not_that_spike | (no subject)

There's moments like this where things are just so damn priceless, so precious: he and Beth are sitting in bed together, their backs propped up by an ocean of pillows. His knees are up and Beth Junior's resting against his legs. He's got both of the baby's hands in his or, really, she's got both his index fingers in her little fists, waving back and forth. Every little thing she does is kind of amazing. It's almost imossible to think of her being any older than she is right this moment, but he knows it'll seem like only moments have flown by once she's crawling or talking or walking, and then memories of days like this will become fuzzy and far away.

That's just kind of the way it goes. He leans over to press a kiss to the side of Beth's face; little Beth's grip on his fingers doesn't loosen even a fraction. Turning his attention back to Junior, his eyes soften and he gives her a little grin.

"Hey, Junior. Guess what? I love your mom." Leaning into Beth, his smile widens. Beth and Beth: he's got one hell of a good deal all the way around.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Show is almost always better than tell, especially when it involves Beth. He sure as shit doesn't have a single damn complaint.

Later, they do something they haven't done in a long, long time: just sit on that big easy chair by the bedside and hold each other. Just cuddle peacefully, and it's almost like the contentment of the earlier moments with Junior all smiles have washed over, painted the room in softness, in satisfaction, in this easy moment of no worries, no need to rush, none of that shit. It's just the two of them in a bare minimum of clothes, Beth on his lap, her arms around his neck and his around her waist.

If he could bottle the moment, he would. Maybe it will show up in that crystal sometime when he looks at it: it'll make him smile with satisfaction, smile with the memory. Even the baby is obliging: she sleeps for an hour and a half before waking with a little murmur and a sleepy yawn and half a cry before Beth unwraps from around him and picks her up. Her voice is a quiet, private murmur between mother and daughter.

In the comfort of the chair he stretches out his legs onto the bed and closes his eyes, just listening.

Just listening, because there's no sweeter sound anywhere than Beth's voice. And with his eyes closed he can imagine everything they're doing: the little dance when she holds her, the sounds of a diaper being changed, the way Beth coos over the baby so happily and quietly. His eyes don't open until he feels Beth settling on the bed: feeding time. It's hard for him to even think about putting what this whole thing means to him into words of any kind -- even for himself -- so he doesn't bother. Instead, he slides onto the bed next to them.

In a nice, roundabout way, the evening's come full circle: this is where they started. And if they're lucky, they might even get more toothless baby smiles.

Hell, they're lucky no matter what. The rest of the night will do whatever it's supposed to do but for just this moment, it all feels pretty damn perfect.

Love you. And you. In a little while he'll get dressed and go downstairs and bring back some food for himself and Beth but for now... he could just melt. Sometimes the things he doesn't know he wants are the best and most unexpected, and there's no way in hell he's getting up and moving right now.

Not a single damn chance.