Ben manages a couple of hours of sleep before his bladder makes its presence known. He gets up with a groan and makes his way to the bathroom. The sight that greets him in the mirror is less than inspiring. Eyes so hooded they're just slits over dark smudges. Skin nearly grey with exhaustion. His hair is too long, and his beard needs a trim. He looks like something they would sweep off the pier on a Sunday morning.
He hasn't been this shattered since the morning after his leaving-do in Causton, though it's marginally better than his last concussion. Apparently, a wrench wielded by a murderous fitness instructor does more damage than an elderly woman swinging a cricket bat.
He splashes cold water on his face and that helps a bit, but he's glad Sarah put her foot down. There's no way he's up to facing Butler and Wade today. He needs to be sharp and focused for the interviews, but his head still feels like it's been stuffed with cotton. Hopefully another couple of hours of rest will do the trick, and he can at least be a better guest.
Sarah is coming upstairs as he leaves the bathroom, and he's glad he pulled on a t-shirt, as she's holding Betty. As soon as she sees him, Betty reaches her arms out towards him, and this simple gesture nearly breaks him. Betty, at least, still trusts him.
"Sorry, Ben, I hope we didn't disturb you," Sarah says. "I'm just going to put Betty down for a nap." She looks at him critically. "It looks like you still need one as well."
There's a crease above the bridge of her nose that means she's fretting, and he wants to reassure her. "Why don't you leave Betty with me," he suggests. "I can read to her and then we can take a nap together."
Sarah hesitates, so he tries to look more responsible and less like he's about to topple over.
"What do you think, Betty? Do you want your Uncle Ben to read you a story?"
"Benny!" she cries. "Bunny!" She waves her stuffed bunny at him, and tries to wriggle out of Sarah's arms.
"I think that answers it," Sarah says with a smile, and presents him with an armful of toddler. "Just let me know if she's too much."
Ben thinks Betty could tap dance across his aching skull and it wouldn't be too much. "We'll be fine. I'll shout if I need backup."
Betty is already sleepy when they settle on the mattress next to the cot in the nursery. Two picture books later and her eyes flutter closed, her arm possessively tucked in his.
Ben lies very still until he's sure she's asleep, overwhelmed for a moment by the love he feels for his goddaughter. She's not his blood, but she's his family, in the eyes of the Church, and more importantly in the eyes of her parents.
Ben hasn't been religious for a long time. His father's family tried to drum their Baptist beliefs into him, but not much stuck beyond an inherent distrust of the rich and powerful and a disdain for pomp and circumstance.
It's not something he wants to share with Betty, though. He wants dancing and laughter and joy for her, not dour disapproval. He wants to teach her to salsa, to tell jokes that will make her father groan, to spin bowl and hit a googly, to be strong and proud and brave. He thinks her parents already have that last part covered, though.
He tries to extricate his arm carefully, but Betty stirs, and her eyes flutter open.
"Hush," he murmurs, stroking her hair lightly. He hums a lullaby his gran used to sing to him, but he can't quite remember the words. Maybe he'll take Betty to see her this week, while John and Sarah are at work, and she can teach him everything that he's forgotten.
Betty settles back to sleep, and he closes his eyes, drifting off to the memory of fresh-baked bread and a melody of love.
