Clint Zéphyr Chevalier (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
privateinvestigations) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
dreamlikenewyork2017-08-21 12:31 am
privateinvestigations) wrote in dreamlikenewyork2017-08-21 12:31 am
"Precious and fragile things need special handling."
Who: Clint Chevalier and Lexie Cole
What: Overdue chats
Where: Home, NYC
When: Saturday night
Some nights, Clint just couldn’t sleep. All his demons would haunt his mind, prowling around in the darkened depths of his grey matter, refusing to let him rest. So much had happened in his life recently that it would never have happened without the lingering scent of trauma permeating the days he got to keep existing. He never really took life for granted. He rarely looked beyond the here and now. He didn’t believe tomorrow was anything anyone had control over. He had seen and done so many fucked up things, he was never going to see the world in a bright and happy light anymore. He didn’t hate life. He didn’t hate existing. He just thought a lot of things were bullshit, and a lot of people full of bullshit. In a way, he was a complicated person but there were very few who knew every side of him.
So he didn’t wake Lincoln, he got up and went outside to have a smoke. The nights were getting cooler now that summer was waving goodbye again. Cold didn’t bother him, so he didn’t bother putting a shirt on. He wouldn’t have even bothered with boxers if he and Lincoln lived alone. If he could make a living being a nudist, he would do it. He ended up having three smokes and accompanied them with a beer. He lived by his own rules and gave few fucks about conforming. He gave no fucks about what anyone thought of his lack of conforming. Still, you didn’t just nearly survive your other half almost being murdered in front of you, discovering your cousin was actually your twin brother, and discovering the evil murdering cunt of an uncle was actually your biological father, and come out unscathed or unaffected. It was traumatic, but he chose to deal with the outfall of that in private, brooding to himself, taking matters into his own hands.
Then there was Lexie getting titty cancer. Like, fuck, her tits were actually trying to kill her and they had to go. But through that shit, their resident lesbian and half-lesbian wanted to make babies. Only, making babies nearly killed Ange. What was with tits and sprogs trying to kill lesbians? It was so fucked up. Clint did what he did best, though. Kept it together, dealt with it, again pointed out shit fucking happened in life. A lot of shit happened. All you could do was fucking suck it up. Bitching about it would get you nowhere. Besides, he had better things to plough his energy into… taking care of his family, making sure they all could at least keep their heads above water and no one was going to drop dead.
When he was coming back from the balcony beyond the living room of the massive loft apartment he and Lincoln shared with Ange and Lexie, he heard that sound he was still trying to adjust to… a rugrat crying. It was a distinct cry. Before, Clint just believed all babies that cried sounded the same. It was irritating, obnoxious and annoying. Now, he felt different things because those cries were coming from something that was part of him. He was only supposed to be the jizz donor initially, but then shit kept hitting multiple fans and the landscape of their family changed. Lincoln made it loud and clear that if a kid existed in this world with his other half’s DNA, he wanted them to contribute to the parenting. And so came into existence this unconventional arrangement of Angela and Clint making a baby that all four of them were raising.
Initially, Clint was involved as little as he needed to be. That shit was never his scene, it didn’t make sense to him. Sprogs were things other people wanted and did, not him. That had all changed once he met his son and something shifted inside of him. It had already changed on some level with his niece, Holly. He claimed her as an honorary niece well before he knew Lorenzo was his brother. Now all that shit had come to life and she was his niece in every sense. Lorenzo hadn’t let him pull the ‘That shit’s not my fucking scene’ with Holly. Clint had learned how to sprog a little, only with the least amount of contribution needed. Now there was Zéphyr, his infant son. So small and so fragile that there was no escaping the inner stirrings for Clint. He was learning to be a father, and knew that tiny bundle of flesh changed everything for him. It was just very much a work-in-progress.
He went into Ange and Lexie’s room where Zéphyr was in his cradle, crying his heart out for some titty action. “Yeah, I get it kiddo. I like boobs in my mouth too,” he said in a murmur, scooping the wriggling flesh ball in a fluffy blue onesie into his hands. He slept in a cradle in his moms’ room for now. That worked for everyone. Lexie was dead to the world, probably trying to get as much rest as she could before her next chemo round started tomorrow. She had to have a rest of it because her body went into haywire with the stress of the baby arriving in a dangerous way, way too early, nearly killing both him and Angela. Now, it was back to it to try to rid her of the fucking cancer.
Angela was stirring, though. She was barely awake when she reflexively pushed the covers off her. Clint went over to her and, son easily nursed in one arm, shoved the covers back over her. “I got it, go to back to sleep.” Angela gave him a bleary nod, eyes scrunched up against the light spilling into the bedroom from the hall. She rolled over and spooned up behind Lexie, going back to sleep.
Zéphyr seemed to settle once Clint picked him up. He was wriggling and whimpering in protest, but the cries were dying off before Clint even exited the hall back into the living room. He checked the clock, and it was almost spot-on to the kid needing a feed. Because he needed to grow more, they were mixing Ange’s titty feeds for some meals and formula for others, which was a perfect arrangement because then apparently everyone could be involved - including Clint. No one was letting him escape that. He had to learn, and even if he hadn’t told anyone this, he had gone to Euan to interrogate him on all things screaming sprogs. If Euan could do this fuckery like a boss, then Clint could.
Clint warmed the bottle up when he mixed the shit up and headed into the living room for the fun and games. The kid really only liked the boob action. Definitely his father’s son. The bottle, he wasn’t a fan of. Sometimes he might take it by mistaking it for a boob, but others, it was like trying to convince a Christian that Jesus rode in on a fucking unicorn preaching lines from gay porn to his Disciples. Fuck, he was so little. Clint was always awed of that when he had to hold the kid and didn’t need to try to palm off a dirty diaper, ASAP. Clint had big hands, and the baby seemed less than two handfuls. He had sucked boobs bigger than this kid. One thing that made all this easier to adjust to was that, as the weeks went on, the baby’s hair darkened and the Chevalier blue eyes were undeniable. Lorenzo said he looked like Holly when she was just born, who resembled Lorenzo and Clint when they were babies. Probably Richie too. That was another mindfuck. Clint had gone from having no blood siblings to having two brothers.
It looked like he was going to have some success. Once he settled and stopped farting about trying to find a comfortable spot with his son tucked in the crook of his arm wrapped in the soft blue crocheted receiving blanket Linc and Lexi’s grandma made for him. He was never without it. A little bit of coaxing and using some tricks Euan clued him in on, his kid began to have his bottle. He was making soft little baby noises and had a hand closed around Clint’s pinkie finger. He was still half asleep, but no matter who you were, he would watch you while he drank. Moments like this, Clint was the mindfucked of all. This thing smaller than a football was his son. Clint knew he could watch him for hours, completely content, even if he wouldn’t admit it out loud.
Lexie awoke suddenly to a vague recollection of Zéphyr crying. It infiltrated her psyche, but once she dragged herself to consciousness, there was no crying. Ange was cuddled up to her, out like a light. Understandable because there had been a few sleepless nights where their little guy hadn’t settled. Ange had been up with him the whole time because her natural mommy instincts never switched off. She suffered sometimes with the choke-hold the Postpartum Depression had on her, but with therapy and everyone around her to help, it didn’t control her like it had in the hospital. She could work through it, and often all it took was a breather and getting some sleep to quell the worst of it. She was still healing herself, and that was why the four of them were a team. Even if Lexie still had to face chemo, they were a family and she knew they were fucking tough as a brass monkey’s balls together. They would get there, they always did.
First, she checked on Ange. She couldn’t help it, she was overprotective of her other half. More so now than ever before, and Angela had survived horrific shit. She gave them all a beautiful baby boy and nearly died in the process. Lexie was more in love with her now than ever, and it increased every day. Every time she saw Ange with Zéphyr everything felt right in the world. Ange was dead to the world, and the baby’s cradle was empty. Any other situation, that might be cause for panic in a parent, but there were two other parental units in this family. Now she was awake, she would struggle getting back to sleep, with the flip-flop of nerves in her gut about recommencing chemo. Overall, she had been lucky with the symptoms. It was only really a couple of days in each round that were rough, and she hadn’t lost all her hair.
She padded out through the apartment, planning on making a cuppa and seeing who had taken the baby baton. When she got to the doorway of the living room, she spotted Clint sitting on the sofa, the room lit by the small light way in the corner, turned down low. She stayed back and didn’t make any noise, enjoying the picture painted before her. Clint looked so content and peaceful. He was gazing at the baby, watching him drink from the bottle. There was no doubt it didn’t look right on Clint. Far from it, but it was still beautiful and a smile tugged at the corners of Lexie’s lips. Fuck, was she proud of him. Fuck, did she have a beautiful family. Fuck, was she happy. Fuck cancer. “Never thought I’d ever look at you holding a baby and think it looked right. A fucking zombie apocalypse must be coming.” She came over and sat down beside him, smiling at him. “It looks good on you, you know. Having a son. Fucking hell finally froze over.” She cupped one of Zéphyr’s tiny baby feet in her palm, and rested her head on Clint’s shoulder. Every tiny portion of him was perfect.
“You lesbians and your obsession with man juice. I don’t fucking know,” Clint joked back easily. He smirked at her, but he was closely scrutinising her. “You should be getting rest. If you stay here and he fills his diaper, it’s your problem. I’m only a holding bay until the boobs are back in town. You okay? I know the fucking chemo shit is horrible. I’d take it away and do it for you if I could, love. You and Ange should be getting some fucking peace. Tell me you’re at least having a good few bangs here and there.”
Lexie shrugged, but she was smirking too. Clint’s circumstances might forever be changing around him right now, but he was still the same straight-shooting bastard he always had be. No one would want it any other way. “Nah, fuck it. My sex drive is dead in the ass and Ange said she feels about as sexy as Jabba the Hut with the clap. She’s wrong. I mean, fuck, have you seen her tits? I’m happy to still admire them, even if it’s from afar because they feel like they’ve been run over by a tank. It doesn’t really matter. I figure it’ll come back when it’s ready. Do you fuck any other chicks but her? I was never sure I was allowed to ask about that arrangement. I think it’s hot. You are my ex hubby, after all. I’ll rest when I’m dead. Or fucking keeled over from chemo barfing. I just don’t want to be out of action for this cutie, you know? I’m scared I’ll miss out on shit.”
“That ain’t gonna happen, babe. We ain’t gonna let it. Even if you can’t do everything you want to because you’re poorly, you’ll still be right there in it all. For a runt, he manages to spread himself around plenty.” None of them had issues figuring out routines. They just did what needed to be done. Ange at the wheel, because she needed that for the freaky maternal instinct stuff, then Lex, and then whoever of Clint and Lincoln were about to jump in. Lincoln still had his bad days, and when that happened, all his input could be was cuddling with Zéphyr in bed. It worked. So far, there hadn’t been any issues and Clint couldn’t foresee there would be because no one was trying to make out they knew better than anyone else. “Nah, only Linc. My cock’s happiest there. Always has been. You can say if you don’t want Ange and I to do it, if we ever get back to it. It’s all good. No one needs to feel fucking weird about anything.”
“Like that bothers me. I’m fine with it. You’re both bi, you’ve been fucking each other for years. It’s just sex, it’s not hurting anyone. Just so long as I don’t have to play with your dick, I’m good,” Lexie joked, snorting in amusement. Their son was quite possibly the slowest eater to ever wear diapers. He would suck a little and then stop, sucking on his own lip, battling the bottle for a bit before he took it again. She stroked his little head, letting her fingers run over the sweep of dark hair. It was still hard to believe he was theirs. “Fuck, life’s been a mindfuck. None of this shit has made anything weird with you and Linc, has it? Massive change, one you never really wanted. I think Linc always assumed he would have kids some day, if he could ever chill on the epic sex romps to achieve it. Then he got stabbed and everything changed.”
Clint snorted, rolling his eyes with a shake of his head. “Stop being such a fucking lesbian. You lot and your touchy-feely shit. Linc and I are fine. He’s in his element, and let’s be real, we got one of the best kids to ever exist. If anything was gonna change shit with Linc and me, it would’ve been the multitude of fucking shit we copped lately. He’s been fucking incredible with everything. I dunno, I like seeing him with the kid. Suits him. Was a time there I wasn’t sure I’d ever see him okay again. Kept waiting to be told he had dropped dead. But shit got better, and other bad shit happened. Makes me wonder about that voodoo shit Granny was into. Higher powers, she was all into it. Maybe she’s watching over the lot of us, making sure we keep our shit together. I dunno, never believed the crap before, but now the rugrat pulled through and Ange stuck around when we could’ve lost ‘em both. She woulda loved the whole lot of you. Woulda loved Lewis. Richie. Blows my fucking mind how everything has changed. What about you? How’s the marriage deal holding up after everything?”
Lexie watched Clint closely, taking in his expressions as he spoke about this stuff. It was the first she ever heard him relent on anything like this. Usually, he was like the King of the Atheists and had no belief whatsoever in any higher powers. He thought it was all a grand scheme of fuckery he wanted nothing to do with. But he never denied anyone else their beliefs. He respected the differences, and let them do their thing while he did his. His was just more ensconced in reality and the here and now. Whatever was beyond that, he didn’t give a fuck about. It was the middle of the night, and they were alone together. She liked these moments of raw honesty with him. They were few and far between and if there were too many, he wouldn’t be Clint. Still, when they happened, they were special. “It’s normal to think about that shit, love. When you get to the precipice of nearly losing people you love, shit changes. You don’t think it does, but you can’t go back to how it was before. You can’t unfeel the hot breath of death breathing down your throat, threatening to destroy everything you love. We’ve all had it now. And it fucking sucks. I’m not going to lie, Ange and I were on shaky ground for a bit there when we didn’t know who or what we were supposed to be. We had to consciously identify it and deal with it. I’m glad we did, too. Got back on the same page. I don’t know what I would ever do without her. She’s my fucking world. Now more than ever. She’s a billion times better a chick than I could ever be.”
Clint handed the bottle to Lexie so he could shift his son up to his shoulder to try to burp him. That could also be a recipe for disaster He was yet to figure out how so much puke and shit could come out of something smaller than a healthy dick. Zéphyr had the hiccups, so Clint patted his back to try to ease them. Richie explained to them he tried to suck harder on the bottle because it felt different to a tit, but he was also used to having CPAP breathing assistance in his nose and other tubes connected to function. He had to adjust to different sensations. Clint got it. Plastic was never better than natural. “Yeah, but you got your shit together. We’ve all fucked up in different ways. None of us had a fucking clue what we were doing, but who does? If we were all natural experts on everything, the world wouldn’t be full of half the shit it’s suffocating under. All this shit’s fucking intimidating. I don’t fucking know what I’m supposed to be doing. But as long as no one’s hurting my family, I sort it out. Nothing ever stays static anyway. If everyone still has a pulse, we’re doing fucking okay.”
“Who would’ve fucking thought we’d end up here?” Lexie mused, shaking her head. She was still stroking their son’s hair while Clint tried to figure out the dad thing. It was forever a work-in-progress. “Friggen boob cancer, you married for real, got a kid, Linc nearly dying, Ange feeling like she’s not a good enough mom, you and Lorenzo fucking brothers. I can barely even remember what life was like before. Just a hazy recollection of a lot of fucking and taking down pedo rapists. There’s no guarantee I’m going to beat this shit, Clitty. If I don’t, do you promise to always take care of them, no matter what? All three of them. And yourself. Because you can do way fucking more than you realise if you just let yourself. Facing this chemo shit again, knowing it’s still not all out of me, sometimes I get so fucking scared I’m going to die, it’s hard to breathe. I want to grow old with her, babe. I want to see our son fall in love and take on the world. I don’t even fucking know if I’ll survive to see him cut his first tooth.”
Clint, still rubbing his son’s back, was looking at her with a frown. He wasn’t some cunt who did platitudes. He wasn’t going to sit there and tell her to shut up because it would never happen. He had seen so much fucking vile and evil shit happen to people he loved that he didn’t believe positive thoughts would save her from cancer. It was fucking cancer. That was the whole point. It was why she had to have her system pumped full of toxic poison to kill it… before it killed her. How the fuck were you supposed to tell your kid one of his moms died when he was old enough to realise she was missing because all that were left were her face in pictures? There was a lump in his throat and he cleared it to try to retain his composure. “Well, you gotta just keep fucking fight, don’t you? Not for any of us, but for this little shit machine. He ain’t here to do it with just three of us. That wasn’t the fucking deal. You just gotta suck it up and keep going. I know you, Lex. You got it in you. We’re all fucking counting on it. And he’s counting on it more than any of us.”
Lexie nodded, letting out a heavy breath she was holding to try to stop herself crying. But she was emotional facing chemo again now Zéphyr was here and she had so much more to fight for. She hadn’t talked to Ange about these feelings, even though she knew she could. Saying it out loud made it all so real, but at least she knew if she said it to Clint, he would keep it real for her. It was the keeping it real she needed to hear. The boot up the ass to keep going and keep her head above water. She kissed his cheek and then kissed their son’s head. She rested her own back on Clint’s shoulder, letting her fingers lace into his against Zéphyr’s back, closing her eyes and not brushing away the few stray tears that escaped.
Clint kissed Lexie’s hair and sighed. It had been a hell of a long time since he and Lexie had sat down and talked. It was overdue, but he was glad they finally took the step and realised that from here on out, life was different. “It’s gonna be okay, love. Even if it’s fucking horrible, I’m gonna make sure it’s still okay. I fucking promise.”
LOG, COMPLETE
What: Overdue chats
Where: Home, NYC
When: Saturday night
Some nights, Clint just couldn’t sleep. All his demons would haunt his mind, prowling around in the darkened depths of his grey matter, refusing to let him rest. So much had happened in his life recently that it would never have happened without the lingering scent of trauma permeating the days he got to keep existing. He never really took life for granted. He rarely looked beyond the here and now. He didn’t believe tomorrow was anything anyone had control over. He had seen and done so many fucked up things, he was never going to see the world in a bright and happy light anymore. He didn’t hate life. He didn’t hate existing. He just thought a lot of things were bullshit, and a lot of people full of bullshit. In a way, he was a complicated person but there were very few who knew every side of him.
So he didn’t wake Lincoln, he got up and went outside to have a smoke. The nights were getting cooler now that summer was waving goodbye again. Cold didn’t bother him, so he didn’t bother putting a shirt on. He wouldn’t have even bothered with boxers if he and Lincoln lived alone. If he could make a living being a nudist, he would do it. He ended up having three smokes and accompanied them with a beer. He lived by his own rules and gave few fucks about conforming. He gave no fucks about what anyone thought of his lack of conforming. Still, you didn’t just nearly survive your other half almost being murdered in front of you, discovering your cousin was actually your twin brother, and discovering the evil murdering cunt of an uncle was actually your biological father, and come out unscathed or unaffected. It was traumatic, but he chose to deal with the outfall of that in private, brooding to himself, taking matters into his own hands.
Then there was Lexie getting titty cancer. Like, fuck, her tits were actually trying to kill her and they had to go. But through that shit, their resident lesbian and half-lesbian wanted to make babies. Only, making babies nearly killed Ange. What was with tits and sprogs trying to kill lesbians? It was so fucked up. Clint did what he did best, though. Kept it together, dealt with it, again pointed out shit fucking happened in life. A lot of shit happened. All you could do was fucking suck it up. Bitching about it would get you nowhere. Besides, he had better things to plough his energy into… taking care of his family, making sure they all could at least keep their heads above water and no one was going to drop dead.
When he was coming back from the balcony beyond the living room of the massive loft apartment he and Lincoln shared with Ange and Lexie, he heard that sound he was still trying to adjust to… a rugrat crying. It was a distinct cry. Before, Clint just believed all babies that cried sounded the same. It was irritating, obnoxious and annoying. Now, he felt different things because those cries were coming from something that was part of him. He was only supposed to be the jizz donor initially, but then shit kept hitting multiple fans and the landscape of their family changed. Lincoln made it loud and clear that if a kid existed in this world with his other half’s DNA, he wanted them to contribute to the parenting. And so came into existence this unconventional arrangement of Angela and Clint making a baby that all four of them were raising.
Initially, Clint was involved as little as he needed to be. That shit was never his scene, it didn’t make sense to him. Sprogs were things other people wanted and did, not him. That had all changed once he met his son and something shifted inside of him. It had already changed on some level with his niece, Holly. He claimed her as an honorary niece well before he knew Lorenzo was his brother. Now all that shit had come to life and she was his niece in every sense. Lorenzo hadn’t let him pull the ‘That shit’s not my fucking scene’ with Holly. Clint had learned how to sprog a little, only with the least amount of contribution needed. Now there was Zéphyr, his infant son. So small and so fragile that there was no escaping the inner stirrings for Clint. He was learning to be a father, and knew that tiny bundle of flesh changed everything for him. It was just very much a work-in-progress.
He went into Ange and Lexie’s room where Zéphyr was in his cradle, crying his heart out for some titty action. “Yeah, I get it kiddo. I like boobs in my mouth too,” he said in a murmur, scooping the wriggling flesh ball in a fluffy blue onesie into his hands. He slept in a cradle in his moms’ room for now. That worked for everyone. Lexie was dead to the world, probably trying to get as much rest as she could before her next chemo round started tomorrow. She had to have a rest of it because her body went into haywire with the stress of the baby arriving in a dangerous way, way too early, nearly killing both him and Angela. Now, it was back to it to try to rid her of the fucking cancer.
Angela was stirring, though. She was barely awake when she reflexively pushed the covers off her. Clint went over to her and, son easily nursed in one arm, shoved the covers back over her. “I got it, go to back to sleep.” Angela gave him a bleary nod, eyes scrunched up against the light spilling into the bedroom from the hall. She rolled over and spooned up behind Lexie, going back to sleep.
Zéphyr seemed to settle once Clint picked him up. He was wriggling and whimpering in protest, but the cries were dying off before Clint even exited the hall back into the living room. He checked the clock, and it was almost spot-on to the kid needing a feed. Because he needed to grow more, they were mixing Ange’s titty feeds for some meals and formula for others, which was a perfect arrangement because then apparently everyone could be involved - including Clint. No one was letting him escape that. He had to learn, and even if he hadn’t told anyone this, he had gone to Euan to interrogate him on all things screaming sprogs. If Euan could do this fuckery like a boss, then Clint could.
Clint warmed the bottle up when he mixed the shit up and headed into the living room for the fun and games. The kid really only liked the boob action. Definitely his father’s son. The bottle, he wasn’t a fan of. Sometimes he might take it by mistaking it for a boob, but others, it was like trying to convince a Christian that Jesus rode in on a fucking unicorn preaching lines from gay porn to his Disciples. Fuck, he was so little. Clint was always awed of that when he had to hold the kid and didn’t need to try to palm off a dirty diaper, ASAP. Clint had big hands, and the baby seemed less than two handfuls. He had sucked boobs bigger than this kid. One thing that made all this easier to adjust to was that, as the weeks went on, the baby’s hair darkened and the Chevalier blue eyes were undeniable. Lorenzo said he looked like Holly when she was just born, who resembled Lorenzo and Clint when they were babies. Probably Richie too. That was another mindfuck. Clint had gone from having no blood siblings to having two brothers.
It looked like he was going to have some success. Once he settled and stopped farting about trying to find a comfortable spot with his son tucked in the crook of his arm wrapped in the soft blue crocheted receiving blanket Linc and Lexi’s grandma made for him. He was never without it. A little bit of coaxing and using some tricks Euan clued him in on, his kid began to have his bottle. He was making soft little baby noises and had a hand closed around Clint’s pinkie finger. He was still half asleep, but no matter who you were, he would watch you while he drank. Moments like this, Clint was the mindfucked of all. This thing smaller than a football was his son. Clint knew he could watch him for hours, completely content, even if he wouldn’t admit it out loud.
Lexie awoke suddenly to a vague recollection of Zéphyr crying. It infiltrated her psyche, but once she dragged herself to consciousness, there was no crying. Ange was cuddled up to her, out like a light. Understandable because there had been a few sleepless nights where their little guy hadn’t settled. Ange had been up with him the whole time because her natural mommy instincts never switched off. She suffered sometimes with the choke-hold the Postpartum Depression had on her, but with therapy and everyone around her to help, it didn’t control her like it had in the hospital. She could work through it, and often all it took was a breather and getting some sleep to quell the worst of it. She was still healing herself, and that was why the four of them were a team. Even if Lexie still had to face chemo, they were a family and she knew they were fucking tough as a brass monkey’s balls together. They would get there, they always did.
First, she checked on Ange. She couldn’t help it, she was overprotective of her other half. More so now than ever before, and Angela had survived horrific shit. She gave them all a beautiful baby boy and nearly died in the process. Lexie was more in love with her now than ever, and it increased every day. Every time she saw Ange with Zéphyr everything felt right in the world. Ange was dead to the world, and the baby’s cradle was empty. Any other situation, that might be cause for panic in a parent, but there were two other parental units in this family. Now she was awake, she would struggle getting back to sleep, with the flip-flop of nerves in her gut about recommencing chemo. Overall, she had been lucky with the symptoms. It was only really a couple of days in each round that were rough, and she hadn’t lost all her hair.
She padded out through the apartment, planning on making a cuppa and seeing who had taken the baby baton. When she got to the doorway of the living room, she spotted Clint sitting on the sofa, the room lit by the small light way in the corner, turned down low. She stayed back and didn’t make any noise, enjoying the picture painted before her. Clint looked so content and peaceful. He was gazing at the baby, watching him drink from the bottle. There was no doubt it didn’t look right on Clint. Far from it, but it was still beautiful and a smile tugged at the corners of Lexie’s lips. Fuck, was she proud of him. Fuck, did she have a beautiful family. Fuck, was she happy. Fuck cancer. “Never thought I’d ever look at you holding a baby and think it looked right. A fucking zombie apocalypse must be coming.” She came over and sat down beside him, smiling at him. “It looks good on you, you know. Having a son. Fucking hell finally froze over.” She cupped one of Zéphyr’s tiny baby feet in her palm, and rested her head on Clint’s shoulder. Every tiny portion of him was perfect.
“You lesbians and your obsession with man juice. I don’t fucking know,” Clint joked back easily. He smirked at her, but he was closely scrutinising her. “You should be getting rest. If you stay here and he fills his diaper, it’s your problem. I’m only a holding bay until the boobs are back in town. You okay? I know the fucking chemo shit is horrible. I’d take it away and do it for you if I could, love. You and Ange should be getting some fucking peace. Tell me you’re at least having a good few bangs here and there.”
Lexie shrugged, but she was smirking too. Clint’s circumstances might forever be changing around him right now, but he was still the same straight-shooting bastard he always had be. No one would want it any other way. “Nah, fuck it. My sex drive is dead in the ass and Ange said she feels about as sexy as Jabba the Hut with the clap. She’s wrong. I mean, fuck, have you seen her tits? I’m happy to still admire them, even if it’s from afar because they feel like they’ve been run over by a tank. It doesn’t really matter. I figure it’ll come back when it’s ready. Do you fuck any other chicks but her? I was never sure I was allowed to ask about that arrangement. I think it’s hot. You are my ex hubby, after all. I’ll rest when I’m dead. Or fucking keeled over from chemo barfing. I just don’t want to be out of action for this cutie, you know? I’m scared I’ll miss out on shit.”
“That ain’t gonna happen, babe. We ain’t gonna let it. Even if you can’t do everything you want to because you’re poorly, you’ll still be right there in it all. For a runt, he manages to spread himself around plenty.” None of them had issues figuring out routines. They just did what needed to be done. Ange at the wheel, because she needed that for the freaky maternal instinct stuff, then Lex, and then whoever of Clint and Lincoln were about to jump in. Lincoln still had his bad days, and when that happened, all his input could be was cuddling with Zéphyr in bed. It worked. So far, there hadn’t been any issues and Clint couldn’t foresee there would be because no one was trying to make out they knew better than anyone else. “Nah, only Linc. My cock’s happiest there. Always has been. You can say if you don’t want Ange and I to do it, if we ever get back to it. It’s all good. No one needs to feel fucking weird about anything.”
“Like that bothers me. I’m fine with it. You’re both bi, you’ve been fucking each other for years. It’s just sex, it’s not hurting anyone. Just so long as I don’t have to play with your dick, I’m good,” Lexie joked, snorting in amusement. Their son was quite possibly the slowest eater to ever wear diapers. He would suck a little and then stop, sucking on his own lip, battling the bottle for a bit before he took it again. She stroked his little head, letting her fingers run over the sweep of dark hair. It was still hard to believe he was theirs. “Fuck, life’s been a mindfuck. None of this shit has made anything weird with you and Linc, has it? Massive change, one you never really wanted. I think Linc always assumed he would have kids some day, if he could ever chill on the epic sex romps to achieve it. Then he got stabbed and everything changed.”
Clint snorted, rolling his eyes with a shake of his head. “Stop being such a fucking lesbian. You lot and your touchy-feely shit. Linc and I are fine. He’s in his element, and let’s be real, we got one of the best kids to ever exist. If anything was gonna change shit with Linc and me, it would’ve been the multitude of fucking shit we copped lately. He’s been fucking incredible with everything. I dunno, I like seeing him with the kid. Suits him. Was a time there I wasn’t sure I’d ever see him okay again. Kept waiting to be told he had dropped dead. But shit got better, and other bad shit happened. Makes me wonder about that voodoo shit Granny was into. Higher powers, she was all into it. Maybe she’s watching over the lot of us, making sure we keep our shit together. I dunno, never believed the crap before, but now the rugrat pulled through and Ange stuck around when we could’ve lost ‘em both. She woulda loved the whole lot of you. Woulda loved Lewis. Richie. Blows my fucking mind how everything has changed. What about you? How’s the marriage deal holding up after everything?”
Lexie watched Clint closely, taking in his expressions as he spoke about this stuff. It was the first she ever heard him relent on anything like this. Usually, he was like the King of the Atheists and had no belief whatsoever in any higher powers. He thought it was all a grand scheme of fuckery he wanted nothing to do with. But he never denied anyone else their beliefs. He respected the differences, and let them do their thing while he did his. His was just more ensconced in reality and the here and now. Whatever was beyond that, he didn’t give a fuck about. It was the middle of the night, and they were alone together. She liked these moments of raw honesty with him. They were few and far between and if there were too many, he wouldn’t be Clint. Still, when they happened, they were special. “It’s normal to think about that shit, love. When you get to the precipice of nearly losing people you love, shit changes. You don’t think it does, but you can’t go back to how it was before. You can’t unfeel the hot breath of death breathing down your throat, threatening to destroy everything you love. We’ve all had it now. And it fucking sucks. I’m not going to lie, Ange and I were on shaky ground for a bit there when we didn’t know who or what we were supposed to be. We had to consciously identify it and deal with it. I’m glad we did, too. Got back on the same page. I don’t know what I would ever do without her. She’s my fucking world. Now more than ever. She’s a billion times better a chick than I could ever be.”
Clint handed the bottle to Lexie so he could shift his son up to his shoulder to try to burp him. That could also be a recipe for disaster He was yet to figure out how so much puke and shit could come out of something smaller than a healthy dick. Zéphyr had the hiccups, so Clint patted his back to try to ease them. Richie explained to them he tried to suck harder on the bottle because it felt different to a tit, but he was also used to having CPAP breathing assistance in his nose and other tubes connected to function. He had to adjust to different sensations. Clint got it. Plastic was never better than natural. “Yeah, but you got your shit together. We’ve all fucked up in different ways. None of us had a fucking clue what we were doing, but who does? If we were all natural experts on everything, the world wouldn’t be full of half the shit it’s suffocating under. All this shit’s fucking intimidating. I don’t fucking know what I’m supposed to be doing. But as long as no one’s hurting my family, I sort it out. Nothing ever stays static anyway. If everyone still has a pulse, we’re doing fucking okay.”
“Who would’ve fucking thought we’d end up here?” Lexie mused, shaking her head. She was still stroking their son’s hair while Clint tried to figure out the dad thing. It was forever a work-in-progress. “Friggen boob cancer, you married for real, got a kid, Linc nearly dying, Ange feeling like she’s not a good enough mom, you and Lorenzo fucking brothers. I can barely even remember what life was like before. Just a hazy recollection of a lot of fucking and taking down pedo rapists. There’s no guarantee I’m going to beat this shit, Clitty. If I don’t, do you promise to always take care of them, no matter what? All three of them. And yourself. Because you can do way fucking more than you realise if you just let yourself. Facing this chemo shit again, knowing it’s still not all out of me, sometimes I get so fucking scared I’m going to die, it’s hard to breathe. I want to grow old with her, babe. I want to see our son fall in love and take on the world. I don’t even fucking know if I’ll survive to see him cut his first tooth.”
Clint, still rubbing his son’s back, was looking at her with a frown. He wasn’t some cunt who did platitudes. He wasn’t going to sit there and tell her to shut up because it would never happen. He had seen so much fucking vile and evil shit happen to people he loved that he didn’t believe positive thoughts would save her from cancer. It was fucking cancer. That was the whole point. It was why she had to have her system pumped full of toxic poison to kill it… before it killed her. How the fuck were you supposed to tell your kid one of his moms died when he was old enough to realise she was missing because all that were left were her face in pictures? There was a lump in his throat and he cleared it to try to retain his composure. “Well, you gotta just keep fucking fight, don’t you? Not for any of us, but for this little shit machine. He ain’t here to do it with just three of us. That wasn’t the fucking deal. You just gotta suck it up and keep going. I know you, Lex. You got it in you. We’re all fucking counting on it. And he’s counting on it more than any of us.”
Lexie nodded, letting out a heavy breath she was holding to try to stop herself crying. But she was emotional facing chemo again now Zéphyr was here and she had so much more to fight for. She hadn’t talked to Ange about these feelings, even though she knew she could. Saying it out loud made it all so real, but at least she knew if she said it to Clint, he would keep it real for her. It was the keeping it real she needed to hear. The boot up the ass to keep going and keep her head above water. She kissed his cheek and then kissed their son’s head. She rested her own back on Clint’s shoulder, letting her fingers lace into his against Zéphyr’s back, closing her eyes and not brushing away the few stray tears that escaped.
Clint kissed Lexie’s hair and sighed. It had been a hell of a long time since he and Lexie had sat down and talked. It was overdue, but he was glad they finally took the step and realised that from here on out, life was different. “It’s gonna be okay, love. Even if it’s fucking horrible, I’m gonna make sure it’s still okay. I fucking promise.”
LOG, COMPLETE