A/N: It's been such a long time since I just wrote some sweet and harmless fluff. I'm back, baby!
I know I'm, like, the only person on this site who ships Mary and Yang, but I have to keep writing it because they are so perfect and no one else is doing it.
Please R&R! I hope you enjoy it!
Walking around with a boulder strapped to one's back might purge sin, but it can also purge a fetus. As her angel and baby-daddy had requested, Yang was given nine months guaranteed of peace and comfort in Heaven, and over that time she and Mary lived a life unimpaired by lies and fears and murderous fathers. They shacked up in a cleaner, more spacious replica of Mary's terrestrial house and experienced the happy suburban life they'd never had a chance with. They painted the nursery black and white, shared memories as they happened, and held each other during the night.
And as soon as the nine months were up, the demons escorted Yang to Purgatory and dropped the baby into Mary's lonely arms. He stood paralyzed on the front porch of his dream house with his daughter in tow, and they could not stop staring at each other. The girl's little blue eyes linked with his in a look of confusion, as if she were thinking, "I can't believe that you are my father."
Mary couldn't believe it either.
He and Yang hadn't discussed names, so now as Mary looked at the little angel weighing him down and pulling him towards Earth, he christened her in a whisper: "Lucy. Lucy Lightly." It was redundant, but he wanted to emphasize what the child meant to him. She was his light. She was his family, and most importantly, she was proof that her mother was good enough for Heaven.
But there was very little of Yang in Lucy's appearance. Of course Mary had given the baby his baby-face, but even beyond that, Lucy was like her father's twin, from her pretty pink lips to her long fingers to the platinum-blonde fuzz on top of her head. Mary shifted her back and forth in his arms as he tried to find something that she shared with Yang, but his two girls were strangers.
'You are your mother's daughter," said Mary in spite of it all. "The two of you ought to be together."
It wasn't just about being with his true love anymore. He needed Yang's help. All alone, he couldn't keep house and he couldn't entertain, and he was terrified. He had never imagined that he would be a father; he would have sooner predicted his death by knife before the idea of children even crossed his mind.
"Your maternal grandfather was an evil man, and I don't know a thing about your maternal grandmother. My parents had the potential to be perfectly competent, but your grandpa died when I was a very young boy and after that your grandma became coddling… What I do know about my dad – you know what, Lucy, you'll meet him yourself, soon enough." It was strange to think that, while he had not grown up with his father, his daughter would grow up knowing the man well. Perhaps Mary Sr. could be some help with his parenting troubles – that is, if he wasn't too angry that his granddaughter was not named Mary. During the pregnancy, he'd claimed it was a unisex name; his son was not so sure.
"Do I really need to be nervous?" Mary wondered aloud as he entered his home. "This is Paradiso – complicated things like this aren't a problem." He said it, but he knew firsthand that it wasn't true. Heaven was better, and for those like Yang who had truly suffered in life, it seemed perfect. But it was not perfect. Mary had played racquetball for a year before he got any good at it.
He brought Lucy into her nursery. He hovered near her crib for several moments, staring at the fluffy mouse doll leaning against the bars and feeling ashamed that he wished his daughter were as low-maintenance as Ben had been. With a sigh, he sat Indian-style on the floor and held Lucy close against him. She yawned and squirmed and her hand knocked against the scar on Mary's chest, sending a shock of dull pain through his body. Mary grimaced, but he didn't mind the pain. After all, Lucy didn't know any better.
During the pregnancy, Mary had spent a lot of time by himself in the nursery, painting a ring of tiny yin-yang symbols around the wall. Yang had objected at first; although she'd been forced to embrace the motif when she was alive, she wanted to distance herself from it now that she had a choice. A part of Mary wished he had listened to his girlfriend and used the time to be with her, instead of losing himself in yet another tedious, obsessive process. But he also remembered what he had said to reassure her:
"Do you think I enjoyed staring at this thing day after day after day, Paul? Yin and yang is a painful concept for both of us, but it's a part of who we are. And that means it will be a part of our child, too."
Lucy gazed at the pattern on the wall with her sleepy little eyes. She had no idea what it meant, Mary realized, and he parted his lips as if about to teach her. Lucy suddenly turned her head away from the wall, because she was just a baby and couldn't care less.
Knowledge was the only fatherly trait Mary had to offer. "You'll want to learn from me when you're older, won't you, Lucy?" he asked.
In response, Lucy smiled. Her eyes gleamed behind her droopy lids and the corners of her mouth curved upwards, and although she didn't yet have the blocky white teeth that would make it unmistakable, her smile was Yang's smile.
"There's my girl," Mary whispered. His eyes shut in relief, and he pressed his lips softly against her sweet-smelling forehead. When he drew away, Lucy had fallen asleep, the familiar smile still playing on her face.
Mary's arms felt numb, desensitized to the feel of the child nested between them. He got to his feet and peered into the crib, but he didn't want to put her down; he feared how empty his arms would be without her. Oh, he'd lived for thirty-six years on Earth and three years in Heaven, and through that time he'd grown to love his loneliness. But now, after nine magical months with a real family by his side, he knew that Heaven would go completely dark if he and his daughter were separated for the slightest moment. His stomach churned in the way it does when one discovers a new neurosis.
"I'll sleep with you in this room," he said to no one as he set Lucy down, carefully, among her blankets and pillows. Then he gripped the bars of the crib tight, as if they would conduct Lucy's warmth back into his body.
The yin-yang symbols painted on the wall surrounded parent and child as Mary created a makeshift bed out of a pile of baby onesies. It would have been nice to believe that the little circles were like Yang's eyes watching over them, but that was a naïve thought. She was too busy running in infinite laps and awaiting her trial.
"We will all be together in no time, Paul," Mary whispered as he curled up next to the crib. But for now, he and Lucy were all on their own.
A/N: Awww. I love babies.
Reviews are appreciated!