And, as he was dreaming, an angel song
Awakened our Little Boy Blue – Eugene Field
Winona Kirk sank into the overstuffed cushions of the chair tucked into the corner of her bedroom with a weary sigh. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes, listening to the gentle breeze rippling through the leaves of the trees outside the window, the chirping crickets and other night sounds as the world around her prepared for sleep.
The peaceful moment was shattered as the baby in her arms arched his back and let out a frantic wail for attention.
"Shh." She shifted the heavy weight of her six-month old son into one arm and unfastened the front of her pajamas with an expert flick of her fingers. "Hold on," she admonished as the baby's desperately rooting mouth hampered her efforts. Brushing the fabric of her top out of the way, she jumped as his lips fastened hungrily onto the exposed nipple. His whimpering sobs faded into a satisfied grunt as his mouth moved greedily against her flesh. Contented now, one tiny hand drifted up to play with his ear while the other flexed and curled rhythmically against the plump fullness of her engorged breast.
She traced a thumb over the silken skin of his cheek, wiping away the dampness of tears as well as the trickle of milk that had escaped his greedily working mouth.
This was the best part of her day. She had recently returned to work, taking a position at the shipyard. Though the survivor's benefits afforded her by Starfleet were enough to keep hearth and home, there was not much left after taking care of the necessities and Winona had two young boys and their futures to consider. And she would be lying if she said that she did not enjoy the challenges presented by her work.
But, oh, she missed the lazy days of the last months with her boys.
She stroked a hand over the baby's head, twirling her fingers through the curling wisps of blonde hair and smiled at the intently serious expression on his face as he stared at her with eyes the color of tropical waters.
"I missed you. I did. Yes, I did." She sing-songed the words as she nuzzled her face into his neck, inhaling the milky, powdery scent of her baby. He gurgled against her breast, one small hand reaching out to tangle into her hair as it tumbled around him.
Winona lifted her head at the sound of scuffing feet in the hallway. Wincing, she carefully pried the baby's grasping fingers from her hair and smiled at the sight of her elder son hovering near the door.
"We've been waiting for you, Sammy."
She shifted in her chair and patted the cushion invitingly.
The little boy darted across the room and climbed into the space beside her. She tucked a pillow beneath her arm to help support the baby's weight and curled the other arm around Sam as he snuggled against her.
"Do you remember where we left off?"
She watched him determinedly fumble with the controls of the PADD, his tongue poking out from between his teeth as he called up the book they had been reading over the last few evenings. She had seen that expression of concentration on George's face countless times when he had picked his way through a problem at hand and swore she could feel her heart roll over in her chest to see its echo on their young son's face.
"I think Jimmy can't wait to hear what happens next," Sammy told her and she stifled a smile at the serious look on his face.
"I think you're right," she agreed and cuddling him closer, she began to read aloud the tales of "Squimmo the Space Pirate."
She read two short chapters of the adventures of the silly band of pirates.
"We'll read a couple more chapters tomorrow night, okay?"
Sammy nodded and curled closer. He reached out with one hand and jiggled his little brother's foot back and forth. The baby shot him a baleful look and drew his knee toward his chest, freeing his foot in the process.
"You said that having a little brother or sister would be fun," Sammy complained accusingly. "But Jimmy's boring. All he does is eat and sleep and make stinky diapers."
He gave her a hopeful look. "Maybe it's not too late for us to send him back and get a better baby?"
Winona laughed and pressed a kiss against the top of his head.
"When you were Jimmy's age, the only thing you did was eat and sleep and make stinky diapers too." She laughed again at the expression of horrified disbelief on the little boy's face. The baby – as if understanding his older brother's disdain and seeking to prove his worth – pulled away from her breast and blew out a series of milky bubbles.
"Hey!" Wide-eyed with delight, Sammy scrambled onto his knees. "Cool," he breathed. "Do that again, Jimmy!" He reached out and poked a finger into the bubble resting on the rosebud lips, then ran tickling fingers under the baby's chin eliciting a gurgling laugh in response.
Winona shifted the baby until he was sitting up on her lap. Bracing him with one hand against his chest, she lightly patted him on the back. A bubble of gas finally worked its way through his diaphragm in a surprisingly loud expulsion of sound which had Sammy collapsing into gales of laughter that she suspected only another four year old boy could truly understand.
The baby waved his hands in the air, entertaining himself and his brother by showing off his latest trick of blowing wet raspberries. Winona closed her eyes. The happy sounds of the baby's chortling gurgles and Sammy's little boy giggles were a soothing balm on the gaping wound left on her soul by the loss of George.
"Okay." She scrubbed one hand through Sammy's coarse thatch of hair. "Time for bed, mister."
"Could you maybe just read me a couple of these?" He flung himself forward and leaned precariously toward the floor as he pulled a well-worn book of nursery rhymes from beneath the chair. Winona ran a hand over the cover, immediately recognizing the book as one George – with his love of 'real' books – purchased the day after she had told him they were expecting Sammy.
"Jimmy wants to hear a couple of stories too," Sammy wheedled and, unable to resist his pink-cheeked cherubic expression, she gave in gracefully.
"Just a few," she warned. "You pick three, sweetie, and then it's time for bed."
She read aloud from the book – timeless rhymes that had entertained children for hundreds and hundreds of years – her voice rising and falling as she told the tales of Mary and her lamb, Jack and Jill's fateful climb and Little Boy Blue sleeping under the haystack. She closed the book and Sammy gave her a sleepy smile.
Rising onto his knees, he studied his brother once again. The baby blinked owlishly and sucked furiously on the two fingers he had popped into his mouth.
"Mommy? Don't you think Jimmy kinda looks like Little Boy Blue from the book?"
Winona glanced down at the illustrated cover and followed Sammy's pointing finger toward the blue-eyed, blonde-haired character in question. She cocked her head to the side, studying the baby.
"Hmm. Sort of," she agreed. She leaned down and pressed a smacking kiss against the rounded tummy poking out between the hem of the baby's pale blue t-shirt and snowy white diaper.
"Maybe that should be our nickname for him," she suggested, laughing as Sammy's eyes lit up with pleasure.
"Yeah!" The little boy jumped to the floor and let out a mighty yawn. "Come on, Blue, let's go to bed."
/
The name had stuck for a few years until one day, with all the self-importance a ten year old could muster, Jim had declared that he hated the nickname. Sam had cheerfully acquiesced – having already come up with a handful of other names meant to more fully convey the contempt of an older brother for one younger.
But privately, Winona had always thought of her youngest by the name given to him that quiet evening.
Now, keeping vigil at his hospital bedside, she willed him to open his eyes. Having given into the pleas of others that she get some rest of her own, Winona had not been present when her son had roused from the coma state in which he had laid for almost two weeks. And though McCoy had assured her that his was now a natural sleep necessary for the healing process, she needed to see his eyes open; needed to hear the sound of his voice.
A sound in the hall drew her attention and she looked up, hoping to see Sam striding through the door. She had been granted compassionate leave and had contacted Sam immediately upon receiving word about Jim's condition, expecting that he would drop everything and come. Though Jim's friends and crewmates had been wonderfully supportive, she wanted her family nearby. But all these long days later there was still no sign of Sam.
Shaking her head, she returned her attention to her youngest son.
"Oh, my little boy blue," she sighed. "What are we going to do with you?" She stroked her fingers over the back of his hand, remembering a time not so very long ago when that same hand – then so tiny and fragile – had tangled in her hair or curled trustingly around her own. She looked into his face, the strong line of his jaw covered with a thick bristle of blonde whiskers and she couldn't help but wonder when and how time had moved so quickly that her little boy had turned into such a man.
As she absently played with his fingers, she remembered that there was a second, less well-known poem also bearing the title of 'Little Boy Blue", its' verses written from the point of view of anguished parents grieving the loss of a young boy. And listening to the beeps and whirs of the equipment tracking every breath her son took and seeing his pallid cheeks and unnaturally still form, she knew that for all intents and purposes, her son had died. And suddenly the words of that other poem were frighteningly significant.
"And, as he was dreaming, an angel song awakened our Little Boy Blue," she whispered hesitantly as her tired brain picked through her memory for the words. "Oh, the years are many, the years are long..." She dashed a knuckle under her eye to wipe away a tear. "…what has become of our Little Boy Blue?"
"Come on, baby," she pleaded to no avail. "Wake up for me."
Exhausted, Winona lowered her head, resting her cheek on their joined hands. She drifted, vaguely aware of the sounds of a busy hospital all around her as medical personnel rushed up and down the hallways or quietly entered the room to check on Jim.
She had no idea how much time had passed when finally her patience was rewarded. The hand beneath her cheek twitched once, and then again.
Cautiously, Winona raised her head. She saw Jim's lips move soundlessly and watched his chest rise and fall as he drew in and released a long, deep breath.
"Jim?" She rose from her chair and settled one hip on the edge of his bed. "Can you hear me, baby?"
Though his face was turned slightly away from her, she could see the pure blue of his eyes as his lashes parted for the briefest of seconds before falling closed again.
"Jimmy, come on," she encouraged. "Can you wake up for me?"
Jim's head rolled on the pillow toward the familiar sound of his mother's voice. Heavy lids lifted and again she was greeted with a flash of vivid blue.
"Hi," he breathed.
"Hey, baby." Joyful tears dampened her lashes. "I've been waiting for you."
"Mom." Jim swallowed and licked dry lips. "When…" He rubbed a tired hand over his eyes and shifted as he tried to sit up.
Winona pressed a gentle hand against his chest and tapped the controls on the side of the bed to raise it slightly. She poured a small measure of water into a cup and held the straw to his lips.
"Small, slow sips," she cautioned as he drank.
"Thanks." Exhausted from even so simple an act, his head flopped back against the pillow. "When did you…" He blinked, trying to keep her in focus. "When did you get here?"
"Oh, I came as soon as I got word."
"Long way," he slurred tiredly, thinking of the distance she would have had to travel from her distant posting.
"Nah, it was a snap." She demonstrated with a quick flick of her fingers, drawing a tired smile from her son.
"Hop, skip and a jump," he rasped agreeably.
"You bet."
Winona saw an irritable expression cross his face and his feet kicked sluggishly beneath the blankets. Knowing how he hated being confined, she un-tucked the covers and settled them loosely over him, exposing the tips of his feet in the way she knew he liked.
He gave her a weary smile of thanks and against his will, his eyes drifted closed again. He jerked himself awake with a start.
"Sorry." He fought a losing battle to keep his eyes open.
"Mom… 'm sorry," he rasped. "…like having weights on my eyes. So tired."
"Shh." She stroked a hand through his thick hair. "It's okay. Go to sleep, baby."
He hummed in agreement and nestled his head into the pillow.
"How long?" His eyes popped open again, pinning her with his weary gaze.
"How long, what?"
"How long can you stay?"
"I'm not going anywhere." She pressed a lingering kiss to her son's forehead and settled back into the chair by his side. "Go to sleep, Blue. I'll see you when you wake up again."
His lips quirked in a drowsy smile at the old endearment and he shifted into a more comfortable position as he drifted into a contented sleep under the watchful gaze of his mother.
End