A/N: This takes place after "Homecoming," but well before "Reunion." I really wanted to fill in part of the ten-year gap between those two stories, but it wasn't until now that I figured out what the plot would be. Nothing too complicated, just seeing how Walter, Dan, and Laurie all cope with parenthood and their own emotional baggage. It should either be interesting or dull as heck. Anyway, this first chapter's kinda brief, but I hope it serves to draw a few readers in. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Watchmen characters. Nor do I own the works of Lewis Carroll.
JUBILATION
Chloe was roused by the feel of the mattress lurching beneath her, signaling the sudden movement of her husband. She didn't bother to open her tired eyes, knowing what they would see after two other nights of the same activity: Walter, sitting up, staring intently at the bedroom door. Across the hall lay their daughter's room. On the nightstand by Walter's side of the bed, the baby monitor emitted the sound of Danielle's steady breathing, only slightly labored due to her congested nose. Beyond that there was only the familiar nighttime creaks and groans of the house settling.
"Walter," Chloe murmured groggily, "go back to sleep."
"Heard something."
"It's your imagination. She's fine." Their infant daughter was finally sleeping the night through after a long battle with a particularly stubborn cold, a fact which filled Chloe and Elsie with grateful relief. But not Walter. He distrusted this apparent improvement in Danielle's health.
He moved to a sitting position on the edge of the bed, bare feet on the carpeted floor. "Going to check."
"No, you're not." More awake now, Chloe rolled onto her back and reached to grab the back of her husband's T-shirt, stalling his efforts to rise from the bed. "You might wake her up again. Let her sleep."
Walter did not try to pull away, but neither did he lie back down. Chloe sympathized with his anxiety. In truth, the first time she heard the baby sneeze an icy worm of fear had crept into her heart. Years of working in the free clinic in New York made her all too familiar of all that could beset small children, especially those who seldom received proper medical care to begin with. Thoughts of various horrific diseases flitted through Chloe's mind. Then she'd looked at Walter, who was also there to hear the baby's little 'choo! Saw the naked terror in his expression, and instantly felt her own fears diminish and a more rational perspective rise in their place. "It's okay," she'd told him, "It's just a cold."
But Walter remained unconvinced. In spite of the fact that Danielle's airways stayed relatively clear, her appetite undiminished, and her fever low, the redhead was all but convinced that it was only a matter of time before pneumonia set in. Nighttime was the worst for such fears. During the day he could keep himself occupied, but in the quiet hours when only the wind showed any activity, treacherous thoughts of all the terrible things that could happen to his daughter ran rampant through his mind. The baby monitor was not enough to reassure him. He needed to look at her. It would only take a moment, but once he left her room, he knew the fears would return almost immediately. If it were up to him, Walter would stand vigil over his daughter's crib the entire night, every night, until he was satisfied that she was well again.
Chloe sighed and reluctantly sat up, then inched closer to put her arms around the redhead's tense shoulders. "It's okay, baby," she assured him yet again, "It's only a sniffle. Life's way of helping her build up an immune system."
Walter turned his head. Though the darkness of the bedroom rendered them both as silhouettes, Chloe heard the slight amusement in his voice and was reassured. "'Sniffle'? Is that the proper medical term?"
She grinned. "Absolutely. You can look it up in any medical text, right after 'cooties.'"
Walter made a faint sound of amusement, then immediately sobered. "Anything could happen to her."
"It could," Chloe agreed, kissing his cheek, "But it won't." She kissed his temple, the corner of his mouth. "Everything's gonna be alright. We're okay. Danny's okay."
Walter sighed, leaned back against his wife's reassuring solidity. "Sorry I woke you."
Chloe smiled, hugged him tighter. "'Sokay. It's the weekend. Not like I gotta be at work tomorrow. Or later today, rather," she chuckled softly.
Walter rested his hands over her forearms where they crossed over his chest. "I know it can be difficult…dealing with me like this."
"I understand."
"I need to know she's safe."
Chloe sighed, withdrew her arms. "Don't wake her."
"I won't." Walter rose from the bed, padded silently to the door. Behind him, the bedsprings creaked faintly as Chloe settled back down to try and salvage a little more sleep. Walter felt a stab of guilt, knowing she had to be frustrated with him, and that her frustration would eventually overshadow her compassion. But Walter was unable to stop himself from giving in to his anxieties. He left the bedroom, crossed the hall, footsteps soundless from years of nocturnal prowling, and carefully nudged the door to his daughter's room open so he could peer inside. Outlined by the dim glow of a nightlight, Danielle's tiny form lay in the too-large crib, head turned aside, breath whistling in and out of her petite, slightly clogged nose. Her left arm twitched once, then settled. Her eyelids, with their delicate lashes, fluttered in dreaming. Walter resisted the impulse to enter the room and stand by the crib. If he did that, he knew, he would soon find himself fighting—and losing—the urge to reach in and touch her, to reassure himself that she would not disappear. This would only disturb the infant's slumber, and he didn't want to do that, especially after his promise to Chloe. So he satisfied himself with listening to her steady breaths for a few minutes, then quietly shut the door and crept back to the bedroom he and his wife shared.
Chloe lay motionless on her side, apparently asleep. Walter climbed into bed, careful not to wake her again. But as soon as his head rested on the pillow he heard her murmur, "I really do understand, Walter."
"But you don't worry like I do," he responded, his faintly accusatory tone directed at himself.
A gentle hand rested on his chest. "You worry enough for both of us, sweetheart."
Walter snorted. "Hell, for ten." He covered her hand with his own. "Thank you for putting up with me."
"Well, you have your good points." Chloe leaned in to kiss him. "I love you, baby."
"I love you." Walter closed his eyes and tried to push his troubled thoughts aside so sleep could overtake him.
For once, Chloe actually woke before her husband. She lay still for a moment, watching the rise and fall of Walter's chest, slow and even, savoring the novelty of seeing him sleep, the uncharacteristic peacefulness in his expression. No nightmares this time, thank goodness. From the baby monitor she heard the quicker rhythm of Danny's breaths, signaling that she was awake, but not yet fussing. Chloe eased herself out from under the covers, careful not to wake the slumbering redhead, and quietly left the bedroom. On entering the baby's room, she switched off the baby monitor before approaching the crib. On seeing the familiar smiling face of her mother, the baby's mouth stretched into an elated, toothless grin.
"Hey there, gorgeous," Chloe beamed, reaching to lift out the squirming infant. "Didya have some nice dreams?"
Gurgle.
"Shh-shh! You don't wanna wake Daddy," she admonished as she carried her daughter to the changing table. "He's had a rough night, poor guy, fretting over you and your silly cold."
Danny cooed and gabbled happily as her mother changed her diaper. Chloe had a feeling the child was going to be a regular chatterbox when she got older. She tickled the baby's tummy, earning a stuttering giggle. "'Will you walk a little faster?' said a whiting to a snail," Chloe sang, though not too loudly, lest the sound carry across the hall, "There's a porpoise close behind us, and he's treading on my tail./See how eagerly the lobsters and the turtles all advance!/They are waiting on the shingle—won't you come and join the dance?"
She fastened the last snap on the green onesie and lifted the baby into her arms. Strolling across the room towards the door, Chloe swayed back and forth in time to the song. "Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, will you join the dance?/Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, won't you join the dance?"
"Filling her head with nonsense."
"Jeez!" Chloe stumbled, clutching her daughter who turned her head and squealed in delight at the figure looming in the doorway.
Walter smirked at his wife's startled expression. Chloe straightened, seemingly indignant. "You could've warned me! Shuffled around or something. And it's not nonsense, it's Lewis Carroll."
Walter rolled his eyes, conveying his opinion of the works of that particular author, then stepped closer to his family, his expression softening as his eyes met those of his daughter. "How is she?"
"Fine," Chloe answered, dropping all pretense at annoyance, "Not one sneeze so far."
Which was the perfect moment for Danielle to let out a 'choo! Both parents laughed, Chloe relieved that Walter's earlier concerns seemed to have been alleviated with the onset of morning. He got a tissue from the box on the dresser to gently wipe the baby's nose, then tossed it into the wastebasket. Danny gazed at him solemnly with her sea-blue eyes and thrust out her chubby arms towards him. "Adadada!"
"Guess she wants her daddy," Chloe laughed and passed the child to her husband. As always when he cradled the warm little body, Walter felt a surge of emotions, joy and love of such intensity they almost brought tears to his eyes. Smiling tenderly, he nuzzled the top of Danielle's downy head, her wispy auburn curls tickling his face. He met his wife's gaze. "I know I overreacted."
Chloe shrugged. "Lots of first-time parents overreact." She didn't say, especially parents with troubled pasts. And troubled didn't begin to describe Walter's past. It left him with the unfortunate knowledge of how tenuous his happy new life was. Unfortunate, because it overshadowed even the most joyous experiences. Being aware of this did nothing to reduce his worries.
Chloe reached out to rest her palm against her husband's cheek. "I get scared, too." She had also suffered after the loss of Byron, her first husband.
Walter nodded, understanding, grateful for her sympathy.
The mood abruptly changed when Danny patted her father's other cheek with her little hand, skin rasping against his bristles. "Aag!" The two adults smiled.
As they headed out the door, Walter lightly jiggling the cheerful infant in his arms, Chloe leaned over the baby and resumed the interrupted song. "You can really have no notion how delightful it will be/When they take us up and throw us, with the lobsters, out to sea!/But the snail replied 'Too far, too far!' and gave a look askance—/Said he thanked the whiting kindly, but he would not join the dance…"
Walter rolled his eyes and sighed theatrically, an action that earned him a grin from his wife, who continued relentlessly. "…'What matters it how far we go?' his scaly friend replied./There is another shore, you know, upon the other side./The further off from England and the nearer is to France—/Then turn not pale, beloved snail, but come and join the dance./Will you, won't you, will you, won't you…"
They descended the stairs, following the welcoming scents emanating from the kitchen.
NEW YORK
Laurie slouched in the living room sofa staring balefully at the television, enveloped in a frumpy terrycloth bathrobe, puffy slippers on her feet, a box of tissues beside her. Her nose was red and raw from constant wiping. Laurie hated being sick. She hated being stuck at home even more, especially with Dan running around as Nite Owl on his own. If it were just her, she would have gone out on patrol, cold or no cold. But it wasn't just her. She rested a hand on her belly. There was very little sign of her pregnancy for the time being, but that would change soon enough. When she told Dan of her pregnancy, after the initial elated jumping around, they had one of the biggest arguments of their still-new marriage over whether or not she should hang up her mask. Laurie was adamant that she would continue patrolling until she began to show. She understood perfectly well the risks, but felt that she could handle them as always, whereas Dan thought she had no business putting their baby's life in danger as well as her own. They finally worked out a compromise: Laurie would continue her activities as Silk Spectre wearing a Kevlar vest until her second trimester, and then she would take an extended leave of absence from crimefighting. But then she went and caught this damned cold!
Laurie felt another sneeze coming on and quickly snatched another tissue from the box. "Achoo!" No delicate little sneezes for her; the sound which came out was frighteningly explosive, after which she blew her nose in a long, drawn out honk. The tissues were the kind with lotion in them, which was supposed to make them less abrasive, but after days of continuous wiping, the things felt as rough as sandpaper against the inflamed skin of her nose. She half expected to see blood at some point.
The phone rang. It could only be one person. Laurie sighed, tossed the spent tissue in the general direction of the wastebasket, muted the TV, and picked up the receiver from the end table beside her. "Hello?"
"How are you, cupcake?" the dulcet tones of Sally Jupiter emanated from the receiver, "Still got the sniffles?"
"Hi, Mom." Laurie pulled out another tissue. "Yeah, still suffering."
The older woman made a few sympathetic sounds. Laurie could imagine her lounging in her bed at the retirement home wearing one of those godawful satin nighties that would've looked far better on someone about forty years younger (and almost as many pounds slimmer). "I remember when I was pregnant with you," Sally began as she always did lately ever since she found out she was going to be a grandmother, "I used to get these awful migraines, and the worst part was I couldn't take anything for them that wouldn't have harmed you! I tell you, labor couldn't come fast enough when one of those head-splitters knocked me down."
Laurie rolled her eyes, grateful the expression couldn't be seen. Sally commiserating with her seemed ten times worse than her nagging about taking on the masked adventurer legacy. Laurie loved her mother dearly, but the woman drove her nuts! At least this long-distance relationship allowed her to deal with Sally in small doses.
She and Dan did try living in LA for a while, but after a few months the homesickness became too much for them to handle. Neither of them ever expected to miss New York as much as they did. So, despite the risk of capture even with their false identities, they went back. It wasn't easy finding a place with a large enough basement that they could convert into a new lair for Archie and all the rest of their equipment, but somehow they managed.
"Guess what," Sally continued, shaking the younger woman from her reverie, "I was rummaging around in some old storage boxes and you'll never guess what I found."
"What?" Laurie asked, curious in spite of herself.
"Your old copy of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland! Remember when I used to read that to you?"
Laurie remembered her mother reading to her once, and that was just the first couple of chapters. She ended up finishing the book on her own.
"I have an idea. Put the phone against your stomach so I can read something to my grandbaby."
Laurie snorted. "Mother, the baby's the size of a coffee bean. She won't hear a thing."
To which the old woman stiffly retorted, "She or he would benefit from a little classic literature, regardless of size. C'mon, honey. Indulge your mother."
"Okay," she sighed, then pressed the receiver to her abdomen. The things she let her mother talk her into.
Sally's tinny voice still managed to reach her ears. "'How doth the little crocodile/Improve his shining tail,/And pour the waters of the Nile/On every golden scale!'"
"'How cheerfully he seems to grin,'" Laurie murmured, surprised that she remembered the silly rhyme after so many years, "'How neatly spreads his claws,/And welcomes little fishes in,/With gently smiling jaws.' That's morbid," she suddenly realized. Did she really want her kid listening to that? Don't be stupid, she chided herself. It wasn't like he/she could hear anything. At least, Laurie didn't think so. She wasn't quite as sure as before. She brought the receiver back to her ear. "Had your fun?"
"Oh, I can't wait till that little guy's born!"
"So you can spoil him rotten?"
"Well, what are grandmothers for?"
Laurie chuckled. "Guess you got me there." She sniffed. Damn cold.
"Feel better, sweetheart," said her mother, sensing it was time to give her a break, "Drink lots of orange juice."
"Yes, Mom, I will," Laurie replied, her tone put-out even though she was smiling, "'Bye. Love you."
"I love you, too. Take care."
Laurie hung up the phone, but left the television muted. She stared down at her belly, wondering what kind of person she might be bringing into the world, hoping she wouldn't do too much damage with what was certain to be some inept parenting. Am I doing the right thing, she wondered, wanting to be a mom while still running around in a costume getting shot at by gangs and other costumed freaks? Retirement would definitely be safer, but it would also drive her stir-crazy. Like her mother. She thought about her own unusual upbringing. The isolation, the pressures to take on the mantle of Silk Spectre, the loneliness. Her brooding got in the way of whatever joy or excitement she should have experienced as an expectant parent, though in truth Dan was excited enough for both of them. "I'm gonna be a dad!" he whooped when she told him and proceeded to scoop her up in his arms and spin around until they were both dizzy. Laurie laughed at the time, but even then she was…well…scared. I'm not ready for this. Maybe she never would be.
