The tiny little blonde head of hair snuggled deeper into his chest.
He held her in a gentle, firm grip, one hand supporting the bottoms of her knees and tush, the other pressing lightly into her back to keep her in place as he bounced gently on the heels of his feet. An uneven hum escaped his lips, a mockery of what would have been a proper tune if not for the constant jostling of his rocking rhythm. If the little girl – his little girl – minded the off-tune singing at all, she certainly didn't show it. The fingers of her right hand closed as tightly as her little fist could manage around the fabric of his hoodie. Her eyes were closed in a peaceful, easy way, even as the teensy ears atop her head flicked to and fro.
Little Olive Arc.
Once upon a time, Jaune had told his wife in all seriousness that he would never love anyone else in the world as much as he loved her. At the time, the very notion had been unfathomable. Laughable. Looking down at the sunny bundle of joy in his arms, he could not find it in himself to be all that upset at being proven wrong. He found it unlikely that his wife would think any different.
"You're–" Jaune trailed off.
Blake, who currently had the most nervewracked look on her face that Jaune could ever remember seeing, bobbed her head in an overexaggerated manner. Nerves were lending too much energy to her movements. She was overextending – overdoing. Her hair, which had recently managed to grow out past her shoulders from when she'd last cut it into a bob, bounced against her cheeks and shoulders. "Pregnant."
Jaune ran a hand through his own blonde locks. He too had begun to grow it out again, allowing it fall into its old, scraggly, unkempt state just below his ears. He enjoyed the boyish look it lent him. "You're sure?" he pressed, unable to keep the tone of doubt from his voice.
Blake's ears drooped even as she continued to nod. "I took three tests. And I'm late."
She waited. She and Jaune had talked of kids, of course. Jaune came from a family of eight, and in all the time she had known him, he had, had nothing but wonderful things to say about the size of his family. There was the odd complaint of too many times playing dress up with his sisters, but they did not in any way equate to a dissatisfaction with how he had grown up. She had, admittedly, expected rather a bit more excitement than this.
Not that she didn't understand. Pregnancy was an enormous shock. Beneath the veneer of her tension and her nerves, Blake could feel an undeniable excitement, but it was struggling to make itself known amidst the roiling waves of fear and anxiousness. Blake didn't know how to do this. Her own parents had been wonderful. Loving, supportive and caring, if a bit distracted at times by the civil rights crusade they'd been waging long before she was born. But Blake had run away from all that so long ago. She didn't know even know if she could be a mother, let alone how to go about actually doing it! What would she do when it cried? What would she tell it to chase away the nightmares? What would she tell it about her own childhood and the type of person she'd been?
Strong, tight arms encircled her suddenly in a grip of iron, cutting off her thoughts with a tight, constricting squeeze. She squealed as she was lifted up into the air, the sound accompanied by the joyous, raucous laugh of her husband who had just now begun to spin her in place.
"Jaune! Jaune, stop!" she cried, slapping him uselessly on the shoulder. He seemed not to hear her, continuing to spin her. "You'll make me sick!"
He set her down, although she was entirely convinced that he had done it of his own volition and not out of response to her entreaty. His face was split into the widest grin she had ever seen on his face. She had thought his smile would never shine brighter than the way it had at the end of the aisle. Reaching up to cup his face, she was ecstatic to see that she had been wrong.
His hands found her stomach, running over it through the fabric of her shirt with a reverence unlike any she'd ever seen. His eyes traced invisible patterns on her skin, as if he thought he could see straight through her to their tiny, little baby.
His eyes jumped up, meeting with hers in an explosion of joy. "Is it a boy or a girl!?" he demanded enthusiastically.
Blake laughed. "It's only been a few weeks, Jaune, I don't know."
He moaned like a child, even going so far as to stomp his foot. "Come on, what do you think it is?" he pressed. She felt his fingers press lightly into her stomach as he again turned his gaze down to it. "I think it's a girl."
Blake shook her head almost as a reflex. She didn't know why. Until he'd made mention of it, she'd not even considered the gender. Now, though…"It's a boy," she stated definitively. "Definitely a boy."
He grimaced lightly, but the ugly expression was nowhere near strong enough to usurp his grin. "I hope not," he told her with a faint smile. "He'll be as clumsy as I was."
Her thumb traced light patterns over his cheek. "And as handsome," she said softly.
He turned his face into her palm, kissing the inside of her hand lightly. "Even more so with you as his mother." His smile turned mischievous. "But it's definitely a girl."
Blake rolled her eyes. "You wish."
The hand that supported her back slid up, running delightfully through thin, blonde hair – the softest thing he'd ever felt. A large grin blossomed across his face. He'd been proven right in the end, and it had been a fun day of gloating when the doctor had told them that they were having an 'Olive' and not a 'Basil' – their chosen name for a boy. Happy day after happy day had proceeded from that late afternoon when Blake had told him the good news. Over and over again, he had been sure that his happiness would never be surpassed. First it was the knowledge that he was going to be a dad. Then it was the day he and Blake chose names. Then it was the day he found out he was having a little girl. Tracking their little girl's development along the way had been a constant exercise in euphoria. And the fateful day that finally brought her into their lives…Jaune had said it so many times now, but he truly didn't think there would ever be a day that would top it.
The grin slipped quickly into a frown as his eyes caught the clock. Just after seven. Vale was in the middle of its summer. The sun was only just beginning to set outside the kitchen window, casting the house in a stunning display of pinks and oranges as it lowered into the horizon. Bedtime was supposed to be the bane of the child, but looking at the sleeping babe in his arms, it seemed clear to Jaune which of the two of them minded it most. She was a tiring little thing, of course, and he would not be long for bed after he put her down, but he had not yet managed to put her down to sleep without some measure of reluctance.
Olive's room was adjacent to the kitchen, which was itself adjacent to a miniscule little apartment. Blake and Jaune's room was beside that, just to the left of the front door. They had lived in this apartment since before they were married, content to live below their means. Huntsman work paid well, and they'd been content to live in the ramshackle, tiny little complex until their savings swelled enough to warrant a house. A good thing, too, given that Blake had not worked since she had become pregnant and that Jaune had taken a leave of absence from missions after Blake reached her third trimester. They still had a comfortable cushion to rely on, but soon enough the two of them would have to return to work. Hard and painful would be the day that took them away from their little girl, and Jaune was very grateful it had not yet come.
Olive's door was already open. His daughter's cat ears were much more sensitive than her human ones. The slightest noise – such as the creaking of a door – could wake her unless she was well and truly under. The ninja that his wife was, Blake seemed perfectly capable of closing the door without making a sound. Jaune, nearly as clutzy now as he had been in his youth, always seemed to find the perfect angle to make it squeal like a newborn pig.
Over her cradle, he rocked her, still humming lightly. It was the same song every night, a comfortable routine between father and daughter. Jaune was unable to help the near sob of adoration that escaped his throat as he pulled Olive away from his chest and her face scrunched up unhappily at the lack of contact.
"You're so beautiful," he whispered to her. She was. The most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. He took every opportunity to tell her. His hum turned to a tune. He began to sing softly to her as he lowered her into the crib, cradling her head until the very last moment so that her hair was the last thing he touched. "And he was talking 'fore I knew it, and as he grew, he'd say 'I'm gonna be like you, dad. You know I'm gonna be like you.'"
Jaune slid his hand out from under her head, trailing his fingers up the side of her face until they met the tips of her cat ears. They were as blonde as the rest of her head except for the tips, which were as pitch black as her mother's hair. He massaged them gently, still singing with a tilt of humor in his voice, "And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon, little boy blue and the man on the moon. 'When you comin' home dad?' 'I don't know when. But we'll get together then. You know we'll have a good time then.'"
Soft, gentle hands ran up his back and over the curve of his shoulder, looping around his neck in a firm hug. Blake's lips tickled his ear. "You know that's not any funnier now than it was the first time you did it," she whispered, a smile in her voice.
His fingers still lightly massaging the base of Olive's ears, he turned his smile onto his wife. "That's because it's always been hilarious."
Blake rolled her eyes even as they danced with amusement. She kissed him lightly and nodded her head in the direction of the door. Jaune turned one last longing glance onto his sleeping daughter, and then he withdrew his hand, allowing Blake to lead him out of the nursery.
She gripped the handle with a feather-light grip, easing the door closed without a noise. It didn't even click as it shut. "You're a witch," Jaune groaned pitifully, staring at the door's hinges mutinously.
Blake laughed lyrically, reaching up to stroke his cheek with her thumb exactly as she done almost a year ago in this very kitchen. "And you're a bad singer," she smiled.
Jaune gasped dramatically, raising his hand to hold over his heart as if wounded. "Betrayer!" he hissed.