Warnings: slight angst
Disclaimer: Just borrowing, and I apologize to Charlotte Brontë for quoting her work in my unfortunate drabble.
Bedtime Story
Bill rounded the corner at the top of the stairs and peeked into the nursery . . . Well, it wasn't really a nursery; it was the room into which he and Pippa had managed to shove Liam's bed, Emily's crib, a chair, and all the seasonal holiday decorations. As he observed the scene within, he couldn't help but smile.
Pippa was seated on the rocking chair in the corner, with Emily curled up in her lap and Liam tucked into his bed beside them. Liam was his father in miniature, without the earring, while Emily, even though she was only one year old, had gotten her mother's dark coloring and haughty beauty. The two children were both listening to a book their mother was reading, which, as he leaned contentedly on the doorframe, Bill identified as Jane Eyre.
"It is in vain to say human beings ought to be satisfied with tranquility," she read in a strong, theatrical voice, looking to both her children. "They must have action, and they will make it if they cannot find it. Millions are condemned to a stiller doom than mine, and millions are in silent revolt against their lot. Nobody knows how many rebellions besides political rebellions ferment in the masses of life which people earth."
"Mummy, what does 'ferment' mean?" Liam asked sleepily, and Bill found it odd that of all the large, complicated words he had just heard, the little boy had picked that one to ask about. Emily, too, looked up and nodded eagerly.
"It means to irritate something," Pippa replied. "Like when you get dirt in a scab."
Bill snorted, and when the rest of his family looked up at him, he said,
"That's called infection, darling."
"Are you going to make snarky comments, or are you going to let me read to my children?" Pippa snapped. Chastised, Bill sat down on the edge of Liam's bed and gave a sanctimonious little nod in his wife's direction, complete with hand gestures.
"Forgive me, I was out of order," he said, simpering. Pippa gave him a curt nod, but he saw the smile in her eyes. She picked up her book and continued reading as though there had been no interruption.
"Women are supposed to feel very calm generally, but women feel just as men feel; they need exercise for their faculties, and a field for their efforts as much as their brothers do; they suffer from too rigid a constraint, too absolute a stagnation, precisely as men would suffer; and it is narrow-minded in their more privileged fellow-creatures to say that they ought to confine themselves to making puddings and knitting stockings, to playing on the piano and embroidering bags."
Bill grinned. Pippa was reading with a very confident, affected tone; it was as though she knew the passage by heart. She used her free hand to stroke Emily's nodding head, as though by doing this the words and their meaning would be imprinted in her mind forever. Liam was snuggled beneath the blankets, just barely awake, listening to the wisdom of Miss Brontë's words.
When she noticed her babies were falling asleep, Pippa dropped her voice and finished quietly.
"It is thoughtless, then, to condemn them, or laugh at them, if they seek to do more or learn more than custom has pronounced necessary for their sex."
As he watched Pippa kiss both her children goodnight, Bill knew he couldn't have picked a better woman for his wife. She could be both strong and sweet, understanding but firm, and loving above everything else. He never doubted for a moment that she was the best mother in the world for his children.
He gave his son a goodnight kiss as well, and then rose to help Pippa tuck Emily into her crib.
The dark haired child was practically angelic, and though she had been awake when her mother finished reading, was fast asleep by the time her little baby quilt was pulled up to her chin. Both parents leaned over the crib looking down at the little bundle that was their daughter.
"If we aren't careful, she might turn into a spoiled little brat," Bill whispered, looping his arms around Pippa's slender waist. She gave a tiny laugh, and it was only know that he realized she had begun to cry softly. He showered her with kisses, and demanded to know what was upsetting her.
"It's nothing, Bill," she said, wiping away an errant tear. "It's just . . . I want so badly for her to turn out better than I did."
A/N: So here's the first of a series of oneshots and drabbles about Bill and Pippa. They're not in any sort of order, and some will be AU (as in, Pippa isn't dead and she and Bill have 9,000 kids). It'll be updated sporadically, as I just sort of get in the mood to write these sorts of things.
Reviews are love.