[TM] 302. Collection
Oct. 5th, 2009 10:46 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
elementof_riskThey add up, one by one, moments he stores away, memories he imprints on his mind, telling himself not to forget this, not to let this slip away, and certain that there is no way he ever will.
* * *
He's heard a lot of people scream in his life, caused more than a few of them to do so, if the truth be told, but none of them ever ripped through him like hers do, and the doctors with their idiotic encouraging words telling her that everything is going to be fine, when any fool can see the agony coursing through her make him wish he had never touched her, caused this, made her go through this. What sort of monster is he?
* * *
He feels as wrung out as Baileigh looks, but when the first cry echoes around the room, something inside of him shivers to life again, sending his head snapping in the direction of the sound, gaze seeking out the tiny, red, wriggling mass that appears to have arms and legs and a head all in the proper place, but he can't see her all that well from this angle. A few minutes stretch toward infinity before they bring a swaddled bundle to lay in Baileigh's arms, and he watches her face first, seeing it light up, watching how she glows, before shifting his gaze to the bundle of humanity resting against her breast, tiny face scrunched in confusion at this bright cold world she's been thrust into, and he thinks he's never seen anything so beautiful in his life.
* * *
The first time the nurse hands her to him, he wants to hand her right back. She's so tiny, so fragile, and although he's disarmed the most delicate of bombs with expertly sensitive fingers, and knows how to move with a lethal grace, the tender weight of her in his arms makes him feel like an overwrought oaf, sure to crush her, or drop her, or twist her up and mangle her with one wrong move. He cradles her like she might break if he breathes too hard, his every muscle tense to the point of trembling as he holds her and stares down into her solemn eyes with a terrified one of his own.
* * *
It's late, the halls quiet, any sounds there are muted, and the lights dimmed to the point of almost darkness in the ward. After much protest and fighting of her exhaustion, Bailegh has finally succumbed to exhaustion, drifting off to sleep in the bed they'll keep her in for at least another night. He knows he should sleep as well, though there's no place for him to in the room. The nurse keeps coming by, giving him significant looks that visiting hours are almost over, and though money buys some privileges, it hasn't been enough to let him stay all night. Still, before the harridan comes by again, he moves to the bassinet and reaches in slowly to carefully lift Irina out. She wakes, but doesn't cry, looking up at him, and this time, he settles her more carefully against his chest, moving to the chair next to the bed, settling in it and holding her close. She watches him. He watches her. The nurse comes by again, but when she pokes her head in to check, she leaves without a word, and gives father and daughter their moment of contemplation.
* * *
He's heard a lot of people scream in his life, caused more than a few of them to do so, if the truth be told, but none of them ever ripped through him like hers do, and the doctors with their idiotic encouraging words telling her that everything is going to be fine, when any fool can see the agony coursing through her make him wish he had never touched her, caused this, made her go through this. What sort of monster is he?
* * *
He feels as wrung out as Baileigh looks, but when the first cry echoes around the room, something inside of him shivers to life again, sending his head snapping in the direction of the sound, gaze seeking out the tiny, red, wriggling mass that appears to have arms and legs and a head all in the proper place, but he can't see her all that well from this angle. A few minutes stretch toward infinity before they bring a swaddled bundle to lay in Baileigh's arms, and he watches her face first, seeing it light up, watching how she glows, before shifting his gaze to the bundle of humanity resting against her breast, tiny face scrunched in confusion at this bright cold world she's been thrust into, and he thinks he's never seen anything so beautiful in his life.
* * *
The first time the nurse hands her to him, he wants to hand her right back. She's so tiny, so fragile, and although he's disarmed the most delicate of bombs with expertly sensitive fingers, and knows how to move with a lethal grace, the tender weight of her in his arms makes him feel like an overwrought oaf, sure to crush her, or drop her, or twist her up and mangle her with one wrong move. He cradles her like she might break if he breathes too hard, his every muscle tense to the point of trembling as he holds her and stares down into her solemn eyes with a terrified one of his own.
* * *
It's late, the halls quiet, any sounds there are muted, and the lights dimmed to the point of almost darkness in the ward. After much protest and fighting of her exhaustion, Bailegh has finally succumbed to exhaustion, drifting off to sleep in the bed they'll keep her in for at least another night. He knows he should sleep as well, though there's no place for him to in the room. The nurse keeps coming by, giving him significant looks that visiting hours are almost over, and though money buys some privileges, it hasn't been enough to let him stay all night. Still, before the harridan comes by again, he moves to the bassinet and reaches in slowly to carefully lift Irina out. She wakes, but doesn't cry, looking up at him, and this time, he settles her more carefully against his chest, moving to the chair next to the bed, settling in it and holding her close. She watches him. He watches her. The nurse comes by again, but when she pokes her head in to check, she leaves without a word, and gives father and daughter their moment of contemplation.
