"Okay." Reaching over, he works Beth Junior's hand away from Beth's, pleased as hell that he's able to do it without waking her up. She's his favorite party crasher, actually, and he wouldn't have it any other way. "One sleeping party crasher goes to bed." Holding her carefully -- he's nowhere near real comfortable with her in his arms yet, but he's getting there -- he presses a kiss to her forehead, then sets her in the basket and tucks the blanket around her. For a moment he just stands there watching her, pride kind of pouring out from every crevice.
Then he sets the swing's motion on very, very slow, and he's glad for whatever technology makes it measured and absolutely silent. It's just like someone's rocking her back and forth, back and forth; she bunches up a tiny perfect fist and moves the knuckles to her mouth, sleeping contentedly.
She's... as perfect a baby as Beth is a woman, and he's pretty damn honored to be able to share this time with them. After too long a moment where it's evident his heart's been stolen, he moves to sit next to Beth thinking that living above a bar that serves the best food in the universe 24x7 -- or however time works here -- is a hell of a benefit for new parents.
Plus, it's their anniversary; he unfolds a cloth napkin and, with a flick of his wrist, pulls a perfectly fragrant yellow-and-green Martian flower (a "Crater Tuberose" according to the book) out of it, tucking it into Beth's hand. "Oh, hey, look at that." Like he didn't know it was there; he just likes to see the way her eyes light up when he does that shit. "Your napkin, ma'am. And a plate for you, and your food... and what'll it be? A glass of..." He reaches for the bottle and reads the label. "...what do you know? It's a New France Pinot Noir, 2069 vintage. Or some sparkling water. Or both. Or neither, and damn, are you beautiful."
The food almost doesn't matter; he could just drink her in instead and live on love.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2006-09-25 04:41 am (UTC)Then he sets the swing's motion on very, very slow, and he's glad for whatever technology makes it measured and absolutely silent. It's just like someone's rocking her back and forth, back and forth; she bunches up a tiny perfect fist and moves the knuckles to her mouth, sleeping contentedly.
She's... as perfect a baby as Beth is a woman, and he's pretty damn honored to be able to share this time with them. After too long a moment where it's evident his heart's been stolen, he moves to sit next to Beth thinking that living above a bar that serves the best food in the universe 24x7 -- or however time works here -- is a hell of a benefit for new parents.
Plus, it's their anniversary; he unfolds a cloth napkin and, with a flick of his wrist, pulls a perfectly fragrant yellow-and-green Martian flower (a "Crater Tuberose" according to the book) out of it, tucking it into Beth's hand. "Oh, hey, look at that." Like he didn't know it was there; he just likes to see the way her eyes light up when he does that shit. "Your napkin, ma'am. And a plate for you, and your food... and what'll it be? A glass of..." He reaches for the bottle and reads the label. "...what do you know? It's a New France Pinot Noir, 2069 vintage. Or some sparkling water. Or both. Or neither, and damn, are you beautiful."
The food almost doesn't matter; he could just drink her in instead and live on love.
(Almost, but not quite. He's really hungry.)