"Hmm." He taps his index finger to his lips, all mock thoughtfulness. "On second thought, I think you know way more than the book, and your delivery's a hell of a lot less... dry." The picture's ready now; he hands it to her to look at. "My angel and my princess together in a rocking chair. It's kind of perfect, Beth."
The whole thing's kind of perfect. It's just about exactly halfway between life above the bar and life in that little house on Venus and, realistically, they probably won't see Venus again unless something drastic happens or things change in a big way; he's not going to risk opening that front door at the bar to walk into some hail of gunfire or worse, the end of Vicious's katana. Not unless he develops a sudden and irrevocable death wish and that's something he can't see happening. No, he still wants to make good on that every-day-a-honeymoon ideal he pledged to her on Europa, even if she doesn't know he did it or doesn't take it seriously or whatever: he does.
He's bringing the heaviest stuff next, before he gets tired: books and ammo and shoes, things like that. Two boxes at a time: he can do that. Leaning forward, he kisses little Beth on the forehead then gives Beth a regulation really nice kiss.
And a second and a third because these things are always better in threes; they've proven that time after time after time. If the baby was asleep right now...
Behave, cowboy. With a wink he's gone, and it's not too long before he's back with the two heaviest boxes (Beth and Junior are still in the rocking chair) and the next two (they're looking out the bedroom window onto a courtyard and garden and damn if it's not one of the nicest views he's seen out a window in a long time) and the two after that (Beth's laying Junior down in her crib, surrounded by her toy Swordfish and favorite blanket) before he decides to give it a little rest: he's almost halfway there with the boxes.
He waits patiently -- that hasn't always been his strong suit, but Junior's taught him a lot about that -- and listens to Beth singing the baby to sleep to the tune of some song that has and the songbirds keep singing like they know the score, and I love you, I love you, I love you like never before in it. It's a hell of a sweet and private moment; he almost feels like a Peeping Tom but not quite. They've done this together, all three of them, for three months now. It'll be nice for Junior to be in a bigger bed and he's glad as hell this place moves his angel to sing.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2006-12-23 05:34 am (UTC)The whole thing's kind of perfect. It's just about exactly halfway between life above the bar and life in that little house on Venus and, realistically, they probably won't see Venus again unless something drastic happens or things change in a big way; he's not going to risk opening that front door at the bar to walk into some hail of gunfire or worse, the end of Vicious's katana. Not unless he develops a sudden and irrevocable death wish and that's something he can't see happening. No, he still wants to make good on that every-day-a-honeymoon ideal he pledged to her on Europa, even if she doesn't know he did it or doesn't take it seriously or whatever: he does.
He's bringing the heaviest stuff next, before he gets tired: books and ammo and shoes, things like that. Two boxes at a time: he can do that. Leaning forward, he kisses little Beth on the forehead then gives Beth a regulation really nice kiss.
And a second and a third because these things are always better in threes; they've proven that time after time after time. If the baby was asleep right now...
Behave, cowboy. With a wink he's gone, and it's not too long before he's back with the two heaviest boxes (Beth and Junior are still in the rocking chair) and the next two (they're looking out the bedroom window onto a courtyard and garden and damn if it's not one of the nicest views he's seen out a window in a long time) and the two after that (Beth's laying Junior down in her crib, surrounded by her toy Swordfish and favorite blanket) before he decides to give it a little rest: he's almost halfway there with the boxes.
He waits patiently -- that hasn't always been his strong suit, but Junior's taught him a lot about that -- and listens to Beth singing the baby to sleep to the tune of some song that has and the songbirds keep singing like they know the score, and I love you, I love you, I love you like never before in it. It's a hell of a sweet and private moment; he almost feels like a Peeping Tom but not quite. They've done this together, all three of them, for three months now. It'll be nice for Junior to be in a bigger bed and he's glad as hell this place moves his angel to sing.