"What're those?" Kyle asked, though the answer was obvious enough.
"Gigi and Rex are leaving for London," Oliver said, as if that was a perfectly sensible answer. "Shane got into an art school there."
"Okaaay." Kyle waited for clarification. When none came, he poked a finger at the two objects Oliver had plunked down on the coffee table. "Are those Barbies? Don't you think Sierra's a little too young? She'll probably tear their heads off and choke on them."
"Yeah," Oliver replied, sounding oddly distant. "We'll save them for when she's older." He was studying the dolls with an expression on his mobile face that Kyle couldn't read at all.
"So, these are a present? From Gigi?" He asked cautiously.
"Yeah," Oliver repeated. "They were hers and Stacy's. They used to play with them together and Gigi said that they talked about that when Stacy was giving birth. Sierra," he pointed to the blonde-haired doll, then the brunette, "and Rose."
For the first time since he'd walked in the door, he met Kyle's gaze. The look in his eyes was so lost that Kyle rose immediately from the couch and wrapped his arms around Oliver.
"Hey," he said, softly. "What's wrong?"
He felt rather than heard Oliver sigh. "Sierra won't ever know her mother. Now Gigi'll be gone and the only connection Sierra will have to Stacy is these stupid dolls."
"Gigi's leaving for London, not Jupiter," Kyle countered logically. "There is such a thing as planes, you know. Also, you might have heard of Skype, Mister Computer Genius." He poked Oliver lightly in the stomach and felt both relief and vindication at the rueful, half-annoyed scrunchy-face he got in return.
"Very funny. It's just...I felt better, having Gigi so close. She already knows all about raising kids..." he trailed off.
"We're doing good so far," Kyle said, putting just enough stress on the first word to remind Oliver that he wasn't in this alone, but not to make him defensive about it. "Sierra's healthy and happy and due to wake up from her nap and rampage any minute now."
"I know, but what about when she gets older? I mean, Sierra's a girl."
"No, really?"
"I don't know anything about girls," Oliver continued, as if he hadn't spoken.
Kyle heroically restrained himself from making any of the many sarcastic responses that came to his mind. Instead, he said soothingly. "We still have Roxy here in town. And Layla. And even Natalie. She only pretends to hate me anymore."
Oliver raised his eyebrows skeptically but said nothing.
"And, like I said, Gigi'll still be in Sierra's life, just not across town. Plenty of women to give us advice on the girl stuff. Plus, I bet we can handle it better'n you think."
"Easy for you to say. You at least grew up with a sister," Oliver grumbled, but Kyle thought he seemed more at ease.
"As for connections to her mother..." he paused. This was sticky. None of his particular interactions with the late Stacy Morasco lent themselves to warm and fuzzy memories to share with her daughter. Finally, he shrugged and gave Oliver his best bland face. "There's always Kim."
Oliver looked horrified, then suspicious. "You hate Kim."
Kyle gave up and laughed. "I do. Bet Sierra and Rose seem like a better alternative now, huh?"
Oliver opened his mouth to reply, but was forestalled by a delighted squeal and the sound of running feet from upstairs that indicated the toddler Sierra Rose had awakened from her nap. He hastily snatched the dolls up to put away, while Kyle headed for the stairs. At the top, however, he stopped.
"Oliver," he called.
His boyfriend looked up, face expectant.
"Don't worry so much about it, okay? I mean, I don't even know my dad's name, and I turned out all right." Without waiting for a reply, he turned away and scooped up Sierra as she barrelled into his arms.
"So, did you guys finally decide on a name?" Oliver asked, cradling the sleeping newborn close to his chest.
"Of course," Layla said airily, as if she and Cris hadn't spent the last nine months in long and occasionally heated debate on the issue. She grinned at him from her hospital bed, looking lovely despite her exhaustion. "Pilar."
"Pilar," he repeated, testing it. He nodded, decisively. "I like it."
"Glad you approve," Cristian said from his chair next to Layla's bed. Any sarcasm in his words was spoiled by the stunned, delighted expression on his face.
Oliver laughed, disturbing the baby, who kicked a little and opened her mouth, though her eyes stayed firmly buttoned shut. She was so little! Used to his solid two year-old, the seven and a half pound infant felt practically weightless in his arms. He could scarcely believe Sierra had once been even smaller.
"And her middle name?" he asked, still absorbed with the baby. When no one answered, however, he looked up and found his friends exchanging an odd glance, part excited, part nervous. "What?"
"Well," Cris said, finally. "It took us forever to decide on Pilar, but we always agreed that the middle name should honor someone we both care about."
"Ah," Oliver said in understanding. "Evangeline."
He was surprised to see them both shake their heads. "No," Layla said, her happiness dimming just a bit. She bit her lip. "We talked about it, but...I guess it just seemed inappropriate, somehow."
"Just weird," Cris muttered under his breath, but he took Layla's hand and squeezed gently.
"Sooo, who, then?" Oliver asked, steering away from the dangerous topic.
Layla gave him a grateful look. "Someone who helped bring us together, in an unexpected way," she offered coyly.
He furrowed his brow. "Talia?
Again, they shook their heads at him. "Third time's the charm," Cris suggested, with a smile.
He groaned. "I have no idea! Guys, come on."
"Oh, all right." Layla glanced at Cris, who gave a go-ahead shrug, and turned back to Oliver. He thought he'd never seen her smile so brilliantly.
"Oliver Fish, meet Pilar Olivia Vega."
As if hearing the introduction, the baby opened her large dark eyes and stared up at him, unblinking.
"The...baby...okay?" Oliver croaked, each word a monumental effort. He'd been on a ventilator for hours after surgery for a gunshot wound to his chest, and his throat was raw. He sensed other, worse pain inching closer, trying to slip through the fog whatever drugs he was on to sink its claws into him. He was afraid of that pain and wanted badly to escape back into unconsciousness while he could. But other things were more important. "Not...hurt?"
"Don't try to talk," Kyle said. The words echoed oddly in Oliver's ears, as if coming from underwater, and that beautiful face wavered in his vision. "The baby's just fine."
Relief coursed through him, but he persisted. "Layla?"
"Shh. Layla's fine, too. Recovering from surgery, like you."
"He...needs...a...name." He inhaled and pain bloomed in his chest, but it mattered. He thought he might be dying and he had to know his son's name first.
"Don't talk!" The tone was sharp, anxious; but then changed to an odd shyness. "I thought of one, actually. Promise not to say anything and I'll tell you. Here, you can squeeze my hand if you like it." Oliver felt cool, strong fingers, as familiar to him as his own, intertwine with his. "Jasper."
Oliver squeezed, but still forced out the words. "Jas...per...Kyle...Lewis-Fish." The effort on the last words was too much. His eyes closed and he fell gratefully back into sleep.