Work Text:
“You were right,” he said softly.
Esmeralda tilted her head towards him, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "What was that?" she asked, her voice hoarse.
Phoebus chuckled, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "You were right," he repeated.
Esmeralda laughed softly, the sound tired but genuine. "I always like hearing you say that," she said, leaning into his touch.
Esmeralda sat propped against a mound of pillows, her limbs heavy and her heart full. In her arms, she cradled a tiny, swaddled bundle, her eyes drinking in every detail of the precious face peeking out from the folds of the blanket. She never thought that perfection existed until that moment. She marveled at the soft curve of his cheeks, his delicate lashes, his tiny lips that quivered slightly. His big brown eyes stared up at them, as if he was studying his parents too.
Phoebus sat beside her on the edge of the bed, his gaze fixed on his wife and the newest member of their little family. His touch was gentle as he tucked the blankets more securely around her, his hands lingering on the soft curve of her shoulder. He took a cloth from the bedside table, dampening it with water from the basin, and slowly, deliberately wiped away the sweat and hair sticking to her face. She softly hummed in appreciation, before pressing a kiss to the tip of her husband’s nose.
She traced a finger along the baby’s tiny nose, marveling at how anyone could be so small, so incredibly precious. “Well, there goes the name Sierra,” Esmeralda whispered, but there wasn’t a hint of sadness in her voice. “Unless you want to subject our son to a lifetime of bullying.”
Phoebus smiled, his eyes never leaving the baby's face. “Did you think of any names when you got your ‘funny feeling’ that the baby would be a boy?”
Esmeralda shook her head. “Actually, no,” she admitted. “I just said that to see how you’d react. You were really set on a girl, weren’t you?”
“Guilty.”
“Maybe next time,” she said with a sigh, her fingers gently stroking the baby's cheek.“But I do love this little one I’m holding right now.”
Phoebus felt a surge of excitement at the suggestion of “next time,” but he pushed the thought aside. The baby held Esmeralda's finger, his tiny hand wrapped tightly around it. The baby’s grip was strong for someone so small.
After a few minutes of comfortable silence, Phoebus spoke up again, his mind turning to the task of finding the perfect name for their son. “Pierre?” When Esmeralda wrinkled her nose, he laughed. “Alright, not Pierre,” he conceded. He fell silent for a few moments, thinking of other names. “Maurice?”
Esmeralda shook her head, a soft smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "That sounds like an old man's name, my love," she said gently. She tilted her head, her eyes thoughtful as she studied Phoebus. “I’m a bit surprised you’re not offering more mythological options?”
He felt his cheeks crimson slightly. “Well…”
“Well…?” she prompted gently, adjusting her position to better face her husband. “I know you must have a list somewhere in that head of yours.”
Phoebus looked at the window. It was closed shut, so he couldn’t see anything outside, but he could still hear the rain falling onto the cobblestones, hear the wind picking up, imagine the trees swaying and bending with the force of it. He pulled Esmeralda and the baby closer, his arms wrapping protectively around them as if to shield them from the storm. “How about Zephyr?” he asked, returning his gaze to his wife and their baby.
“Zephyr?” Esmeralda repeated, her voice filled with curiosity rather than judgment. She seemed to be testing the name on her tongue, considering it carefully.
“It means ‘little wind,’” he explained.
“Zephyr,” Esmeralda repeated again, her voice soft.“I like it. Seems fitting for this evening. For him, hm?” She kissed Zephyr’s head gently, her lips lingering on the soft dark hair, and the baby cooed softly, his small face scrunching up. "I think he likes it too.”
As Phoebus kissed their heads, Esmeralda closed her eyes, a sense of contentment washing over her. The sound of the rain and wind outside seemed to fade away, replaced by the gentle coos of their newborn son. She leaned into her husband’s embrace, feeling safe and warm despite the storm raging outside.
Then there was a soft knock on the door. Phoebus and Esmeralda recognized it instantly, responding in unison. “Come in,” they said.
The door opened, and their dearest friend Quasimodo seemed to hesitate, his lopsided frame silhouetted against the dim light of the hallway. His eyes, full of a mixture of curiosity and nervousness, flicked from Esmeralda to Phoebus, then to the tiny bundle in Esmeralda’s arms.
“Quasi,” Esmeralda greeted him softly. She noticed the shy expression on his face and motioned for him to enter. “Come in. Please.”
As always, his movements were careful and deliberate, betraying his gruff, clumsy exterior. “How are you?” he asked, his voice low and tentative. He had always been very shy, but he seemed particularly nervous that evening. He had been nervous all evening, pacing back and forth in the other room during her labors, with Rania insisting that only the mother and midwives be in the room. It was a miracle Phoebus was allowed to be present in that room at all. Quasimodo had learned six new curse words that evening during the chaos of it all.
“Tired,” she admitted honestly, but then her eyes brightened as she added, “Very happy to see you.”
Phoebus, noticing the bellringer’s lingering hesitation, patted a spot on the bed beside Esmeralda. “Sit with us,” he whispered.
Quasimodo hesitated for a moment longer before moving to the spot. He sat down gingerly, as if worried he might break something. His eyes were drawn to the baby, who was nestled comfortably in Esmeralda’s arms. Zephyr, sensing a new presence, turned his head to look at Quasimodo, his big brown eyes wide with curiosity.
“Would you like to hold him?” Esmeralda whispered.
Quasimodo’s eyes widened in surprise, his gaze darting between Esmeralda and the baby. “M-Me?”
Esmeralda nodded, her smile encouraging. “Yes, you.”
The man held out his arms and Esmeralda carefully passed Zephyr to him, making sure he had a good hold on the baby. Quasimodo cradled Zephyr as if he were made of the most delicate glass, his large hands almost dwarfing the tiny bundle. He looked down at the baby with a mixture of wonder and uncertainty.
Zephyr stared up at Quasimodo, his little brow furrowed in concentration as he studied the new face before him. For a few moments, the room was filled with a peaceful silence as the two regarded each other. Then, Zephyr reached out with one small hand, his tiny fingers brushing against the man’s cheek. Quasimodo stilled, his breath catching in his throat. The baby’s touch was soft, and as Zephyr’s fingers traced the contours of his face, a small smile spread across the infant’s lips.
“I guess that’s the good thing about babies,” Quasimodo murmured. “They have to love you.”
Esmeralda shook her head gently. “Quasi,” she said softly, “Zephyr will love you because he wants to, not because he has to.”
Quasimodo looked up at her, a sad smile on his face. He wanted to believe her, to trust that this tiny, innocent child could love him just as he was, without reservation. But twenty years under Frollo’s care — if you could even call it that — couldn’t be undone so easily. As he looked down at Zephyr again, the baby yawned, his little mouth opening wide before he settled back into Quasimodo’s arms, his eyelids growing heavy with sleep.
Esmeralda watched as Zephyr’s eyes slowly drifted shut, the peaceful rise and fall of his chest. Quasimodo’s movements were as careful as ever as he gingerly passed the baby to Phoebus.
Esmeralda felt her eyelids growing heavy herself when both Quasimodo and Phoebus turned their attention to her, their voices overlapping with gentle insistence. “You should get some rest,” they said.
She couldn’t help but smile at their synchronized concern, settling against the sheets and pillows of the bed. Phoebus rose and carefully placed the baby in the cradle beside them. Zephyr stirred for a moment, but then settled back into sleep, his tiny fist curled up near his face. Phoebus then returned his attention to Esmeralda, leaning down to kiss the back of her hand, his lips warm against her skin. “We’ll be right here,” he promised.
Esmeralda succumbed easily to her exhaustion, and Phoebus and Quasimodo exchanged a quiet glance. They rose from the bed, tiptoeing back towards the cradle. For what was probably the thousandth time that evening, Phoebus marveled at what he would quickly consider to be their little miracle. And Quasimodo felt such warmth as he thought about how loved Zephyr already was, how lucky Zephyr was to have Esmeralda and Phoebus.
And hopefully, the small baby would be lucky to have him too.
Quasimodo then felt Phoebus’ large hand on his shoulder, his touch comforting and grounding. Neither of them spoke, content to simply be with their little family.