Soul stood, heart raw and mind twisted in knots. He tried to convince himself it was the wrong room as his gaze tried to turn from the gauze-wrapped head that was littered with tubes. A gasp from the bedside broke the spell, bringing him to face Flora rather than the horrible mass in the hospital bed.
"I'm sorry," Flora's whisper warbled. "Oh, Solomon, for a moment, you looked just like him." Her head tipped, disappearing into her palms to catch a sob.
I bet you wish I was Wes. Shame brought blistering warmth to the back of his neck. "Is she…?" Dead. Viv's dead. Whatever that is on the bed isn't her, just a husk.
Flora shook her head as she reached to the bed to gather up the motionless hand that lay just as white as the sheets underneath it. "They've done everything they can and now it's up to her. But she…" Flora raised tired, watery eyes to him. "She'll be fine. She has to be."
That desperation leached all the way down to his bones.
"She'd never do this to Layla, and not with"—a terrible choking sob broke her before she could continue—"the baby. It's too early for the baby."
The world dropped from underneath him, forcing his stumbling steps towards the bed. "She– she's pregnant?" The question rattled uselessly through the room, only answered by Flora's sobs. His knees threatened to collapse as he reached Viv's bedside, that other ghostly hand awaiting him. He clutched it, and the flood that washed over his mind continued until it oozed from his lips:
"Viv, you gotta stay with us. I'll just– I'll stay, Viv. If you stay, so will I, I fucking swear." His voice cracked hoarsely but there was no stopping the spew as he leaned closer, trying to find the face he knew under all the bandages. "I know I'm not Wes– I can't be Wes– but I'll do whatever you need. I'll try to do whatever needs to be done for Layla and the baby. I fucking swear. I swear! So don't go, don't!"
"Papa!"
Soul's eyes shot open to Layla's frantic face instead of his dark ceiling.
"Papa, you were crying." Layla's gentle hands were on his cheeks, massaging away the drenched surface.
He pulled in a shaky breath. That nightmare– no, it's a memory. That's not just something my brain made up.
"Papa?"
"Yeah," he croaked as he reached for Layla, gathering her into his arms and pulling her into bed with him. She held him tightly, taking firm fistfuls of his t-shirt. "It's alright, Layla."
She nuzzled closer. "You were saying mommy's name again."
He sighed, closing his eyes as he stroked a trembling hand over her hair. "Don't worry about it. Just a dream." That brought little comfort to either of them, leaving Soul to force another slow exhale. "I just miss her."
The admission brought only momentary silence before Layla murmured, "And daddy?"
Each explanation he could think of didn't fill the gap that question left behind. He was left searching in the dark, grasping at half truths. But I can't. I have to tell her the whole truth, not some perfect picture. "Not in the same way."
"You don't dream about daddy?"
"No." Guilt laced the word. He could only abate the pain of it by planting a gentle kiss at her hairline. "But I've been thinking about him more lately." Honesty was never painless; the admission came with all the ease of pulling out a dug-in splinter.
"Why?" Her voice was gentle even if her question was not.
"Lots of reasons." Part stalling and part truth, Soul let that linger between them for a moment. "Guess I'm tryin' to give you just as many memories of your daddy as you have of your mommy."
"Pop tells me," she murmured as her grip tightened. "So you don't have to, Papa. Not if it makes you sad."
Look what you taught her– keeping people from hurting by sacrificing what you want. "Bug, what does Dr. Marie say about bein' sad?"
A tiny squeak of displeasure answered the question.
"I gotta be sad sometimes." Soul smoothed over Layla's hair again, nuzzling another soft kiss to her forehead. "And that's alright. I'm alright."
"Papa," Layla murmured mournfully.
"But…" He closed his eyes against the burn of tears. "I don't have a lot to tell you, bug. At least not yet."
Family.
He used the word easily– freely– as if I wouldn't be trespassing.
As if I even know what it's like.
I'm not completely sure I remember us as a family. Papa tried. I think Mama did until the affairs started. I… I was a daughter, but fragmented. My loyalty had to be nowhere and everywhere at the same time. Loving both of them quickly became impossible so I opted never to be around.
I crashed couch to couch. I was lucky to have Blake, Sid, and Mira since I always had a place there and at least that was one overnight Papa wouldn't freak about. Mama didn't have an opinion– or at least not one that could overwhelm the volume of Papa's.
So now… how do I become part of one again?
How do I make sure that I do this right instead of being that same scared, torn little girl?
Because Blake was right, it's not just me who gets hurt anymore. I could hurt Soul if I can't be the right kind of partner. I could– I don't even want to get started on what I could do to Layla. I could hurt her so badly– just like my mama did me. I'd never forgive myself if I did so I… so I'm scared. Terrified.
And I promised to tell him.
Anyone could see Layla was dawdling, but it was even more obvious that Remy was an accomplice as he engaged Soul in small talk rather than bellowing upstairs for the little girl. Wonder if this is some Desjardin's telepathy or maybe I should start buggin' that phone … either way, they're up to somethin'.
The answer should have been clear as day but only dawned on him as the doorbell rang. "A guest?" Remy offered playfully as he glanced at the shadowy figure fuzzing up the stained glass of the door.
Soul grumbled something close to an affirmative before opening the door to show the face he'd been waiting on. Granted, they'd seen each other at lunch and again in passing at Layla's appointment, but Soul still couldn't shelf the need that swam to the surface at every opportunity.
"Hi," Maka murmured sweetly as she stepped into the foyer. She got her hands to his waist before the double take as her eyes locked on Remy. "Oh, hello." The hug was paused as Maka turned a questioning look to Soul.
He waved a lame hand between them. "Ah, Maka, this is Remy. Remy, my girlfriend, Maka."
Remy offered a nod and a bemused grin. "Lala's spoken a lot about you."
"And you," Maka countered with a pleasant smile. "You're her uncle– Viv's brother."
His eyebrows danced up his forehead before he stole a quick glance at Soul. "So Solomon's given you the whole family tree…"
Soul was about to interject, but as he glanced at her, the softening of her smile gave him pause. "He's mentioned your name, but it's more the resemblance. The picture of Viv he showed me– you two could be twins."
A familiar sort of blankness came to Remy's face, feeding a melancholy in his own chest. Can't avoid being compared to ghosts, right, Remy? "All the Desjardin's look alike," Soul offered lamely before turning his attention to the stairs. "Hey, Layla, Maka's here!"
The silence carried weight, only broken by the swift movement of Layla's steps above them. They tumbled down the stairs next, bringing the chipper child with them. "I'm ready to go!" she chimed.
"No 'hello'?" Soul furrowed his brow as he motioned towards Maka.
Layla leapt towards her, arms circling Maka's waist. "Hi, Maka– bye, Maka! Have fun with Papa!" It was only a momentary squeeze before Layla was at Remy's side, grabbing his hand. "Did you meet Maka?"
"Yes"—Remy leaned down to leave the whisper just for Layla—"and I see what all the fuss is about."
Soul bristled as his papa ears easily caught the hushed conversation. "Layla–"
"We have to go, Papa!" Layla tugged at Remy to emphasize, bringing them both towards the door. "Grandpa Julien is making dinner tonight, and if we're late–"
Soul placed a hand on her head, turning it back slowly to look at him. "Remember, it's a school night. Remy's going to take you in the morning and I'll be there in the afternoon to pick you up." And you and me will have plenty to talk about, especially goin' over who's been fussin' and what that fussin's been about.
"Yes, Papa." There was a sing-song quality to her acquiescence that grated down Soul's spine– a hint of the teenage ennui that was to come.
"Don't worry." Remy added insult to injury with his own pleasant, playful drawl. "Bedtime rules will be followed and only two scoops of ice cream." He wrangled Layla under his arm before starting her towards the door.
A conflicting rush hit him as Soul flicked his attention between Maka still half in his arms and Layla on the move out the door. Stop bein' stupid. It's not like you're choosin' between them. He focused back on the door as it clapped shut, letting a slow sigh leak from his lips.
"This isn't the first time she's gone with Remy," Maka teased while her fingers did the same to the nape of his neck.
Soul's sour glare fell on her. "You just don't know the trouble those two get into."
Her reply was to tilt on her toes, gracing his lips with a soft peck. "You didn't have to send her with Remy…"
He pulled back in time to see her straighten out the crinkle in her brow. "Wanted you to feel like you could talk." Temptation took him, sweetly giving into letting his fingers run through her hair before playing along her back. "I know how hard it can be to be honest with a kid around. Too easy to kinda gloss over your feelin's."
A sigh trembled over her lips. "And I have to be honest today." Her whisper barely reached him, but her eyes echoed it loudly.
"Well…" The roll of his shoulders came lamely, making any smile he had for her shrivel. "You don't have to– not today if you don't wanna."
Maka's lips flattened bitterly. "It's nice of you to try to give me an out, but… we both know I owe you as much, right?"
Palms were still desperately on the move, trying to bring warmth back to her. "You don't owe me anythin', Maka."
She expelled a weak laugh. "Liar."
The accusation stung, more so because of the reality it revealed: I'm tryin' to save her feelin's while hurtin' my own. He sighed. "Fine." Comfort came in the form of another stroke of his palm, coming back upwards so he could end by playing with a tendril of her hair. "So what first? Dinner or talk?"
She paused to give that question its due as her hands glided from his waist to his chest. Her fingers tapped against the buttons of his flannel. "I want to go upstairs."
"Wh–" Any word that wanted to come from his mouth was drowned out by the millions in his head. All he was left with was that weak, breathless sound as he desperately waited for her eyes to meet his instead of focusing on his shirt.
"I-I don't know what–" She shook her head before resting it against his chest to send a shaking breath into the fabric. "I just– laying in bed, being close is what I want right now."
"Yeah." He barely kept that from being a squeak. But how close is close? Ignoring that question took most of his mental fortitude, leaving his hand quaking as he attempted another sweep for comfort. "Just like the other night." Just like when I could barely keep it together. Barely stand how much I want you.
Her only reply was taking his hand and guiding him through his own house. The stairs creaked under their feet but were overpowered by the thumping of his heart as it resounded in his ears. She didn't hesitate at the door, pulling him towards the bed he'd left unmade. The mess made no difference to her as she easily slid into the crumpled mess of sheets. He sat down first, staring down at jade eyes as they blinked up at him. "What's wrong?"
Soul couldn't stop his eyes from wandering, trailing down her frame as she settled. "You sure this is… this is okay?"
"It's okay with me…" Her fingers wrapped into the hem of his shirt, tugging enough to bring his attention to the connection. "Is it okay with you?"
I'd do anything to be close to you, but I… do I…? He closed his hand around hers, thumb rubbing over her knuckles. "I wanna make sure you're gonna talk."
She propped up on her elbow and Soul met her glare just in time to see her eyebrows furrow. "And you think laying in bed is going to stop that?"
"Just–" Frustration lined his sigh. "Well–"
His stammering was cut as Maka rose until her lips latched to his. Chaste it was most certainly not, but it still spoke of a delicateness Soul wasn't used to. It was as if he were the fragile party here, the one so close to breaking. "After this," she murmured before gifting him with another tender kiss, "nothing but talking for an hour. Promise."
He chuckled, and though she seemed to accept it as fueled by her own teasing tone, Soul knew better: I don't like that promise. I– Death, for the first time I want to be selfish. I want you. The hand that he used to stroke her hair only fed that fire, stoking more want that he had to swallow down in order to whisper sweetly, "Tell me how I can keep you from cryin' like that again."
Her lingering sigh drifted over his lips before her warmth faded away into the crinkle of the sheets. There was no choice but to follow her, Soul falling on his elbow so he could stare down at her face. His hand immediately went back to drifting through her hair, watching as a bit of bliss caught her and brought her eyes momentarily half-lidded. She breathed slowly, before her lips parted for a hoarse whisper: "I don't remember when or even if we ever felt like a family." Jade blinked wide, forcing those ovals rounder to avoid squeezing out the liquid that had started to add shine to her eyes. "I told you Papa cheated, but Mama wasn't exactly innocent."
Soul gently brought his palm to cup her cheek. "Maka…" He planted a kiss on her forehead, allowing himself to linger there as she pulled in another breath.
"She liked to leave." She gripped his wrist, firmly forcing that connection. "She made it easy—using work as an excuse—because she didn't want to be with us."
"She say that to you?" He muttered the question before trying to heal it with another kiss.
"She didn't have to," Maka replied with a sigh. "It becomes easy to tell when you're a burden to someone."
That ached all the way down to his bones, making him pull away enough to see the first blink of tears down her cheeks. He caught a few with his fingers before leaning in again, this time to capture her lips with that every evolving desire to rip that hurt from her.
She patted his chest, breaking the kiss with a weak laugh. "I said an hour."
"You promised. I didn't," he muttered. Soul found some solace in the smile that graced her lips in between each fluttering connection. He could have done that for the next hour but broke away after only a few more. "Was your dad at least…?"
Maka hummed out a soft affirmative. "Sort of too much. Maybe he thought he could make up the difference, but it always just came across as smothering– still does." She sighed as her hand drifted to his side, clutching his shirt like the last branch before a deadly fall. "But it never felt the same. I watched Blake and his parents—Sid and Mira—so I knew that singular, almost obsessive love wasn't how family was."
"How's family supposed to be?"
Her answer came without even a breath to spare: "Like you and Layla."
Soul couldn't help but scoff, creating more space between the two of them to ensure she saw the incredulity on his face.
"You really don't see it, do you?" Her eyebrows furrowed while the hand that had a death grip on him flattened to run a soothing palm along his back. "You give Layla so much space to grow– to be herself. It made me envious of your relationship from the very beginning."
"I'm definitely not perfect," he murmured.
"No one is," Maka added quickly, but let her hand continue to speak comfort up and down his spine. "But you listen. I wish I had the chance to have discussions as a child– something that I've noticed Layla isn't shy about asking for."
His jaw worked, unsure of what expression to settle on. "Well, I just…" Soul sighed. "I've never really known if what I was doin' was the right thing so I got used to askin'."
"You are doing the right thing, Soul."
There was no resisting the momentary swell of pride under the earnest power of her gaze. He tried to force his focus back to the topic rather than the way that fed his urge to kiss her again– to tangle up with her and forget the not so pleasurable reason they were in bed. "So you were cryin' because you were jealous?"
"Envious," she corrected with a knowing smile. "And that was part of it but it was also…" Maka let that drift off, her eyes closing as she pulled in a deep breath. "You made it sound so simple– that just by talking these things through we could be working towards being a family."
"I–" Soul gulped that down like an accusation, feeling it burn through his chest. "I guess I didn't mean to make you—I dunno—nervous or pressured or–"
Her hands gripped him again, freezing his reeling. "Did you mean it?"
He looked down at her in his bed, clinging to him. Wasn't this the place to backpedal? To be careful? To keep himself from taking something from her just because he wanted it? But if he did—if he let this go—he'd be lying. "Yeah. I did– do mean it."
Her whisper came back squashed, almost nothing as it left her mouth: "Which is the scariest part."
"I-I'm sorry." Soul was floundering, fingers hesitating to touch for fear of breaking them apart.
Instead of some horrible, final push to snap the tie between them, her smile appeared, sending him further into confusion. "I don't want you to be." Maka's tender touch started to erase the surprise on his face as it caressed his cheek. "And really, it has nothing to do with you. I'm just– how do I be good to you?"
"What?" Now he was sure he'd missed a word– sentence– paragraph since there was no way... "Maka…"
"If I don't know how to be a part of a family–"
"Hey," he cut in firmly while placing a steadying hand on her waist, tipping her closer towards him. "What do you do when you don't know somethin'?"
She blinked up at him, surprise deadening her response timing. Seconds had to tick before a useless "what?" slipped from her mouth.
"I remember when you wanted to know about James." This brought his smile back without any of those lines of hesitation. "I tried to tell you that you couldn't get it, that there was no point, but you dug in. That's what you do, Maka. If you don't know somethin' you search for it until you do, refusin' to throw in the towel no matter what idiot English teacher tries to get in your way."
He watched her eyes fill with tears, lips still pulled shut but warbling slightly with the wave that was hitting her.
"Which means I know that just because you don't know now doesn't mean you won't. You've never shied away from a challenge before, so…" Soul caught the sweetness in his own sigh as he let that long forgotten want take him. "So I'm gonna beg you to learn. For me, for Layla, and for you."
Maka reached for him, grasping tightly to pull him into the sheets with her. She wouldn't allow for a molecule of space and Soul fell into it with a greedy heart. Her breath fluttered against his neck, ragged from sobs she could no longer suppress. "Okay," came almost as a wail– a plea just as much as it was a promise. "I'll learn. I promise."
Soul let his gentle touches answer, his lips tasting the salt against her skin as his hands tried to smooth out the trembling. "I know you will." You have to—that selfishness was catching up with him again—because it's the only thing I've ever really wanted.
Soul hated to see Julien borrowing his son's sly smile, especially since it only brought a bit of blush creeping up his neck as he entered the house. Wednesday had turned into the rest of the week thanks to Layla's insistence– or maybe he should call it meddling. "Everything go alright?"
Julien waved off his worry as he started towards the kitchen, letting Soul trail along behind him. "Layla never causes any trouble."
Thankfully the old man's back was to him since Soul's eyes rolled so hard they almost popped from his head. She is trouble. "Thanks for keepin' her–"
A dismissive "tut" sounded loud enough to trickle over Julien's shoulder. "You need your time, Solomon. You're a good father, but that shouldn't be all you are."
Soul's heels stuck just before the linoleum, watching Julien from the doorway as he bustled about in his usual pattern of starting tea. It wasn't as if Julien never complimented him, but… it rang too closely to Maka's question, bringing it all back to his mind. "Julien, can I–"
The man instantly stopped his scuttling, eyes intent on Soul.
"Mind if I ask you somethin'?"
Julien studied him carefully. "Coffee and tea first. Sit." Soul followed orders, taking his designated chair and strumming his fingers until the setting of his regular coffee cup broke the pattern. He gripped the porcelain until his knuckles strained. "What is it?" Julien prompted softly as he blew steam from his tea.
His nails worked along the smooth surface of the mug, watching the ripples over the surface of the umber liquid. "Why'd you agree to let me take her in the first place?"
Even Julien's breath beforehand seemed carefully calculated. "It was in the will, Solomon."
"Yeah, but…" Soul got his gaze as far as Julien's hands before his gut started to fall to his shoes. "It said me or you and Flora. You coulda fought it– no judge would have given her to me over you two."
Julien cleared his throat before his voice started quietly. "I want you to remember I didn't know you. I only knew what I'd heard from Vivienne and to me you seemed…" he groaned slightly "... cold. The opposite of your brother."
The skin at the base of his neck lit up, raw and burning like his heart.
"But Flora told me about the hospital– about your promise."
His eyes shot wide before finally meeting Julien.
He was nodding softly, a glum smile on his lips. "Flora insisted you have the chance, so I did nothing to get in the way. How could I when Layla already chose you too?"
His head felt full of cotton, clogging any answer to that sweet question.
"It was the radio, you know?" Julien continued wistfully. "When your brother would go on his trips, Vivienne and Layla would stay with us. Layla would only fall asleep to your voice– and that picture of you and Wesley that Vivienne carried around. The one from the wedding."
In a sudden surge, Soul's eyes misted, making the kitchen a blur before he could blink out a wave of tears.
"I never should have doubted Vivienne's choice." Julien reached out, the smoothness of his palm patting over the back of Soul's hand. "My daughter would be happy, and I know Layla is."
He hid his face in his hands, catching the rest of the tears before they could fall.
"Why the question, Solomon? Is it the journal?"
"No," Soul warbled from his hiding place. He laughed bitterly before emerging halfway, his fingers still swiping at his cheeks. "Layla– well, she sorta has this list of things she thinks will make me happy and…" His lip wrinkled over the rest as more liquid swam to ruin his vision.
Julien tapped his hand tenderly again. "Solomon?"
There had never been a point in his life where Soul had ever wanted to attempt to negotiate advice from either of his parents– Shihab and Lenora had an entirely distorted view of the world that was never in the same universe as his. Sometimes he thought maybe he could attempt to pull something from Wes, but those moments died almost instantly as soon as he stepped into his brother's shadow. This left him without an anchor, unsure of any step he could make leaving him to rarely make any. Change or choosing– neither of them were things he had the bravery for in the past.
That sweet moment—lying in bed tangled in Maka and her promises—left some of her courage to linger. "Julien, is it okay if I– what if I had another kid?"
His bushy eyebrows fluttered upward only momentarily before settling, eyes starting to shine just as much as the smile on his face. "You are so surprising sometimes."
Soul's heart thunked against his ribs, the grey of Julien's answer driving its unsteady beat. "I-I'm not sayin' I am–"
"You should," Julien replied succinctly to his stuttering.
That did nothing to save the rhythm in Soul's chest, now making it flutter away with nerves rather than that original wave of fear. "I just– I–" A weak laugh broke over his lips, shuddering crazily without breath to back it.
"You want to." It didn't come as a question, Julien just nodding as if this were an age-old truth.
"I don't know," Soul murmured quietly. "I just—fuck this sounds so stupid—I didn't think I was allowed. I know that doesn't make sense, but–"
"Permission for that sort of thing is usually kept between the people making the child," Julien chided with a subtle lilt of joy. "But if you're looking for approval, if it's on Layla's list then you already have it." He pulled his hand away from Soul to thoughtfully pat his chin. "Not to mention I wouldn't mind being a grandfather again."
This laugh had more life as Soul managed half a smile. "I'll, uh, let you know."
Julien nodded before bringing his mug up to cover the smile as it curved his lips.
He cleared his throat, finishing with his tears before awkwardly rubbing at the back of his neck. "Where's Layla anyway?"
"A movie with Remy," Julien replied between sips. "It's not every day Layla insists on staying so I thought you might need to talk."
While no part of this conversation had hit Soul as mundane, that sent the real shockwave to his core. He had been honest with Remy—his father, his mother would never be what he considered family—but just like Maka, he couldn't help but struggle with everything that came with that word. He'd used it freely with her, but until he sat there in the space Julien had made for him, it hadn't fallen into place. It wasn't entirely comfortable, but there was no burn, strike, or sting to it either. I get it—his heart swelled along with a start of a smile—that it didn't die with Viv. It didn't die with Wes. It's here, I have it, and I just have to accept it.
