Chapter 19

Capitol Plaza Apartments
Apt. #23
Washington DC

June 2012

They went home quietly. Dave insisted on carrying that bundle up to Spencer's bedroom. Shan followed him in and shut the door after he quietly said good night. Spencer turned to Dave, blinking. "Thank you." Which didn't seem to be nearly enough to say.

"No problem. Call me tomorrow, tell me how things are going. I expect you to bring my new granddaughter around for dinner very soon." Dave replied with a smile.

Spencer smiled back. "I will." He promised.

Dave took his leave. As the door closed he heard that familiar voice behind him, still as low as a dove. "Mind if I steal some of your clothes and take a shower?"

"Anything you want." He said. He turned but she had the door nearly closed around. "Are you hungry?"

There was a long pause. "Maybe." She said. "I don't know."

"I'll make something."

"Sure. Thank you."

He didn't know what she liked now but he remembered what she liked then so as the water ran he made that and brought it to the coffee table and crossed his fingers.

She didn't take long, came out in his socks and a pair of his boxers and an old FBI t-shirt. Her curls were damp still, but he could see silver glinting in the copper now, and there were marks of worry on her face where there hadn't been before. But she was still Shan, still the girl he remembered. He would have known her anywhere. "Mia all right?" He asked.

"Out cold. I put her in the bed in there, I hope that's all right." She saw what was in his hands and just blinked as tears started coming to her eyes.

"That's fine." Now why was she crying? "What?"

"You remembered."

"Of course. Multigrain toaster waffles and honey with a cup of tea. The ideal hob fae diet." Thankfully he got her to laugh.

They ended up on the couch, tucked under the same blanket that used to hang out on the end of his bed back in Avery house. Her legs were draped over his again, just like it should be. Now he wasn't expecting anything more, he wouldn't complain if she wanted to return to a physical relationship, but he wasn't expecting it. And even if they went there someday he figured it would take time. Lots and lots of time. He was honestly astonished that she even managed to sit as close to him as she did. "Anything." She said to his question of what she wanted for breakfast. "Anything but pizza."

"Pizza?"

"Do you know what they eat for breakfast in Italy? Coffee and cookies. Just coffee and cookies. Every day coffee and cookies. At least that's all the dammed maids ever brought."

"Maids?"

"Maids. Nannies. Jailers. Whatever you want to call them. Bernard sent a new one around every two months. None of them ever spoke a word of English, I never could communicate with any of them. And I had to leave Mia with them every single day, these strangers. I mean they all took good care of her, at least I never spotted any major problems, except for a wicked case of separation anxiety. But I had a terrible time giving her what she needed, or knowing that she was getting what she needed. She was always fine but I never had any control."

"So how does pizza figure in?"

"They wanted me to wean her to coffee and cookies for breakfast. Literally, when she was about four or five months the first one dunked a hard cookie into a cup of black coffee and offered it to her. I nearly lost my mind, you just don't do that. You don't give a baby, especially our baby, your baby, nothing but caffeine and carbs for fuel. Her brain would have burned it off in about thirty seconds and we'd have the Antichrist on our hands."

"Apparently it's the custom over there if they all did it."

"Pardon my language Spencer but I do not give a flying fuck what the customs are over there. If I could I would wipe the entire existence of the country from my memory. Anyway no matter what I did I could not make them understand that I wanted her to have scrambled eggs."

"There wasn't anyone who could translate for you?"

"I didn't dare get close to the men at the Priory." For a moment her eyes looked distant and afraid. "The only people I dared talk to that spoke any English were my Nouoroa and this kid who delivered for the local pizza place. And I didn't want to get him involved; Bernard would have ripped him apart."

And your Nouoroa wasn't any help?"

"Father Pieto? He's 91 this year, and was so proud that Bernard chose him for a Nouoroa, finally. He was just so impressed and so honored..."

"...and so under Maupin's influence..."

"...that I didn't dare complain. I had to believe that anything I said to Father Pieto was reported back to Bernard. So I ordered pizza. Cheese pizza. I figured it had carbs and protein and fat and how bad could it be? The next morning...I'm sorry, this part is kind of gross, but childbirth and even attempted breastfeeding resets your ick meter...I figured mama birds pre-chewed food for their babies, it couldn't be that bad for a mammal so I fed her a slice of cold pizza in little chewed up bits. She's been having it for breakfast ever since. It seems to be working out all right, she hasn't said otherwise."

"Sounds like you found a successful solution to the problem."

"Yeah, I guess. Father Pieto did help me with one thing, in-between praying for my and Mia's souls"

"What did he do?" Spencer asked. "Why was he praying for your souls?"

"Unwed mother and her bastard child." Shan winced and blinked away the tears in her eyes. "He set me up with a subscription to the New York Times. I convinced him that I was just a little homesick, wanted to keep track of things. I taught her to read and write with that. I never could get any actual books in the house, they would have distracted me. I was lucky Bernard never noticed the paper." She looked down into her tea. "I don't want to read anymore. It hurts when I do."

No one gets through any graduate degree without loving reading. This disturbed him greatly. "Physically hurts you?"

"I don't know anymore. My vision's been getting blurry. I'm probably just tired of it all."

"Sounds like chronic eye strain."

"Likely. I haven't had a day off in eight years."

"Not even a sick day?"

"Not allowed. If I took time away he'd punish Mia for it. I don't want to think about that right now."

He was going to snap Bernard's neck. "What if Mia got sick?"

"Whatever nanny was around took her to the doctor. An Italian speaking nanny would take my English speaking child to an Italian doctor. Then when I got home I'd have to reassure her that everything was all right, what happened wasn't bad. And when Father Pieto came around on Sunday I'd have him look at whatever the doctor sent, and he'd tell me she's all right."

"Just that she's all right?"

"Yep. Never got the specifics out of him. I brought all the records I have, we'll have to get them translated."

"We can do that. I think you need an ophthalmologist."

"I need a full check up. I haven't been to the doctor since LA."

"You mean since you were pregnant?"

Shan turned and looked at him. "Whores who temp real knights away from their duties do not deserve to have prenatal care for their spawn." She said too calmly. "They should be damned grateful they get a midwife to catch and a roof over their heads." She pulled up her knees to huddle beneath the blanket.

He didn't know what to do so he huddled next to her. "I know that feels true right now, and it has for a long time." He said. "But it's not."

She was quiet a long moment. "I just want to go back." She said in this small voice. "I want to go back to those first few days where I felt so safe and so loved and I knew she was there and it was so magical. But I can't." He could hear the tears crackling in her voice. "Because she's growing; she's so big now and so amazing and she's ready to go out and start exploring the world and all I would do is hold her back. And I don't know how to feel those things anymore."

He thought about it for a long moment, then his fingers lightly brushed her elbow. "You're right." He said. "We shouldn't hold her back. So how about if I help you learn how to feel those things again, and then together we make a safe place where she can land if she needs to."

"Yeah." She said. "Am I?"

"Are you safe and loved?" He turned his head so she could see him and smiled. "Yeah, you are."

He put his arm around her as she leaned in to him.

Spencer woke up on the couch, which was not unusual for him. In those first few moments after waking he could not quite remember why today felt like it was a very special day. In his uncertainty his mind put his body on autopilot, and he got up and shuffled to the bathroom.

On his way out he looked at the clock on the mantle. It was 6:02.

I didn't get a call today, he thought as he shuffled his way to the kitchen.

He actually picked up his coffee pot and turned it over his mug before he realized it was empty. I didn't get a call today and I didn't make the coffee pot, he thought, because Shan hates coffee now and I didn't want the smell of it to upset her and I didn't get a call because Shan was calling me all this time and...

...and...

He leaned his head back out around the corner of the kitchen.

There was someone perched on his step stool.

There was someone perched on his step stool reading The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.

There was someone perched on his step stool reading The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes and her feet did not touch the floor.

He filled up the kettle, put it on to boil, and built a large pot of English Breakfast. Then he went, gathered his current book, and sat in the wing chair. He opened it but he didn't read. Instead he studied the rather small person perched on his step stool.

She had hair the same color as what he saw in the mirror. It hung in untidy waves and curls to her waist. She had eyes the same color as what he saw in the mirror too. But she had her mother's face. It was a remarkable thing to see, his eyes in her mother's face.

After a little while she blinked and looked up. "Good?" He asked.

She nodded. "I hoped I could finish it. I had to leave it behind, it was a library book. Do you think Father Pieto will bring it back to school for me?"

"I'm sure he'll get it there."

"Good." All of a sudden her eyes went wide. "Oh! It's you!"

"I should hope it was me." He said with a smile. That was the kettle. He got up to pour the water.

"No. I mean, you're the voice." She got up and followed him, scampering in her stocking feet and one of his old t-shirts that hung past her knees. "You're the one Mom calls every day. 'Good morning. I'm awake.' Do we really wake you up every day?"

"You have been, yes. But I didn't mind."

"That means you're the one Mom calls..." She stopped in the center of the kitchen and her eyes got even bigger. "Are you?"

"Ummm, knowing your mother and remembering back right about then...yes, I am."

"Really?" He nodded. "Can I call you that?"

"If you like."

She blinked even harder and was quiet a long moment, then she lifted her arms. He replied by going down on one knee and opening his.

Next thing he knew she was tight in his arms and deep in his heart. "Hello Daddy."