Disclaimer- Not mine, don't sue, got nothing.
A/N- Special thanks to TC-sama for beta reading this chapter. And many thanks to everyone who has reviewed. If you're not already on the list please feel free to follow my profile for a link to my mailing list page. Comments, suggestions, and criticisms are always welcome.Flames will be used to light the lesbian candle o' love.
Small Packages
Chapter 6
Quatre pushed the perfectly roasted lamb around his plate absently. The silence at the table was overwhelming. He could feel his husband's turmoil. A veritable swirling of anxiety and fear and no small amount of apprehension emanated from the tall slender form that sat in the chair across from him at the massive dining table. Even Megan seemed to sense the discomfort. She hadn't spoken a word since sitting down. Similar feelings were coming off the girl, equally as complex, though her own confusion was somewhat more pronounced.
He forced a smile and gazed at the girl. "Megan, did you enjoy your time with Amala?"
She glanced up from her plate and nodded briefly before dropping her eyes once more. Quatre cleared his throat and tried again. "Trowa did you know that Megan is quite the artist? She drew the best picture of a lion I've ever seen."
Trowa's eyes flickered to Quatre as he nodded and then lowered his gaze to his own plate. The resemblance in their action was uncanny, right down to the way they clenched and unclenched their fists around their forks. Trowa's action was less visible, but Megan made no attempt to hide her anxiety. At last the child spoke. Her voice betrayed her fear. "Papa? Do you not like me?"
Ahh, now things were getting interesting. Quatre watched as emerald orbs flickered to life, coming to rest on the girl. He shook his head minutely. "No. I'm not."
"Oh." She fell silent once more, lapsing into thought. Her brow furrowed as she spoke again. "I thought you might not like me since I didn't ask before I gave you a kiss."
Trowa's eyes softened visibly. "No, Megan. I didn't mind. I'm just… not used to being a … papa… yet. I promise I'm not angry and I like you."
Quatre resisted the urge to interfere, instead choosing to listen with his heart as he felt Megan's anxiety all but subside. "That's good. Cause I like you too and I don't want you to not like me."
"I…" Trowa frowned, fighting for words. "I promise I'll always likes you. Does that make you feel better?"
"Yes, Sir." She broke into a grin before turning her eyes to Quatre. "What do I call you?"
Quatre's heart fluttered as he regarded the child. He hadn't thought of this before, for some reason it had not crossed his mind to think of a name beyond Quatre. He searched his mind frantically. Father… that was a hard sounding name. He didn't want to be like his own father. Papa… no that was what she called Trowa. Daddy… No. Too Duo. The words slipped from his lips before he even finished thinking them. "I called my father Abu. But… if you want you can call me Baba, it's an affectionate variation. Sort of like Papa, but in Arabic."
Megan's nose wrinkled as she giggled. "Papa and Babu."
"Baba." He corrected gently, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"I like Babu better… can I call you Babu?" She flashed him a hopeful grin, dimples dancing.
He chuckled softly. "Babu it is."
"Babu and Papa… do you like that Papa?" She glanced at Trowa, who sat stunned.
His husband nodded. "Babu… it suits him very much." Trowa's smile was genuine, and Quatre felt another flutter in his chest. But this time it wasn't his… it was Trowa's. Quatre cleared his throat. "Well then, we should eat before it gets cold, don't you think? And then it's a bath and off to bed with you."
"I don't like my room." She spoke up without shame. "It's too far. Mama always let me sleep close to her for if I had a nightmare."
"Well then, while you bathe, Papa and I will move your things into the room next to ours. Will that be better?" Quatre glanced to Trowa for confirmation.
His husband nodded in agreement, then spoke softly. "I have a two way radio you can put by your bed if you want. You can call us if you have a bad dream. One of us will come."
"Do you promise."
Trowa nodded. "I promise."
"Pinky swear?" The persisted.
Trowa frowned as her extended hand. He stared for a moment. Quatre wiggled his little finger at Trowa in explanation. His husband's lips formed an 'o' of understanding and a long arm snaked across the table to hook his finger with Megan's. "Pinky swear."
"Okay." Megan tore into her food with a voracity to rival Duo's. The rest of the meal was considerably more pleasant than the beginning.
An hour later Quatre tucked Megan into the massive four poster canopy bed in what had been his mother's suite of rooms. Except for cleaning, the rooms hadn't been used since her death. He brushed a kiss across Megan's forehead. Her eyes were beginning to droop already. "Goodnight, Megan."
"Night, Babu." She murmured sleepily. "Will you please tell Papa that I want to kiss him goodnight too."
"I sure will." He nestled the now mended lion between her arm and chin and the pillow.
She immediately latched onto it. "Babu?"
He paused as he rose from the edge of the bed where he'd sat. "Yes?"
"Will you read more of Ali tomorrow night?"
"Yes, Megan. Now go to sleep. Remember to use the radio if you need us." He moved to the door and flipped off the overhead light, leaving the room illuminated by the light from the hallway. "Good night."
He padded barefoot to the room across the hall and tapped on the bathroom door. It opened immediately, revealing Trowa with damp hair and clad only in a pair of well-worn pajama pants. He raised questioning brows at Quatre. The blond man smirked lasciviously. "You look even better without the pants." He moved closer, winding his arms around his husband from behind and pressing a kiss to the small scar on his shoulder. "Megan asked me to tell you to kiss her goodnight."
Trowa's brushing slowed for a moment before he nodded. He leaned away, spitting out the toothpaste and cupping his hands under the running water to rinse his mouth out. After drying his mouth on the hand towel, he turned, capturing Quatre's lips for a brief sweet kiss. "I'll be right back, then can we talk?"
"Of course, muhib." He leaned into the kiss and then released Trowa, hands straying to the buttons on his shirt. He watched Trowa's retreating form as he moved back into the bedroom to change into his own nightclothes.
He crawled beneath the covers, flipping on the radio that sat on Trowa's side of the bed. By the time he had fluffed the pillows behind his head and smoothed out Trowa's own, the auburn-haired man was back. Quatre smiled readily, though he felt his own nervousness creeping back in. Trowa snapped off the lights and slid beneath the covers, gravitating towards his husband. Slender arms snaked around Quatre's waist, pulling him close for a lingering kiss. Quatre readily obliged. Trowa's casted arm slid around his middle to rest his arm more comfortably. "So, we need to talk. Tell me what your thinking."
In the darkness there was a soft exhalation. Quatre waited patiently. Trowa had a way with words when the situation called for it, but with a subject he wasn't entirely confident with, sometimes his calm tended to falter. Quatre remained still, peering at Trowa in the moonlit room. The words came haltingly at first. "I'm sorry about losing my temper… you were right. When you said… that it affected…both of us. I'm really sorry about that. I'm not sure how I feel about this whole situation yet. I haven't the first clue what to do. I mean, father's usually have time to work up to the hard stuff, like talking to their kid. I feel like I've been thrown onto a roller coaster midway down a hill and I'm scared. I'm scared shitless."
Trowa's arms tightened around him. Quatre gently brushed the overly long bangs from his face before drawing Trowa's head to rest in the crook of his neck. Trowa stumbled on. "I'm not sure what to do. I… I'm drawn to her, Megan I mean. It's amazing to think that she's a part of me. But it's terrifying to think that I'm responsible for her. I'm not sure I'm ready for that. I've never had parents, where would I even begin to learn how to be one. I'm afraid I'd fuck her up for life."
He paused again, a tell-tale shaking beginning in his shoulders. Quatre simply moved his hands to stroke the back of his lover's head. "Quatre… what do I do? Please just tell me what to do. I'll do whatever you say is right. And I swear I'll never pick a fight with you again."
Quatre chuckled lightly and laid a gently kiss to Trowa's head. "My love, I'm afraid it doesn't work that way. And besides you shouldn't make promises you know you haven't a snowball's chance in hell to keep. We'll be fighting till the day we die. Trowa, I can't give you the answers you want. I wish I could. Allah, how I wish I could. But this decision is yours to make. I will say that I wouldn't mind having Megan around and she reminds me a great deal of what we're missing in our lives. This house was positively alive this afternoon, her little being was thrumming with energy and vivacity. She'd be happy here. But she's little and she'll adjust quickly whether she's with us or with someone else."
Trowa drew away, lifting his head to regard Quatre. The blond continued. "Trowa, this decision does affect us both, but it's your decision to make. Only you can decide if your ready for the reality of 24 hours a day, 7 days a week for the rest of your lifetime being a father."
"What about you, Quatre? Would you… be happy if I decided to have her stay?"
Quatre raised a hand to Trowa's face, wiping away the tears that still lingered there. Emerald orbs were a light jade from sheer exhaustion and worry. "Trowa, I would be thrilled if that's what makes you happy. But I'm not going to try to sway you either way. You remember our vows, Trowa?"
His husband blinked wearily, then spoke in a low voice, quoting the vows they'd written on their wedding day, "I swear to lift you up and catch you when you fall. I pledge to drive you forth to your dreams never daring to hold you back from your joy." He trailed off then clutched Quatre to him, the trembling subsiding. "I love you, Quatre."
A smile touched Quatre's lips. His heart was breaking for his lover. The repeating of the promises they'd made on the day of their marriage recalled the pure and utter hell they'd gone through in the beginning, back when Trowa had been insistent in his uttering of those words for the first time. It still strained Quatre's heart to imagine that he'd ever been foolish enough to try to push Trowa away. His embrace tightened fractionally until he released Trowa long enough to crush their lips together in a bruising kiss. Aqua eyes glittered as he released him, his voice dropping to a throaty growl. "Do we get to have make up sex now?"
Trowa's lips curved into a grin. "I don't know… are you up to it?"
Quatre felt his stomach tightening as Trowa's shift in thoughts rolled off him. "I wouldn't worry. I'll manage." He sniggered against Trowa's lips. "We'll just have to get creative to get around that cast." He lifted his hand, flicking his forefinger against the plaster-encased extremity. The taller man's only response was a soft rumble from his chest as he maneuvered his husband to straddle his hips.