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She's so tiny, is the thing; so unbelievably small that she barely even looks real. Too small to be as heavy as she is- not that she's actually heavy, he could easily lift her in one hand, but somehow she's far heavier than she looks like she ought to be.
He had gone to the hospital with his mama, of course he had. Everyone had turned up, actually- Gilear had texted Fig, and Fig had texted the rest of the party, and all of them had texted Fabian, and within half an hour he had been making awkward small-talk with Ayda and Terpsichore Skullcleaver (How did Fig have Terpsichore's number and Fabian didn't?) in the clean blue-and-white waiting room. Cass knew what the conversation had been about, all Fabian remembered was Ayda's furrowed brow as she concentrated on copying Terpsichore's jazz-hands, and something about the history of Leviathan jigs, and at some point a stout dwarf nurse with her beard tucked into a hair net had told Fabian his mother was ready to see him and introduce him to his new baby sister.
An endless procession of well-wishers had filed in and out of the little room containing an exhausted Hallariel and a beaming Gilear. And Cathilda, of course.
And the baby.
At the point that Fabian thought his ears might start bleeding if he heard another 'congratulations', Cathilda firmly herded the last remaining visitors away, displaying a fortitude in the face of Kristen's protesting "heyyy girlieee!" that Fabian truly admired.
There was a small couch in the room. Apparently for Gilear.
"Go on home, master Fabian," said Cathilda cheerfully, "we'll be here until tomorrow at least, and I'm sure you'll want to sleep in your own bed."
Fabian had spent the night on the Gukgak's frayed, too-small couch, watching cheesy spy movies and not talking about his new baby sister with Riz.
"Your mother needs some rest," Cathilda had said the next afternoon, depositing a warm bundle in Fabian's arms, "and I really ought to get some dinner started, but I'll just be in the kitchen if anything's amiss, master Fabian, you just call for me, alright?"
And she was gone.
Fabian feels frozen, rooted to the spot. The baby is tiny, swaddled in a silk-soft yellow blanket, and fast asleep. Her face is wrinkled, and pink, and... odd. Squished. Her nose is round, and a little flat. Her mouth is slightly open. She has no teeth. Her head is propped up in the crook of Fabian's elbow, and sometimes her tiny, pointed ears – more pointed than his – flick against his arm.
What is he meant to do with her? Surely not just- just stand here and hold her until Cathilda comes back. Surely he's expected to... what does one do with babies?
"This is so fuckin' awesome, man!" Fig exclaims, punching him repeatedly in the arm, "I always wanted a baby sister to play with!"
Fabian doesn't punch her back. This is how Fig displays affection, and she's not hitting him hard by any stretch. He reminds himself of this, that the people close to him don't hit him for real anymore, and nods vaguely.
The baby does not look in a fit state to play with. Apparently she can't even hold her own head up. Cathilda had repeated this fact about babies to Fabian and Hallariel many, many times over the past few months. Fabian is concentrating very hard on keeping his elbow up so the baby's head is supported. She wrinkles her tiny, pudgy nose in her sleep.
Her name is Amaryllis Muriel Lomenelda-Faeth, and Fabian kind of hates it. It's a long, fiddly name with no bold, percussive sounds, and the baby won't be able to pronounce it until she's... when do babies start talking? Well, for a good long while, anyway. But his mama had decided on it a month ago, and announced it proudly to Gilear, who nodded agreeably, and Fabian, who hadn't responded, and had instead told the other Bad Kids about it over lunch. Riz had pulled out his crystal, tapped away at it for a few minutes, then informed Fabian that Amaryllis meant 'to sparkle', and Muriel meant 'of the bright sea'. His sister was a sparkling-bright child of the sea, except she really fucking wasn't, and she didn't share his last name, and Hallariel didn't anymore either, and everything about this tiny, pink creature, from the saccharine woodland scene stenciled on her nursery walls to her sober mother and harmless father to the color of her skin is as far from Fabian as it can possibly get, and Fabian wants to hate her. Ankarna, he wants to, she's-
Amaryllis opens her blue, blue eyes and looks directly up at Fabian. She blinks, and he blinks back.
Her face crumples, and she starts to sob, a tiny, wretched, hiccuping sound, and Fabian wonders if she might be a magic user somehow, at the ripe age of thirty hours, because it feels like the sound stops his heart cold. Fuck, what is he supposed to do? Call Cathilda? She said he could come get her, but- but she also handed the baby to him, and he- Fabian's saved the world, like, three times, he should be able to handle a crying baby. Amaryllis has managed to get one pudgy little arm free, and is waving her fist at him. Well, Fabian thinks, he probably deserves that. He's the one who made her cry, even if he doesn't know what he did, but she must be crying for a reason.
"Hey," he tries, and his voice comes out in more of a croak than the soothing murmur he was going for. The wailing intensifies. Shit. Fabian clears his throat, and tries again. "Hey, it's- it's alright... uh... it- no, it really is, I swear-"
He carefully - so carefully - shifts to hold Amaryllis with one arm, reaching to brush a tear from her cheek with his newly freed hand.
She grabs his little finger, and he freezes.
Her skin is so soft. So soft, and her hand is so tiny, and the crying is quieting just a little as she squeezes his pinky finger for all she's worth. He barely feels it. He barely registers the soft "Oh," that leaves his mouth.
"Hello," he says, nonsensically. The crying reduces to an uncertain whimper. The hand clutching Fabian's has tiny, tiny fingernails. Ridiculous thought, of course she has fingernails- they're just... Cass, they're so small. "You're pink, you know," he informs the baby softly, and she falls silent, staring. She looks startled. Fabian grins. "It's true," he insists, "you're pink."
Fabian's legs are getting a little tired by this point, and it occurs to him he might be locking his knees (Terpsichore would be so disappointed), so he moves over to the couch, walking as smoothly as he possibly can, and sits. Surprisingly, nothing explodes, and the baby does not start crying again.
"Do you even know what pink is?" Fabian asks, because suddenly it's easier to talk than it is to be quiet (the house is always too quiet). "Probably not, right? I mean, you can't even talk yet, so- so you probably don't know much at all. How much have they told you? Well- let's see, what do you need to know- your name is Amaryllis Muriel Sea- er. Lomenelda-Faeth. It's- the name's too big for you, I'll be honest- but you might grow into it. In a bit."
Amaryllis is still staring at him silently, still clutching his hand. Fabian assumes this is a good sign.
"Maybe you need a smaller name for now- you'll probably get a nickname eventually, your, er. Your sister is- Fig's good at those. She's not here right now, she's coming over tomorrow, I think- um. Maybe I can... Amaryllis... Amy?" He makes a face. "No, no, I don't like that... Mary's no good either. Maybe... maybe Millie?"
Amaryllis - Millie - makes an undefined little noise and tugs on his hand. Fabian feels something in his chest crack in two, just a little.
"Millie," he says again, and suddenly the creature in his arms feels more- more solid. More real. Millie. Tiny little Millie, who isn't even two days old yet, and who's holding on to Fabian as tight as she can. Fabian takes a chance, and leans back into the couch, tucking Millie a little closer to his chest.
Nothing explodes.
"You should probably go back to sleep," he tells Millie, gingerly touching her soft, round cheek even though his pinky finger is still held hostage. Her head wobbles in the direction of his hand, her tiny pink lips pursing like she's expecting to be fed. She's so small. So delicate. That must be why Cathilda asked Fabian to watch her while she was busy and Hallariel rested. Gilear was... fine... he'd helped raise Fig, so presumably he wasn't a completely incompetent parent, but Fabian couldn't imagine him protecting something so... so helpless.
Fabian's the only one in the house who can watch over Millie just now, while Cathilda's busy and mama sleeps.
"Cathilda says babies sleep all the time," he murmurs, bringing his legs up onto the couch so he can curl around Millie, "so- so you should... do that. Don't worry, you'll be perfectly safe. I'll keep watch, okay?"
Millie's eyes are drifting shut, and Fabian feels a wave of drowsiness wash over him as well, but he shakes his head and breathes deeply, watching the door. No sleep for him, not just now. He has a charge to protect.
When Fabian doesn't answer the call for dinner, Cathilda rushes to the living room, mind on fire with all the things that might have happened to him, to the baby. She'd taught him so much, she'd been so careful, so thorough, she'd been sure he was ready to watch Amaryllis, just for a little while, but what if-
Cathilda stops short, staring. There's a hot, prickling sensation behind her eyes, and suddenly her cheeks ache with smiling.
Fabian (her darling boy) is curled up on the couch, one ear occasionally twitching in his sleep. His newborn baby sister is fast asleep as well, tucked against his chest, one tiny hand clutching the collar of his shirt.
Dinner will be easy to reheat later on, and Gilear has already taken a plate up to Hallariel. The click click click of Cathilda's knitting needles from the armchair where she's settled herself for the evening do nothing to rouse her darling ones.
The evening passes quietly.