Chapter 41 #2
Two or three weeks. What was she doing two or three weeks ago? Where was she when our son was born? Did she have help? Was she alone? The questions burn in my throat.
“Can I see?” Moira edges closer, uncharacteristically tentative.
I angle Connor so she can see his face. Her breath catches.
“Oh fuck, he looks just like you.” Her hand flies to her mouth. “Sorry. Shit. I mean—sorry.”
“His mother’s going to wash your mouth out with soap,” I whisper softly. The word ‘mother’ feels like a prayer and a promise.
Bane steps forward, his priest’s eyes taking in this miracle with appropriate reverence. “May I offer a blessing?”
I nod, not trusting my voice. He places a gentle hand on Connor’s head and speaks soft words that wash over us like warm water. Something about protection and grace and the light of divine love. I’m not a religious man, but in this moment, I’ll take all the help I can get.
Isaak returns from checking the perimeter, satisfied we’re not under immediate threat. “This was professional,” he reports. “The cameras went dark while the delivery was made. I don’t know how yet. Whoever brought him knew exactly how to avoid detection.”
Of course they did. She trained them or chose them for exactly that skill.
“What’s his name?” Kira asks, settling Lily on a blanket on the floor with some toys.
“Connor.” The name feels right on my tongue. Strong. Irish. A name with history. “His name is Connor.”
“Connor Callaghan,” Moira says, testing it out. “Good name. Strong name.” She pauses. “You’re a dad.”
The words hit like a physical blow. I’m a father. This tiny person shares my blood, my DNA, my legacy. And hers. Whatever wildness lives in her, whatever darkness she carries, it’s in him too. The thought should terrify me. Instead, it fills me with fierce pride.
“We should call Dr. Patel,” Kira suggests. “Have him checked properly. And you’ll need supplies beyond what’s here. A crib, a proper changing table, a—”
“Kira,” Isaak says gently. “One thing at a time.”
She flushes. “Right. Sorry. I just—babies need so much.”
Connor chooses that moment to announce his own needs with a thin wail that goes straight to some primitive part of my brain. My son is crying. My son needs something. The urgency of it bypasses all rational thought.
“He’s probably hungry,” Kira says. “The formula—”
“I’ve got it.” The words come out harsher than intended. “I can feed my son.”
But my hands shake as Isaak helps me prepare the bottle, following the instructions with exacting care. The temperature has to be right. The measurements precise. This tiny person depends on me getting this right.
“Here,” Kira demonstrates the proper angle, how to test the flow. “He needs to be upright enough to not choke but comfortable enough to relax.”
Connor latches onto the bottle like he’s starving, tiny hands flexing against my fingers. The formula disappears at an alarming rate.
“Slow down, little man,” I murmur. “It’s not going anywhere.”
“He’s got your appetite,” Moira observes. “Remember when you used to steal my food?”
“You never finished it anyway.”
“That’s not the point and you know it.”
This. This normalcy in the middle of earth-shattering change. My sister bickering with me while my son—my son—drinks from a bottle in my arms. The world has tilted off its axis, but somehow we’re still here, still functioning.
“She’s coming back,” I say, needing to voice it. “The note says—”
“Of course she’s coming back,” Moira interrupts. “I told you she would. She loves you.”
“Then why—” I cut myself off. Not in front of Connor. He doesn’t need to hear his father’s doubts and fears.
Bane clears his throat. “Maybe we should give you some time. This is... a lot to process.”
“No.” The word comes out too fast, too desperate. “Stay. Please.”
I need them here. Need witnesses to this miracle. Not to mention I’m fucking terrified to be left alone with the baby. What the fuck do I know about babies?!
Connor finishes the bottle with a satisfied sigh that’s too big for his little body. Kira shows me how to burp him, the gentle but firm pats that bring up surprisingly loud belches.
“Definitely your son,” Moira laughs, eyes shining.
“Do you want to hold him?” I ask her, the words surprising me. But she’s my sister. Connor’s aunt. Family.
Her eyes go wide. “I—are you sure? I don’t really do babies.”
“Neither do I,” I admit. “And I just saw you hold Kira’s baby earlier.”
“Lily’s bigger!”
Still, she takes him carefully, like he might explode. Connor regards her with solemn eyes, apparently unimpressed by his aunt’s nervous energy.
“Hi, little dude,” she whispers. “I’m your Aunt Moira. I’m going to teach you all the fun stuff your dad won’t want you to know.”
“The hell you will,” I growl, but there’s no heat in it.
Bane watches his wife with soft eyes, something wistful in his expression. They’ve been dancing around the topic of kids since they got married. Maybe this will—
“Want to hold your nephew?” Moira asks him, already nervously passing Connor over before he can answer.
Bane takes him with the easy confidence of someone who’s comfortable with babies—all those christenings, I suppose. Connor looks impossibly small in his arms.
“Hello, Connor,” Bane says softly. “Welcome to a very complicated family.”
“The most complicated,” Isaak agrees, moving closer to peer at my son. “But also the most loyal.”
Even Isaak holds him briefly, the giant man handling my son like precious cargo while Lily watches from her blanket with curious eyes. Soon enough, though, Connor’s back in my arms where he belongs, settling against my chest like he was made to fit there.
“We should order food,” Kira suggests. “You need to eat. Keep your strength up.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Domhnall.” Her tone brooks no argument. “You have a son now. You don’t get to not eat. He needs you strong.”
She’s right. Damn her maternal logic.
“Pizza,” Moira announces. “Comfort food. Carbs. All the things Domhn pretends he doesn’t eat.”
I don’t argue. Can’t, really, with Connor’s weight in my arms reminding me that everything’s changed. I have someone depending on me now. Someone who needs me to be more than the hollow shell I’ve been since Anna left.
While Moira orders enough food to feed an army, I study my son’s face. He has my coloring, his jaw already showing my stubborn lines. But there—the shape of his eyes, the curve of his lip—that’s her. All her.
“She carried him,” I say quietly. “All those months, she was out there carrying our son, and I didn’t know.”
“She was protecting you both,” Bane offers. “Whatever she’s doing, wherever she is, she’s making sure you’re safe.”
Safe. Is that what we are? This house has become a fortress, yes. My security is the best money can buy. But she’s out there facing God knows what alone while I sit here, useless.
No. Not useless. I’m caring for our son. That’s what she needs me to do.
The food arrives in a chaos of boxes and the smell of cheese and garlic. My stomach reminds me I haven’t eaten properly in days. We spread out in the living room, an impromptu family dinner with my son sleeping in my arms.
“To Connor,” Isaak says and raises his beer. “And to his mother’s swift return.”
We toast with whatever’s in hand—beer, water, Moira’s Diet Coke. Connor sleeps through it all, blissfully unaware that his arrival has changed everything.
“I should set up a nursery,” I say, the practical considerations finally breaking through the shock. “He needs a proper space.”
“We’ll help,” Kira immediately offers. “I still have the list of all the baby stores and sites from when I was setting up Lily’s room.”
“I can handle security modifications,” Isaak adds. “Baby monitors, additional cameras, motion sensors calibrated for—”
“Breathe,” Moira interrupts. “He just got here. Maybe let’s just get through tonight first?”
She’s right. Tonight. Tomorrow. One step at a time.
Connor stirs in his sleep, making small snuffling sounds that tug at something primal in my chest. My son. My blood. My responsibility.
I was helpless once, as was my little sister, and the people who should have been there to take care of us didn’t. My son will never know that neglect and abandonment. He’ll never have to wonder what the word family means, because we will always be right here at his side, supporting and loving him.
“I’m going to find her,” I say quietly. “I have resources. Contacts. I can try harder. I can’t just sit here—”
“Yes, you can.” Bane’s voice is gentle but firm. “That’s exactly what you should do. Sit here and care for your son and wait for her to finish whatever she’s doing. Because that’s what she needs from you.”
I want to argue. Want to rage. Want to tear the world apart looking for her. But Connor’s weight in my arms keeps me grounded. He needs me here. Needs me stable.
“She said soon,” Moira points out. “In the note. She said she’d be home soon.”
Soon. Such a relative term. Soon could be days or weeks or months. But she’s never lied to me. Not about the important things. If she says soon, she means it.
The evening wears on, comfortable in its strange domesticity.
Isaak and I sit on the couch and both of our babies crash out against our chests, their little heads turned towards each other.
Two babies who might grow up as close as siblings.
Moira curls into Bane’s side, stable in ways I never thought I’d see, while Kira sits on Isaak’s other side, occasionally sharing those little looks and touches that speak of deep contentment.
And me? I hold my son and count his breaths and wait for his mother to come home.