For OnyxAyana, whose idea-lettes in her review of "Enrique's Home" have sparked this story and, in all likelihood, many, many others. It doesn't help that Enrique has taken on some of the qualities that those who know my family may recognize. Thanks to my sister, who fielded (and will field) several questions about her fiancé (by the time most people read this, her husband) that doubtless seemed confusing and disjointed at the time. Nope, I don't own the Vorkosigan-verse, but I claim full ownership of the Borgos brood. I'm starting to get really attached to the little buggers. For those interested, my other two stories featuring the Borgoses are 'Martya's Happiness' and 'Enrique's Home.' And at least one more which is in the settle-period between writing and publishing.
Just FYI for those just joining us, my completely AU (or should that be AC for 'alternate creation'?) Borgos family consists of Enrique and Martya and their three girls, almost-twins Erika and Maria, and baby Teresa. And is it any surprise to anyone that the Borgoses live in a house with a lab attached?
An additional note: As Enrique is Escobaran, I've used 'Papi' instead of 'Da' as his daughters' name for him. A little breath of home for him, and nothing too unusual to the girls. Yet, anyway. My perception of Escobar as a mixture of Latin and Hispanic cultures comes from the Blackstone Audio presentation of A Civil Campaign, and I have very much enjoyed having my imagination capitalize on that perception. I own but one copy of that audiobook and have no rights to it, either.
Erika snuck a glance over her shoulder as she turned the latch on the door to the laboratory.
"Rika-a-a! We're gonna get caught!" Maria whined, tugging on Rika's sleeve.
The blue-eyed girl frowned at her dark-haired sister, younger than herself by three months, four days, and fourteen hours and ten all-important minutes. She'd worked out the math herself one afternoon when she'd been angry enough with Maria that she just had to know exactly how much older she was than her sister, so that she could gloat. "We won't if you just be quiet!" she snapped, keying the lock open and slipping inside, Maria following somewhat reluctantly.
Her reluctance vanished as the lights came up, clicking on in banks over the vast expanse of the lab. "Woah!"
Erika tried to sound scornful. "You've been here before," she said, though she couldn't quite hide a trace of awe in her voice. It was so big and white and clean, almost alien. The air seemed to echo with silence.
Maria took a few steps forward. "Not without Papi," she said, running her fingers across the edge of the black syntha-stone counter that was just at eye level. "It's almost creepy." She giggled despite her words and shared a look with her twin - Erika had been a replicator birth and Maria was the little-oops body birth, so they weren't twins, exactly. Not that it mattered to the two girls, who could always tell what the other one was thinking. Like now, for example.
Erika's eyes twinkled as she turned to Maria, just as Maria was turning to her. "Let's go!" they said in unison, and laughed. They made a bee-line straight for the microscope bench.
The blonde-haired girl pulled herself up to the top of the vinyl-topped swivel stool with a bit of difficulty; Maria gave her a boost up, then went and got the foot stool to aid her ascent to the top of her own seat.
Erika planted her heels firmly on the top rungs of the stool and reached out, pulling the bulky microscope to her on its slider pads. She stopped a careful third of a meter from the edge, lining it up so that the edge of the machine and the edge of the table were perfectly parallel. Maria solemnly retrieved the plastic box of blank slides and pulled one out, holding it gently but firmly by the edges, just like their Papi had shown them. Placing it delicately on the tabletop, Maria nodded to Erika, who pulled out their carefully-hoarded tray of 'goodies.'
One bee stinger, retrieved from Maria's thumb after an unfortunate incident in one of Auntie 'Katerin's gardens.
A bit of mold scraped off of some cheese that had been left too long in the back of the refrigerator.
Some pond scum from the little body of water behind their house, and the thing which had originally inspired this trip into the lab. Papi had said there were things in it, and that someday he would show them, but that had been absolutely ages ago, maybe as long as last week!
Finally, most reverentially, Maria set out the butterfly wing, its blue scales glistening in the white light from the overhead fixtures.
Erika pointed at the stinger and Maria nodded. "Tweezers, please," Erika said imperiously, and giggled a little. Her twin handed her the implement and Erika delicately closed the tiny tines around the stinger's blunt end. "What I wouldn't give for a hand tractor small enough to do press-ishon work," she muttered aloud as she worked, her papi's common complaint slipping easily from her lips. She wondered, vaguely, what the exact meaning of "press-ishon" was; it wasn't in the dictionary. Maybe she was just spelling it wrong.
She shoved the consideration aside and concentrated on the task at hand, maneuvering the stinger with all the precision a six year old could bring to bear on an unfamiliar object too large for her hands. Finally she gave up and plucked the specimen up between her fingers, careful to hold it gently enough that it couldn't sting her. Maria frowned, but held out the slide anyway, and Erika set it down in the exact center.
"Now put it on!" Erika ordered, but Maria shook her head.
"Papi always uses a drop of water," she said, "and a cover's lip."
"What's a 'cover's lip'?"
A shrug. "I dunno why it's called that. It's just a bit of clear plastic."
"Like a flimsy?"
A shrug. "Maybe. I don't see anything like that up here, do you?"
Erika shook her head. "Nope. Guess we'll just have to use another slide."
Maria frowned undecidedly. "That's not what Papi does..."
"Papi doesn't look at bee stingers, either," said the elder twin, imperiously. "We'll use another slide because we're different."
"Papi's going to be so mad! Why don't we just ask him? We don't have persimmon."
"It's 'permission,' and he's so busy right now, he can't. I don't want to bother Papi, do you?"
Maria shook her head emphatically, stopped, then shook her head more doubtfully. "This is scientist stuff," she protested. "We're not scientists, Rika!"
"Are so," Erika countered, indignantly. "We're doing science, that makes us scientists. Now give me the other slide."
"Need the water, first," said Maria with a slight pout as she fished in the slide box.
"Oh, right!" Erika turned to the plastic bottles arrayed along the back of the bench and frowned. They were all labeled with black marker, her father's handwriting spelling out words that she'd never learned. HCl, read one, and C2H5OH read another. D. H2O was written on a big glass container that Erika wasn't sure she could lift, and H2SO4: Conc. was written on a smaller plastic bottle beside it. She eyed the sinks on the far side of the lab, but shook her head. Papi had told her to never use undistilled water for anything in the lab except for washing.
She grabbed the first one she'd seen, the HCl, and tried to twist open the cap.
It stuck. She twisted harder, propping the bottle between her knees and clamping both hands around the cap.
"It's childproof," Maria pointed out, smugly. "You gotta be an adult to get it open."
"You don't gotta be an adult," Erika protested, twisting all the harder. "You just gotta be as strong as one!"
"You're not as strong as Papi," Maria said.
"'Course not," growled Erika, "but I can still do it!"
"Do what?"
The girls' heads nearly whipped off their necks as they spun to face their father, who had come down the stairs without their hearing him. "What are you girls up- Shite!" He leapt towards Erika, batting the bottle out of her hands and snatching her up, sending the plastic jug bouncing along the floor until it fetched up, seal unbroken, underneath one of the benches.
Plunking her down on the bench, he snatched up her hands, roughly pushing her clothing out of the way and examining her skin minutely. "Are you hurt? Does it burn anywhere? Damn it, Erika, what were you thinking? Look at me," he ordered, cupping her chin in his hand and staring into her eyes, studying her face.
Evidently not seeing what he was looking for, Enrique breathed a sigh of relief, which was, nevertheless, short-lived.
"What are you doing down here?" he demanded, angrily, turning on both of his girls. His face was red with fear-turned-to-fury. "You know the lab is off-limits! You could have blinded yourselves! You could burn yourselves! Good God, you could have gotten yourselves killed!" He grabbed Erika by the shoulders and shook her. Maria started to cry, but he didn't notice. "What were you doing? That was hydrochloric acid you were messing with! If you'd gotten the cap off..."
"We're sorry, Papi! We won't do it again!" Maria cried, hugging him around the leg and bawling with her hands fisted in his pants. Erika sat stone faced, tense and still.
"Go to your rooms, girls," said Enrique, sternly. "I want you to think about what you've done."
Erika went immediately, stiff with all the effort she was putting into not crying. Maria clung to Enrique, sobbing, her face buried in his thigh. He set his hand on her dark curls. She immediately let go of his leg and latched onto his arms, and he pulled her into a hug, murmuring comforting words to her.
"It's okay, love, Papi's not mad. I was just very, very scared. Are you okay, my Maria?"
She nodded into his chest, hiccup-crying. As he held her tightly, Enrique's eyes traveled over the bench, registering the slides, the microscope, the small tray of specimens. His mouth quirked up, easily deducing their intentions. Clearly, he would have to take the time to teach them lab protocol.
Eventually Maria stopped crying and Enrique released her from his comforting lap to go outside to play. He followed her up the stairs much more slowly, really not looking forward to his next interview.
You are such an ass, he berated himself. Your daughters scare you, so you terrify your daughters? What sort of father does that?
A terrified one, he answered himself. He would have to devise a better lock for the lab. And a more secure storage place for the chemicals. Preferably one with a very big, very complicated lock that even the most determinedly inquisitive six year old couldn't crack. Maybe he'd bring Miles in on the task, he thought, then immediately discarded it. Count Vorkosigan would likely design a lock that even Enrique couldn't open, not without a manual six inches thick, and six different keys on a rotating schedule.
The scientist heaved a sigh as he realized that he was merely putting off the inevitable, and, finding himself at Erika's bedroom door, knocked quietly.
There was no answer.
Well, he hadn't really expected there to be. His namesake could hold a grudge nearly as well as her mother, and he'd yelled at her loudly enough to spawn an empire-sized fit of pique. This was going to take tact. He eased the door open.
His blonde-haired daughter was sitting on the far side of her bed, determinedly facing the wall, small arms crossed stubbornly across her chest.
"Erika," he called to her, quietly. "Erika, look at me, sweet."
She made no perceptible movement, but from the almost extra sense of stillness that stole over her, Enrique could tell she heard him.
His voice was all gentleness as he called again. "Erika, look at me. Just look at me, love."
Her hair brushed the top of her shoulders as she shook her head, and Enrique caught the hint of a scowl at the edge of her mouth as it whipped in and out of sight. He entered the room all the way, and closed the door behind him, coming around the bed to face her. She turned aside, refusing to make eye contact.
He knelt in front of her. "Just look at me, Punkin," he said again, kindness and love in his voice, and this time Erika couldn't avoid him. She looked at him.
A smile stole across her face. She tried to damp it, force it down into a frown, but the corners of her mouth stole upwards anyway. Finally she gave up and hugged her papi, and he hugged her back, hard and harder.
When he finally put her down, she was sniffing back the tears she'd resisted earlier. "I'm sorry, Papi," she said mournfully, and he squeezed her hand.
"I'm sorry, too, Papoose," he told her, and she laughed. Her Papi always knew what to say.
Hand in hand, they went out to the yard to join Maria. Enrique told his daughters why the sky was blue and why the grass was green, and then the trio retreated to the lab to look at plant cells on the microscope. And then Martya came home with Teresa and the whole Borgos household descended into happy chaos while dinner was prepared (a task made longer by all the girls' 'help'), and they got ready for bed. Erika hugged her Papi very tightly and then settled into sleep.
Climbing into bed later on that night, Martya sleepily inquired about her husband's day. "Did the girls let you do your work?" she asked, punching her pillow into a more comfortable lump.
Enrique nodded. "The most important work of all," he said, enigmatically, but Martya was already asleep and unable to ask after the secret smile that crossed her husband's lips.