Disclaimer: This is a fanwork. I don't own The Outpost or any of its characters, though if nobody wants Janzo, I'll gladly take him.
A/N: Does anybody out there read fic for The Outpost? Well, I wrote one, so here you go. This will be a series of one shots featuring the complex relationship between Elinor and Janzo. No beta, so all mistakes are my own. Hope you enjoy it!
Jaybird
by Minnicoops
When the woman died in labor, Elinor never expected to keep either of the newly born twins. Maybe once long ago she'd dreamed of being a family woman, but life hadn't gone that way for her, and somewhere along the way she'd acquired a strong distaste for children. Especially babies. They were smelly, loud, and sucked up resources faster than a cow that gave no milk. At least with a cow, you could eat the thing if it stopped being profitable.
Yet here she was, staring down at these two squirming, screeching, naked infants, logic telling her to get rid of them as fast as possible. Hand them off to anyone who would take them. She wasn't responsible for them. She'd already done her part—taking in the very pregnant, very near to birth woman who was now lying dead and bloody on her bed. She'd even helped her with the birth, out of the goodness of her heart, and what did she get for it?
Problems, that's what. Problems in the form of not one, but two screaming infants that she now had to deal with. She should just get rid of them. Could probably sell them easy enough, get a little recompense for her trouble. But something inside of her, an ache that she thought she'd buried a long time ago, gave her pause.
She had two other boys already, Munt and Bill, but they'd been older when she'd taken them in. Honestly, she hadn't even thought of them as her children, though she called them sons. They were cheap labor, and it hadn't taken long before they were well worth the pittance of food and cot she gave them.
She had considered getting more, since it had worked out so well for her. Plus, it kept the children off the street, and was really a charitable thing of her to do. No problem building up merits for herself for the afterlife while she built her business. But an infant? That would require at least a few years of work before she saw any return on her investment. And two at that. Hardly worth it.
She stared down at the squalling babies, a boy and a girl, thinking through her options. She'd always believed in fate, in some god somewhere out there that controlled her destiny. So far, he'd been good at handing her a load of shit, and yet she'd managed to turn every disappointment into an opportunity. Every unexpected turn of events into a wrung on her ladder to a better life.
She could sell the babies, probably not for much, but maybe enough to cover the cost of all this blood and the dead body lying in front of her. That would be the logical move. She certainly didn't need an infant around here.
Again, that pang, deep in her gut. That loss, so many years ago. She'd decided after that that she never wanted that again. Never wanted to put herself in that position.
Elinor reached out toward the flailing boy, touching his tiny, angry fist. She ran a finger down his skinny arm, and tears pricked behind her eyes at the impossibly smooth skin. "Janzo," she whispered to herself, allowing the memory to immerse her for a moment.
Maybe it wouldn't be convenient, but she suddenly didn't want to give this one up. She could make it work, and surely he'd be useful soon enough. A couple of years and she could start having him do some small tasks around the tavern. One of her girls had just had a baby, she could nurse this one, too. Elinor knew some of the men she serviced, and she could always give her a discount on the price of using her rooms if she needed to without much loss. It wouldn't be hard to convince her.
Shaking off the memory, Elinor looked toward the girl child, red-faced and wailing. Yes, she could sell this one off. Shouldn't be too hard. That should give her enough to recoup her costs here. Break even, at least. If she could find the right buyer, she might even make a profit. Some people would pay good money for a baby.
"Mum?"
Elinor turned to see little Munt poking his head in the door, eyes wide at the sight of blood and the screeching babies. "Munt, get in here," she ordered shortly, snapping out her daze of indecision. "Bring me those blankets."
Munt stood frozen in the doorway for a moment, eyes searching the room for the blankets. The pile of blankets, sitting two feet away from him. Elinor rolled her eyes. "Right there, idiot child!" she yelled, pointing.
Recognition dawned in his eyes and he scrambled to bring her the blankets. She dramatically grabbed one from his arms, picking up the boy and wrapping him in it before cradling him against her chest. "Hush hush, little one," she cooed at him, bouncing him instinctively.
Munt was frozen again, so she looked at him emphatically. "Well?" she asked, seeing if he would catch on. He didn't, of course. His brow furrowed in confusion as he tried to work out what she wanted. "Wrap up the baby, you imbecile! Can't you see she's cold?" She nodded toward the other infant.
Munt tried, he really did, but he only managed to get the blanket sloppily placed around the baby, confounded terror on his face as he struggled with the tiny wriggling girl. He picked her up awkwardly, holding her completely wrong, and Elinor wondered if every fourteen-year-old boy was this stupid or if Munt had merely been granted a spattering of brain cells compared to the already disadvantaged average male. "Support her head, Munt. Like this," Elinor instructed, showing how she was holding her baby.
The boy shifted the baby girl in his arms, and while his hold on her still looked uncomfortable for both of them, it was marginally better.
Elinor decided it was good enough, and turned her attention back to the child in her arms, whose cries were finally dying down. His fist was in his mouth now, little pink tongue exploring his curled fingers, rutting for milk with quiet grunts. She would need to employ her girl sooner rather than later. But for now, the little one seemed satisfied sucking on his hand. Tiny dark eyes cracked open, unfocused, sleepy, and Elinor smiled down at him.
"Hello, little one. I'm your new mummy. Welcome to the world."
The baby's eyes slid closed again with a small sigh, and his movements settled as he fell asleep to the rocking motion of her arms. Elinor lovingly caressed his cheek, his head turning toward her touch.
A scream from the other baby drew her back out of the moment with irritation. "God's sake, Munt!" she hissed, trying not to wake the boy. "Haven't you held a baby before?"
Munt's huge eyes answered her question even before he spoke. "No, Mum."
Elinor sighed, of course he hadn't. "Bounce her a little bit, like I'm doing. No wonder she's crying." She looked around the room, frowning. "Where's your brother got to? I'll bet he would be better at this than you."
"Don't know, Mum," Munt answered, trying to follow her directions. She was surprised there wasn't steam coming out of his ears with how hard he was thinking about the bouncing movement. "He was downstairs earlier…"
Elinor stood from where she'd been knelt next to the bed. "Let me go find him, you stay here with that baby. We need to get this poor woman taken care of. Can't have her taking up good space."
"Is she…?" Munt swallowed fearfully. "Is she dead?"
Elinor just stared at him for a moment. "Does it look like she's dead?" He really was an idiot. "Of course she's dead. I swear, Munt, if your head wasn't attached to your body, you wouldn't know where it was."
Munt only nodded, sweat breaking out on his forehead as he continued to try and shush the still crying girl in his arms.
Turning her attention back to her new baby, her face softened. "You're not going to be stupid, are you, little one? No, I can tell. You're going to be my smart boy." Smiling, she lost herself in the tiny sleeping face before her.
"Yes, you're going to change things for me, aren't you, little Janzo?"
If you read this, please drop me a comment to let me know what you think!