"But of course."
Doc Jane left a moment later, and Qhuinn was at a loss. He wanted to help Layla back to the main house, but she wasn't crippled, for godsakes. Still, he felt like carrying her around - for like, the rest of the frickin' pregnancy.
He leaned back against the stainless-steel cabinets. "I find myself wanting to ask you how you are every two seconds."
Layla laughed a little. "That makes the both of us."
"You want to go to back to the house?"
"You know...I actually don't. I feel..." She looked around. "Safer down here, to be honest."
"Makes sense to me. You need anything?"
She nodded at her little tray full of anti-nausea stuff. "As long as I've got this, I'm good. And you should feel free to go out and fight."
Qhuinn frowned. "I thought I'd stay in...."
"And do what? I'm not telling you to leave, by any means. But I have a feeling it's just going to be me sitting here and stewing. If something happens, I can call you and you can come right home."
Qhuinn thought about where the Brotherhood and the fighters in the house were heading at midnight: the Council meeting.
If it had been a normal evening of engaging in the field, he probably would have stayed put. But with Wrath actually in the world, meeting with those ass**les in the glymera?
"Okay," he said slowly. "I'll keep my phone with me, and I'll make it clear to the others that if you call, I'm out of there."
Layla took a sip of her ginger ale, and then stared into the cup, like she was watching the bubbles rise around the ice.
He thought of where they'd been the night before at Havers's - out of control, terrified, in mourning.
Shit could still go back to that, he reminded himself. It was way too early to get attached again.
And yet he couldn't seem to help himself. Standing in the tiled room, with the scent of Lysol disinfectant in his nose, and the lip of the counter he was leaning against biting into his ass...he realized this was the moment he started to love his young.
Right here, right now.
As a male bonded with his female, so too did a father to his offspring - and accordingly, his heart just opened wide and let it all in: the commitment that came with choosing to try for a child, the terror of losing them that he bet never went away, the joy that there was something of you on the face of the earth after you were gone, the impatience to meet them in person, the desperate desire to hold them in your arms and look into their eyes and give them all the love you had to give.
"Is it okay...can I touch your stomach?" he asked in a small voice.
"Of course! You don't have to ask." Layla lay back with a smile. "What's in there is half yours, you know."
Qhuinn rubbed nervous hands together as he approached the table. He had certainly touched Layla during the needing, and then afterward in a solicitous manner when a situation called for it.
He had never thought of touching his baby.
Qhuinn watched from a vast distance as his dagger hand reached out. Jesus, the tips of the fingers were trembling like crazy.
But they stilled the instant he made the connection.
"I'm right here," he said. "Dad's right here. I'm going nowhere. Just gonna wait until you're ready to come out into the world, and then your mom and I are going to take care of you. So you hang tight, we clear? Do your thing, and we'll wait for however long it takes."
With his free hand, he took Layla's palm, and put it over his own.
"Your family is right here. Waiting for you...and we love you."
It was totally stupid to talk to what was, no doubt, nothing but a bundle of cells. But he couldn't help it. The words, the actions...they were at once totally his, and yet coming from a place that was foreign to him.
Felt right, though.
Felt...like what a father was supposed to do.
Left-hand forty. Check.
Right forty. Check.
Backup ammo on the waist belt. Check.
Daggers one and two in the chest holster. Check.
Leather jacket -
As a knock sounded on Blay's door, he leaned out of his closet. "Come in?"
When Saxton entered, he pulled his jacket onto his shoulders and pivoted. "Hey. How are you?"
Something was up.
The other male's eyes made a quick three-sixty on Blay's "working wardrobe," as they'd once called it. Unease drew Sax's pale eyebrows upward; then again, he'd never seemed entirely comfortable around the weapons.
"Heading out into the field, then," the male murmured.
"To a meeting of the Council, actually."
"I didn't realize that required so many guns as accessories."
"New era."
"Yes, indeed."
There was a long pause. "How are you?"
Saxton's eyes went around the room. "I wanted to be the one to tell you."
Oh, f**k. Now what.
Blay swallowed hard. "About?"
"I'm leaving the house for a little while - for a vacation, as it were." He put his hand out to stop any arguing. "No, it's not permanent. I've gotten everything in order for Wrath, and there's nothing he needs for the next couple of days. Naturally, if he does, I'll come right back. I'm going to be staying with an old friend. I truly need some rest and relaxation - and before you worry, I swear I am returning, and this is honestly not about us. I've been working for months straight and I just want to have no schedule, if that makes sense?"
Blay took a deep breath. "Yes, it does. Where are you..." He stopped himself with a reminder that that was none of his business anymore. "Let me know if you need anything?"
"I promise."
On impulse, Blay walked over and put his arms around his former lover, the platonic connection as unforced and natural as his previously amorous one had been. Holding onto the male, he turned his face in.
"Thank you," Blay said. "For coming and telling me - "
At that moment, someone passed by in the hall, the stride faltering.
It was Qhuinn; Blay knew by the scent even before the tall, powerful figure registered visually. And in the brief hesitation before the guy kept going, their eyes locked over Saxton's shoulder.
Qhuinn's face became a mask instantly, the features freezing, giving nothing away.
And then the fighter was gone, his long legs taking him out of the open door's frame.
Blay stepped away and forced himself to replug into the good-bye. "When will you be back?"
"A couple of days at the least, no longer than a week."
"Okay."
Saxton glanced around the room again, and as he did, it was clear he was remembering. "Be well, and be careful out there. Do not try to be a hero."