Lullaby
For the next two months or so, everything was quiet, and their days were filled simply with anticipation of the baby's arrival, letters from friends and family, and the company of their newfound friends. That late autumn afternoon, Christian was seated at his desk, a pencil tucked behind his ear as he went over a few last minute changes to his novel. The labor of love that was their story was almost complete, but as always, Satine's opinion mattered to him above anyone else's, and so whatever alterations it went through, he was certain to get her take on them first.
"I decided to change some of the dialogue between Colin and Sarah, in the last chapter, and –"
"– Oh."
"You don't think I should change it?" Christian looked up from the abundance of papers that were strewn across his desk – really, it was a wonder how he managed to sort one chapter from another, at that rate of seeming disorganization – to see Satine staring at a distant spot somewhere in front of her, rather than her attention being focused on their conversation as it had been.
"Satine?" he questioned.
She looked up at him with wide eyes, a hand on her stomach. "I think you'd better get the doctor."
What seemed like an eternity – but was in reality only a few hours – had crept by, and Christian continued to pace up and down the hardwood floor of the living room. Joseph and Verona had come to keep him company while the doctor and his nurse were in the bedroom with Satine – Christian had tried to join them, but had been quickly banished to the living room by an understanding, but firm Dr. Morrow – and sat there watching him with sympathetic gazes.
"Christian, why don't you sit down?" Joseph finally prompted. "You're going to wear a hole in the floor – and then where will Satine be, when you end up falling straight through the ceiling of old lady Maclaine's room?"
Verona slapped him lightly on the shoulder for his efforts, but after a moment agreed, "Joseph is right – about the pacing, anyway. Sit down, relax. I'm sure Satine will be fine."
"Ah, always the voice of reason, my dear Dr. Paris," her husband noted with a smile, leaning over to kiss her.
Verona, however, veered away from the affectionate gesture (causing it to land on her cheek instead of her lips), entirely too preoccupied for that at the moment – or, like always, just trying to play hard to get, even though they were married.
Christian absently obeyed the suggestion, in any case, and perched on the arm of one of the chairs, anxiously wringing his hands together.
"Why is it taking so long?" he burst out after a moment.
Though distantly amused by his worry, Verona remained completely sympathetic toward his plight as she smiled at him. "It's her first child – they're always supposed to take longer."
"Not that she'd know, since we don't have – ow!" Whatever else Joseph was intending to say (though, of course, it wouldn't be hard to fill in the blanks – unless you were terribly distracted, which Christian was indeed) was cut off by another slap from Verona, who then turned back to the father-to-be with a long-suffering expression on her face.
"She'll be just fine."
Offering a rather half-hearted nod in response to Verona's encouragement, Christian got to his feet again and resumed the pacing, finding that he needed somewhere to channel the nervous energy. The Parises, for their part, decided to allow him that – since it seemed like all attempts to get him to sit still would be rather futile anyway.
After thirty seconds, the frustrated question came again.
"Why is it taking so long?"
Verona laughed softly, idly toying with the links of the scarab bracelet she wore. "Christian, why don't you tell us a story? It will help take your mind off things. Not to mention," she added flatteringly, "I enjoy your writing quite a bit."
Joseph nodded his agreement, then added with a mischievous grin, "If you don't tell a story, I might have to regale you with tales of my escapades through Egypt with Jonathan Forrestal."
At this, he was rewarded with a groan from his wife. "Oh, no. Christian, please do us all a favor, and stop Joseph while he's ahead."
Christian stared at the two in puzzlement, but finally moved back over to where they sat, though he remained on his feet. He always did his best storytelling that way.
"Well – our story's set in India . . ."
Verona's suggestion had been a clever one – Christian got caught up in his storytelling, and it helped distract him from his rather intense worry. As the tale wound to a close, the Parises rather enraptured despite the fact it had been an entirely random request on Verona's part, the door of the bedroom finally opened, and the doctor came out, looking tired, but accomplished.
"Congratulations, Christian – you're the father of a healthy baby boy."
Christian stared for a moment at Dr. Morrow, then beamed and broke for the door of the bedroom, stepping inside to see Satine sitting up on the bed with a blanketed bundle cradled in her arms. His heart skipped a beat as realization struck him – their baby.
Satine looked up at him and smiled, looking utterly exhausted, but proud.
"Come meet our son," she said, gently pulling the blanket's folds away as he moved over to perch on the side of the bed.
And Olivier Thomas James blinked open his blue-grey eyes and released a throaty cry.
"He has your lungs," Satine teased with a laugh.
"Hello, Olivier," Christian said, reaching to gently stroke the soft hair that covered the baby's head.
Satine had been right – not only about the baby being a boy, but that he looked remarkably like his father. Already in the tiny form she could see a little boy with unruly dark hair and a smile that lit up a room, exactly as she imagined Christian must have been as a child.
"Congratulations, darling," he whispered to her, leaning over to kiss her gently on the temple.
"Congratulations to you," she responded, glancing up at him. "It's hard to believe – we've created a life together."
Christian nodded, gazing down at the small form with a sense of awe. "I know."
"He's beautiful, isn't he?" Satine mused, sighing in contentment. Already, she loved this little life so much, and now she understood the bond between a parent and a child.
"Like his mother," Christian agreed.
"But he'll be talented like his father," she countered.
Olivier, for his part, began to cry again.
Satine laughed softly, and started to sing to soothe him.
"I was waiting for so long,
For a miracle to come.
Everyone told me to be strong,
Hold on, and don't shed a tear.
Through the darkness and good times,
I knew I'd make it through.
And the world thought I had it all,
But I was waiting for you."
She glanced up at Christian, smiling, and went on.
"When it was dark now there's light,
Where there was pain now there's joy.
Where there was weakness, I found my strength,
All in the eyes of a boy.
Hush now, I see a light in your eyes.
All in the eyes of a boy.
I can't believe I've been touched by an angel with love."
"How are we feeling today, Maman?" Christian asked, creeping up behind Satine's chair and leaning down to look over her shoulder at Olivier.
Satine crinkled her nose – more so in response to the term than the question – and cast her gaze sidelong toward Christian. "We're fine, Papa."
Christian paused, an eyebrow quirking, and conceded, "All right, we'll leave it to Olivier to call us by those names."
"Good," she answered primly, then returned her attention to the baby, who was slumbering rather peacefully in his mother's arms.
"You got a letter from Marie," Christian said, leaning up and walking around to show her the letter in question.
"I wrote to tell her about Olivier," she replied, then held out the baby to him.
Christian set the mail and newspaper down, then took Olivier in his arms and settled into the chair opposite hers.
Satine reached for the letter and opened it, then sat back reading. "Marie is doing well. She sends her congratulations – and Harold's, as well – and said she wants to see Olivier as soon as she can."
Christian smiled, gazing down at the baby. "You hear that, Olivier? You're becoming quite a celebrity."
And, in the celebrity interest of doing whatever one wishes, Olivier began to cry.
Satine laughed softly, folding the letter back up and setting it aside. "He's a bit cranky today, I think."
Nonplused by this, Christian made cooing noises in favor of calming the baby down.
Unfortunately, it didn't work, and Olivier continued to wail. Watching the two, Satine raised an eyebrow. "Why don't you try a lullaby?"
Accepting this as a perfectly valid suggestion, Christian began to sing.
"Lullaby and goodnight, with roses bedight,
With lilies o'er spread is baby's sweet bed.
Lay thee down now and rest, may thy slumber be blessed . . .
Lullaby and goodnight, thy mother's delight,
Bright angels beside my darling abide.
Lay thee down now and rest, may thy slumber be blessed . . ."
Author's Note: Lyrics are Celine Dion's "A New Day Has Come," used in parts . . . and "Brahm's Lullaby," which I'm not sure who it belongs to – I think over time maybe it's become a sort of folk thing. This chapter was a lot of fluff, but it's the 'baby chapter,' so I think it's forgivable. ;)