|
Things Teagan will not do: wander around the Hedge with an Icon. Not even to the Freehold Hollows, and especially not to the wilds of the Trods where Bailey can usually be found. This means that it was necessary for Glitch to do two things:
1) Take word to Bailey that their gestational parent did, in fact, survive their encounter with the Warmaster, and has recovered and
2) Offer Bailey the hospitality of Direct Action at Downtime.
Bailey's been through there once, during an emergency, but now, they're a guest. The Sprite brings the cowboy to the Hedge-side door, knocks, opens said door, and then peaces out quietly.
The Mirrorskin sits inside -- there's really only one gathering place in Downtime, and that's the massive sleep area in the middle of the floor, fit for a half-dozen Lost including two seven-foot-tall people. They're wearing a tank top and a loose set of sleep pants, sitting on the edge of the sleep pit, turning an object over and over in their hands.
Bailey had given their thanks to Glitch, awkward as it was--but genuine. They stare through the open door for long enough that it might threaten to close on them, but at the last minute comes through, reaching up to slip the hat off of their head, holding it against their stomach. The same clothes and coat as ever, same hedgespun pistol holstered at their belt.
They step into the cuddle pit room, stitched burlap hands worrying at the rim of their hat. They stop a few steps to the left and behind Teagan.
"Hey."
Baby is hung up by the door that (presumably) leads into the real world from Downtime. Out of arm's reach, which would have been shocking once upon a time, but with this person, in this place, now seems only logical. Teagan tilts their face up toward Bailey, mirror-cracked eyes reflecting back bits of their burlap face to them. "Hey."
The object in their hands is turned up toward their child: the edges of the melted-lead cowboy and his horse have been worried clean in the last few days. "I couldn't go that way," and they gesture toward the door leading to the Direct Action house, "or this would become part of me for good. So. Thanks for coming."
"Don't... gotta thank me. Sorry it took so long for Glitch to track me down." Bailey stares down at the icon with an uncertain expression. Hope, curiosity, fear. They step closer, but don't yet reach out for it.
"You got it back," they murmur in a softer voice.
"I do have to thank you," Teagan answers, continuing to look up at them with that placid, patient expression which is their default. "You don't have to deal with your mom's old bullshit. You're making a choice, and I appreciate that choice." They take in a deep breath, hold it in their lungs for a moment, and then let it out again.
"I did, yeah," they agree. "I said I would, and I did."
Bailey seems uncertain what to say at first, mouth opening but words not coming out. Their lips purse, then they try again. "You haven' done nothin' to hurt me since... we found each other. And whatever happened before... We're not those people no more. Neither of us."
They continue staring at the icon. "...Is it good?"
"Well," Teagan begins, turning the toy over in their hands, looking away from them for a moment to look down at the lump of lead in their grip, rub their thumb across the misshapen horse-head. "I think I am that person, still, in all of the ways that actually matter. And I think maybe that's the thing I needed to come to grips with. I didn't just -- spring fully-formed out of Le General's battlefields. I was a person, no matter how ... much that person struggled, before I stumbled into the Hedge. I... was a daughter, and a sister, and a wife, and... "
"And a mother." They swallow. "And that didn't just ... go away... in Arcadia. It still matters. At least, to me, it matters. Even if it's just the sand in the middle of the pearl, that ... person... still matters."
Their last question prompts a sort of lopsided smile as they look back up at him again. "Well, I thought so."
Bailey's head tilts, the only sign that their empty stitched eyes are focusing on Teagan instead of the icon now. They frown thoughtfully as they listen.
"I... don' know who I am. Or if I'm even a person at all. Lately I've felt like... like I'm just a character in a book. Or just--a doll, that someone's playin' pretend with. It's just straw. And that used to feel like it meant something. Now I just feel hollow." They look back to the icon. "I don' know if this will help or not. I don' know if this will make me feel like a son--your son."
They hesitate, then swallow. "I don' want you to hate me, if it don't."
They listen, and then their face tilts slightly to the side, their shoulders rising slowly, and then falling again. "You... " Teagan stops, there, and looks for words. Their mouth purses, mirror-dark face rippling.
"First of all, Bailey, I could never hate you. I just -- can't." They roll up to their feet, then, still holding the toy cradled in both hands like a small, wounded bird. "That's ... what being a parent means, if you really mean it. That's how unconditional love works. Without. Conditions. You don't have to be anything back to me, or act in any way to me, for me to love you. I'm going to love you no matter what you do."
"I know now that I have loved you since before the day you were born, and I will love you until the day I die. But you don't belong to me, and you don't owe me anything. I brought this for you because ... you told me you wanted this knowledge. If you've changed your mind... that's okay. And if you... get upset, or feel some strange way... that's okay, too."
"I'm still gonna be your mom. And I'm still gonna love you."
"No matter what. That's how it works."
"I do--I do want it," Bailey says quickly, lips twisting with emotion. "I'm just... scared."
They step closer, reaching out to touch... not the icon, but their hands. Their rough burlap hands cupping over Teagan's. They stare at the Mirrorskin for a moment, empty eyes meeting mirror eyes. Looking at their reflection staring back at themself, before they look down at the icon. Their hands shift, cupping together in front of Teagan's instead, a quiet request.
"Scared is okay," comes Teagan's rough whisper. "I'm scared, too." Their lips press together into a thin line, and they pull in one of those pause breaths, where they breath in deeply, hold it, and let go. Governing themself carefully.
Their broken-mirror eyes reflect back the black stitches of Bailey's, and a wry little flicker of a smile passes across their face, quickly, like clouds scudding across the moon. And when Bailey opens up their hands in request? They place the Icon in their burlap palms, wordlessly.
Their fingers close around the icon, like a child holding onto a frog that might hop away--something so fragile that could slip away if not held close. Their eyes close, and after a moment their hands cup together against their chest, their shoulders hunching, body curling around the precious memories that are flooding into their mind.
The burlap under their eyes darkens with tear stains, spreading slowly but steadily. Their lips twitch a little--up, then down, then up again, and they even let out a soft, choked, strangled laugh, which swiftly turns into shaking sobs, head dipping lower and lower until they just... sit down on the ground beside the pillow pit, drawing their legs up to their chest, the icon held close to their breast between their knees.
They stand still -- so, so still -- as if even the smallest motion might disrupt what's happening, even though they know better, having been subject to the onslaught of memories that Icon contains. When they sort of slowly fold down onto the ground by the edge of the pillow pit, Teagan follows after a moment later, sitting down carefully next to them. One hand stretches out, hovering next to their shoulder for a moment, and then, in a moment a little -- for them, at least -- like a shell cracking open, their arms wrap around Bailey's shoulders, and they gently pull Bailey into their embrace.
Bailey turns into them without hesitation. They don't release the icon, still holding it close, but they bury their face into Teagan's shoulder, wet burlap pressed to their tank stop, quickly soaking.
When the scarecrow speaks again, it... doesn't sound like themself. Same deep roughish tone, even though it's shaky, but the accent is all wrong. Or... right, depending on how you look at it. Far more local--old Philly, rather than the thick cartoonish cowboy voice.
"Mamá... I remember you."
There are times when Teagan wishes their eyes were made to cry, that they could. That it was physically possible. This is one of those times, for certain. Their arms wrap tightly around the burlap cowboy, cradling them close in a manner only able to be described as instinctive. Something stored somewhere deep in the brain stem, in the synaptic response of nerve and muscle rather than anywhere in conscious thought, that gesture.
They thought they had it all together, and they were totally in control, that there was nothing Bailey could say that would knock them off their feet. They were prepared for the worst, but then?
Four words, and they are rendered entirely undone.
A small, short choking sound in the back of their throat, and they clutch their child as close as they can, tight in wiry-muscled arms. "Mi hijo," they answer. One breath is all they can manage.
"Lo siento... lo siento mucho," Bailey croaks out, dropping the icon. It clatters softly to the ground beside their feet as the scarecrow's arms lift to wrap tightly around Teagan in return. "Lamento que haya tardado tanto en encontrarte."
Bailey had never seemed to understand a word of Spanish before this moment, but now the words roll off the tongue like they had been speaking them every day of their life.
They hold tight on to Bailey, kissing the top of his head, and when they start to apologize, Teagan shakes their head rapidly. "No, no," they reply, squeezing close and then kissing the top of Bailey's head again, a lifetime of missed parental smooches in a trio of presses of their lips to the top of Bailey's head.
"No me disculpes. Primero tenía que encontrarme a mí mismo. Literalmente, primero tenía que encontrarme a mí mismo." They switch over fluidly, and oddly gratefully. Very few people speak Spanish with them, after all.
"Todavía no sé quién soy... Pero te conozco a ti." They sniff, making a mess of Teagan's tanktop with their tears. They squeeze them back, tightly enough to make Teagan's ribs ache briefly. Then their head lifts and they rub firmly at their stitched eyes, even though it's impossible to wipe away the tears that have soaked into the cloth. "Estaba tan asustada. Pero creo que lo sabía... sabía que no eras tú quien murió. No pude explicarlo. Pero sabía que estaba mal."
It's a good ache, though, and Teagan lets out a long, slow breath when Bailey squeezes them. They grunt a little, it's true, but they don't move away. If anything, they hold on tighter. "Oh, little love," they sigh. "If you know me, then that's a good place to start. We'll figure you out next. I know who you are. Let me be your starting point, and we'll figure it out from here."
They raise one scarred hand, wiping in vain at those tears. It's the gesture that counts. Their voice is still choked with emotion. "It wasn't me. I'm here. I won't leave you again."
Bailey nods, sniffing again. Just a nod, trusting and accepting. Their hand lowers so Teagan can wipe futilely at their cheeks. They stare at Teagan, then manage a small smile.
"I know. I trust you."
|