down but his mouth on hers only made her want more.

Erik's cell buzzed. He ignored it until the third buzzing made him pick it up. Yani tucked the bed covers under her neck as she watched him. His face changed from sated bliss to uncertainty.

"What is it?" she asked.

He put the phone on the nightstand and fell back on the bed.

"Killmonger?"

He turned to face her.

"We're moving out."

###

Chapter 25 Here.

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