Ok, if you've read my other stories, you know I'm a sappy sort of girl, who likes some kick-a** fight scenes thrown in. This little ficlet, however, doesn't fit the norm. It's so sappy it oozes. In a fluffy sort of way. So try not to barf at all the sweetness.
Marie screamed again, and the sound penetrated the infirmary door. Logan winced and paced more vigorously. Finally, there was silence. Logan froze. He stood statue still and stared avidly at the door.
After a tiny eternity, a nurse poked her head through the door and beckoned him in. He rushed through, but stopped about five feet from the bed.
Marie lay, exhausted but smiling, with a little pink bundle in her arms. She beckoned to him. He shuffled closer, but still kept his distance. He craned his neck to peek at the bundle.
A tiny face was visible. As he watched, it scrunched up and yawned, revealing a tiny, toothless mouth. Suddenly, it sneezed. Logan jumped back, then scowled at Marie, who was laughing.
"C'mere, Logan," she said, still chuckling. He advanced, once again inching toward the newborn in his wife's arms. "Sit down," she indicated a rocker pulled close to the hospital bed. Gingerly, he sat. Marie shifted towards him, and gently began to hand him the baby girl. She stopped him from shying away with a pointed glare.
Very carefully, his daughter was transferred to his hold. His first thought when the process was finally over was that she was tiny. Her entire length only equaled his hand and part of his forearm. He could hurt her! He cradled her there, lying on his forearms, her head in the palms of his hands.
He leaned over her, protectiveness in every aspect of his body language. He watched her face as she squirmed and made little baby faces. Then, she opened her eyes.
Marie looked over quickly when she heard him gasp, but smiled when she saw his face. His eyes were wide and his lips were quirked in a small smile: an expression of pure enrapturment.
Her eyes looked just like her father's: almond shaped and dark hazel. They were still tinged with blue the way newborns' eyes often were though.
"What's her name?" he murmured, eyes still locked on his daughter's.
"Haven't named her yet. Any suggestions?"
He contemplated for a moment. "Ash?"
"Ash Fleur Howlett. I like it." The couple smiled at each other, pleased.
The newly named Baby Ash shivered and started crying. Logan's eyes bugged out.
"Oh, no! Don't do that, no, no, no, no…" he moved her to the crook of his elbow and rocked her with some direction from Marie. She quieted, and resumed staring at her dad's face.
Time passed, and eventually, a tune swam back to him through his messed up memory. He began humming, then, after making sure his wife was asleep, he began to sing in a rich bass.
"Swing low, sweet chariot
Comin' for to carry me home
Swing low, sweet chariot
Comin' for to carry me home
I looked over Jordan and what did I see
Comin' for to carry me home
A band of angels comin' after me
Comin' for to carry me home..."