August Writing Challenge: Rugrats

[Sean *]

It's writing challenge time again. To enter, just post a ficlet (300-4000 words suggested) in this thread. When the voting for this month's OTM winners comes around, a voting poll will go up for this as well.

The Challenge: In light of the direction of several of the Time Warps that have occurred so far, the challenge for this month is babies. Either write your characters with babies/toddlers of their own, or babysitting other people's canonically, or write your characters as they were when they were babies/toddlers.


The rules:

• Characters must be in Hammel canon, but the ficlets are not site canon unless expressly stately.
  
• Entries must be more than 300 words.
  
• You can enter no more than three ficlets. Any ficlets posted after the original 3 will not be considered for voting. If you want to post more, however, have fun.
  
• Ficlets must be titled.

[Lucy Serrano-Blaise]

Saturday Love
Words: 839

"Nine to twelve months." Penny offered. By now, Lucy had heard this a million times.

Penelope Blaise was pacing, seemingly gentle steps back and forth in front of the ink manipulator, who found herself stationed relatively comfortably on the couch. She'd tried her best to absorb her own mentality in a game, but a body had taken steps to stand in front of it in a rhythmic motion, and so the controller was quickly abandoned.

"I know."

"Nine to twelve." She reiterated. Again.

"You said that already."

"But-" A brief pause. A calming breath that was absolutely useless, "It's been thirteen."

"Barely." Lucy tried aimlessly, to which Penny rolled her eyes.

"Barely is still six days older than thirteen months." The psychometrist factually pointed out. Lucy rolled her eyes, too. "Our son should be walking."

And quickly, concern flooded the dark eyes of the British woman. Concern and a curious mix of frustration, though Lucy wasn't sure if that was aimed at the situation they went over daily or if it was just her own tarnished attitude towards it. Either way, she wore the blend. Just like she did every other day.

"Aren't you worried about him?" Penny asked her, finally ceasing her pacing to stand directly in front of the television. Lucy twisted her mouth to the side; this wasn't going away, and the likelihood of returning to what she was playing dwindled to a dream.

"I'm not." Lucy replied honestly, "When-"

"This better not be another explanation about the things you couldn't do when you were a child."

Lucy quickly shut her mouth, and it caused her counterpart to seal her lips in turn. The last thing Lucy really wanted was to wander down the argumentative path that came with the deluded concern over her convict heritage. Penny could be a little harsher than humoured in such stressful times. Instead, the ink manipulator hauled herself up off the couch, offering a descending whistle to the trajectory of the conversation and - in accordance - her interest in pursuing the end of it in the usual way. They could talk about it for hours, winding around in circles aimlessly, and they still wouldn't get anywhere.

As she took the minimal steps towards her love, Lucy leaned inward, brushing her lips against her cheek lightly. It was, if nothing else, the silent way to provide a shred of comfort to the overly anxious way she worried. Because she stepped away seconds later, intent to drag herself out of the firing line. At least for now.

"How do you do it?" Penny finally asked her.

The question alone caused Lucy to stall, her eyes dropping to the floor with the sudden form that rushed towards her. Or rather, as rushed as a barely thirteen-month-old boy could as he crawled across the polished wood flooring towards his other mother. Thick dark hair and an equally dark set of eyes glancing at her feet.

"Do what?" She asked lightly; it was impossible to be remotely annoyed by the repetitive conversation with Lincoln in the room. Even if he had no idea how intently his mother worried about him. Tattooed hands curled around his form at either side, and with a fluid motion, she hauled him from the floor and into the air above her head.

"How do you... Not worry?" The grammar made the Brit cringe, but even she lost her edge. The sight of their smiling son was somehow enough to soothe the sharper tone she had only just used.

"I can't tell you." Lucy offered, the corner of her mouth dragging to a grin as she turned herself back around, "You wouldn't let me. You totally cut off my awesome story about my killer time as a struggling toddler."

"Lucy." She tried, but even the remotely stern warning lost its strength, and she was taking steps towards them.

"I'm totally kidding; it doesn't even matter." Dropping her arms slowly, Lucy instead allowed the boy to settle with an arm wrapped around his legs, holding him close enough to her side with a hand still free. "You don't get to pick when or how something happens. You don't get to clock it to a timeline either. Even a generalised one isn't absolute." But Penny knew all that, and Lucy knew she knew that. She knew it was likely the one statement she had run through her head hundreds of times to quell her anxiety.

"I know." Penny lied, her hand dragging up to straighten the short dark locks Lincoln sported.

"Give the boy some credit. He's part of you." While Lucy was aware that genetics rarely came into play when speaking of their family, this felt a little more important.

"And even if he wasn't; I took steps at ten months, and I failed high school three times." Lucy added swiftly, watching the way the corner of her counterpart's mouth twitched upwards, "There're worse things he can do than drag his feet."

[James Lawrence]

Everything's Gonna Be Alright

3:09 am.

What should have been a faint cry from the other room was anything but to James. For someone with such perfect hearing clarity, the cries rang across the hall as if Paige was in the same room screaming into his ear. As such, he was usually woke up before Ella to go check on her. Shifting with a wince, he did his best to move quickly, yet quietly, hoping that his love might be able to sleep through this one without stirring.

Three months was apparently the time newborns started to settle down and sleep better through the night. Tonight clearly wasn't the case. The deep set, purple bags that had formed underneath James' eyes were slowly fading as the nights got easier. Adapting to parenthood had been a challenge, but one he liked to think he and Ella handled well. As time progressed, things became more natural; less forced.

So, James walked into the nursery, confident that he'd have the newborn sleeping again in no time.

"Alright." He whispered, tiredly pushing the unkempt strands of hair off of his face. "Let's see what is wrong." He neared the crib, shutting his eyes for a moment as the familiar workings of a migraine inevitably began to form. James gently picked Paige up, checking her diaper first for the obvious. Clean. Supportive hands moved to hold her up against his chest, making gentle motions as he slowly paced around the room. The screams only got louder.

He stopped moving, hearing steps down the hall. Steps that would have been quiet had he not been the one listening. He turned just as her face appeared in the doorway, also marked with fatigue that came with just waking up.

"Hey," Ella spoke softly. "You alright?"

James shrugged to the best of his ability while holding her. "Been better, she's kind of restless right now. Won't stop crying." He let out a yawn, gaze landing on hers.

She nodded twice, humming to herself. Thinking. Then, she offered out her arms, taking another couple steps into the room. "Here, let me go feed her."

He didn't think twice, meeting her halfway to hand over their child into her arms. The moment the connection was made, her tears stopped. Her body stopped shaking, tiny fists unclenched with palms reaching out. Two pairs of dark eyes widened in surprise, taking in the third pair as she settled down. Quiet. Happy, even.

"Well..." James trailed off, not really sure what to say. That was all it took? Was he not good enough? Did their own child not like him?

Sensing the shift in tempo in his pulse, Ella looked up to meet his eyes. "It's okay." She assured him, the roles reversed in this situation. He was usually the one assuring her that everything would work out. She didn't want to put pressure on him to say anything; nothing needed to be said.

He breathed out, with a nod. Working to calm the temporary flare up. James closed the distance between them, a hand to her waist and a hand to her cheek. His thumb brushed along her jawline as he leaned in to press his lips against her forehead. He kept close, not quite willing to leave just yet. "I love you." James said. And where there was no pressure to say the words came naturally.

"And I love you too." Ella answered, happy to let the air fall silent between the three of them. Taking in the brief, peaceful moment.

[Paul Wilkerson]

Dirt
Age: 3
Word Count: 400

Paul bounced with excitement. His mother was taking too long to get him out of his car seat. He wanted to play. His mother had brought him and his sister, Ashlee, to the park. He held onto his mother's hand and Ashlee held her other hand until they got out of the parking lot. Then they were free to play. Paul took after Ashlee. His little three years old legs couldn't keep up with Ashlee's six years old legs. Ashlee was so far ahead of him. Paul stopped and watched as his sister bounced over to the swings. She loudly called out to their mother for help getting on the swing. Paul looked back to see where his mother was. She was almost to Paul. Paul smiled a big bright smile at her and then took off running to Ashlee.

Wait, what just happened? One moment Paul was running to his sister and then the next he was on his tummy on the ground. He looked around trying to figure out what had happened. He wasn't piecing together that he had tripped and fell.

"Paul," his mother called out to him, panic in her voice. Paul felt two hands pick him up and placed him on his feet. "Are you okay? Let me see, sweetie." Paul looked at his mother confused. His face was all scrunched up as he spat out dirt. "You got dirt in your mouth?" His mother helped get the dirt out of the Paul's mother. She looked at the palms of his hands. No cuts. She brushed off his hands and the front of his clothes. "You're alright, sweetie."

Tears started to form blurring Paul's vision of his mother. "Oh, Paul. Don't cry. You're alright." Paul felt himself being picked up as his mother stood up. He wrapped his little arms around her neck. His tears went away. Paul liked how she could make the pain go away. They went over to Ashlee who, all this time, was still calling her mother for help.

"Ashlee, I can't help you right now. I'm holding Paul."

"But Moooom. Pleeeaaase." Ashlee begged.

"Oh alright." She placed Paul on the ground, which then Paul started to cry. Paul clung to his mother's leg. She helped Ashlee get on the swing and gave her a couple of pushes. His mother picked up her crying boy. Paul calmed down.

Peace was restored.

[Joshua Bernstein]

Magic

May 31st 1965

---

Josh peered over the edge of the bassinet, face scrunched up as he scrutinized the sleeping bundle within. He hadn't been allowed to visit his mother in the hospital -- neither had Matt -- and he was curious about the baby she had come home with.

"Isn't she sweet?" His mother cooed in a whisper, one hand tangling in his dark hair affectionately. "Your little sister."

Josh was not entirely sure how he felt about this. He had been his mother's baby for five years, and now he was displaced! But she did look sweet, peacefully sleeping there.

"Babies are a lot of work. I'll need you and Matt to help."

Matt had only appeared from his room to give their mother a welcome home hug; he had vanished again as soon as baby Talia had begun to mew in distress. She had fallen asleep after feeding, but Matt had refused to come back out again.

Josh was not sure how much help his older brother would be, if he wouldn't even leave his room. But he would be helpful.

He puffed out his chest and nodded seriously. "I'm a big help!" He declared.

His mother ruffled his hair. "Of course you are, boopkie."

He beamed down at his sleeping sister. Her tiny hands, covered in mittens so that she wouldn't scratch her face, began to twitch, and her mouth opened in a toothless yawn, and then she began to cry.

His mother gently nudged his shoulder, and he darted away, grabbing at the edges of his parents' comforter and twisting it about his body. His mother scooped Talia into her arms and rocked her, singing a low lullaby.

The safety and warmth of her mother's arms was all that Talia had wanted, and her crying faded as she drifted back to sleep.

Josh watched with wide eyes. He didn't think he could replicate that.

His mother was magic.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Allergies

Maladies.
Melodies.
Allergies to dust and grain.
Maladies.
Remedies.
Still these allergies remain.

“I don’t remember my parents doing tummy time with Talia.”

“They didn’t. Neither did my parents. Neither did Kathleen.”

“So why does Eleanor need it?”

“Otherwise she won’t be comfortable enough on her stomach to prompt crawling in a timely fashion.”

“We all learned how to crawl fine.”

“And we used to put babies to sleep on their stomachs but now we put them on their backs.”

“What prompted that change?”

“Long-term population studies found correlation between SIDS rates and babies sleeping on their stomachs.”

Josh swallowed and turned his attention from Sean to their daughter, watching her lay on her stomach atop her dedicated tummy time mat – with the bright colors and soft toys at the edge of it, used as incentive to one day induce her to crawl. “It’s so easy to forget about SIDS when she’s so vibrant and healthy.”

Sean reached for a rattle and shook it above Eleanor’s head, dangling it just within her line of vision. She raised her head to better see it, but lacking full control of her neck’s range of motion, settled for looking at his face. She smiled, showing off her toothless mouth. The telepath smiled back at her.

Both he and Josh always smiled back at her, to encourage her in everything she did. She was too young for them to worry about negative reinforcement. If they couldn’t coddle their daughter when she was a baby, then they could never do so.

Despite his smile, the telepath focused on the serious discussion topic. “It’s easy to forget so many of the dangers because she’s cleared milestones. And generally because of how much easier it is to survive childhood than it used to be.”

Josh reached for Eleanor’s plush Rabbit and fiddled with it. “It wasn’t that dangerous when we were growing up.”

“We both have smallpox vaccine scars.” Eleanor didn’t have the slightest comprehension what her fathers were discussing. Sean considered it a scientific and medical marvel that she wouldn’t even need that vaccine, because humanity had managed to wipe smallpox from the face of the earth. “And I don’t know about you, but I managed to catch mumps, rubella, chicken pox, and mono.” He had somehow managed to avoid meningitis, but he counted that as luck rather than accomplishment.

Sean had had the good fortune also of being a doctor’s son, so that he had received the measles vaccination soon after it had been released. His father had been a big proponent of vaccine interventions, as had his mother, and as was Sean now. So was Kathleen, for everything else that made her reactionary, she would never oppose vaccination. Not even for HPV.

“I did too.” Josh was younger than Sean, so that he benefited from some of the vaccines earlier, but it had made no difference with many of the other childhood illnesses. Yet those illness were rare now in the U.S., except when people refused vaccines and brought back visions of the 1950s.

“Right.” Sean wasn’t surprised. He continued to dangle the rattle above Eleanor’s head, lowering it slightly so that it was closer to her, before pulling it back. She seemed entertained, believing that this was a new game. “Children’s pajamas were still made of flammable fabrics. Cars didn’t have seatbelts or airbags. Drunk driving wasn’t treated as seriously by law enforcement or by society. Everyone smoked. Baby-proofing the way we do it now was virtually unheard of. They didn’t do a good job screening blood. Doctors and dentists didn’t wear gloves until after the AIDS Crisis.”

They were both old enough to remember when that particular change had taken effect. One never forgot living through those changes.

“And despite living in an upper-middle class neighborhood, at least one kid lost his eye to a bb gun. Plus lawn darts used to exist.” The telepath shook his head and lowered the rattle completely so that Eleanor could reach it if she put forth the effort.

“You’re beginning to sound like some of the judges I have to deal with. About how children are too coddled these days, and how we all managed to survive harsher conditions.”

Sean drew his head back and stared into his partner’s face, shaking his head slowly. “I’m glad that she gets to grow up without all of those complications. So many diseases or events that would have been death sentences even thirty or forty years ago have treatments now. The fact that we made it to adulthood at all is nothing short of miraculous when looking back on all of that.” He then reached for the stuffed rabbit, which Josh handed over to him, and Sean set it down beside Eleanor’s head on the mat. “I don’t believe in that survival of the fittest nonsense; you know that.”

While the telepath accepted evolution as scientific fact, he didn’t believe in social Darwinism. Aside from being predicated on racism and classism, it offended his collectivist sensibilities. He knew that Josh agreed with him.

Somehow, the rabbit’s presence seemed to upset Eleanor. Rather than gleefully accepting a soft toy, her face scrunched up and she began to sniffle. Sean reached for her, pulling her into his arms. “That’s enough tummy time for now.” Peering over her should, he said to Josh, “How about we go for a walk?”

The attorney nodded and went to go get her sling and the stroller. The fresh air would do them well, to banish thoughts of all the unpleasantness Eleanor would never have to face.