The Baker's Wife (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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bigapplesauce2015-09-11 09:22 pm
andhiswife) wrote in bigapplesauce2015-09-11 09:22 pm
Children Aren't as Simple as We'd Like to Think [Closed]
The practical, sensible part of her knows this might not be a good idea. It's too sudden, too quick, too much responsibility striking like a bolt of lightning out of a clear blue sky. Greta's still raw and aching, the Witch's blunt exposition and the Balladeer's more gentle but no less horrible refrain replaying themselves in her mind with exhausting regularity. She shouldn't even be alive; what business does she have taking in a child? Especially one who, from the sounds of things, might as well have been raised by wolves?
Well. She doesn't have any business, full stop. That's rather been the problem, these past few days. Waiting to go home had been her chief occupation, and there's no point in that, anymore. If she doesn't find some way to fill the hours, all the loving support her friends can offer won't be enough to keep her from going mad. She needs to do something.
She can do this.
Her apartment was already neat as a pin, and it's been livened up with some art supplies and a few toys. It's not enough for the long term - the child will need far more if Greta's going to care for her indefinitely - but she thought it best not to jar the girl with an overwhelming display. Aziraphale only asked for help, after all; it would be rash of her to act as if it was a given that Lilly would be staying here forever. Maybe she'll only end up watching the child for a few days. Maybe Lilly won't even like it here.
Greta really hopes she does, though. Now that a potential purpose has been dangled in front of her nose, she can't help but grasp at it. And if she's a little too eager, well, that's better than the numbing fog she's been drifting through of late.
How refreshing, to want something she can actually have.
She looks around the apartment, as if to give the furniture an opportunity to object to the impending visitor. Then she picks up her phone and texts Aziraphale one last time.
Well. She doesn't have any business, full stop. That's rather been the problem, these past few days. Waiting to go home had been her chief occupation, and there's no point in that, anymore. If she doesn't find some way to fill the hours, all the loving support her friends can offer won't be enough to keep her from going mad. She needs to do something.
She can do this.
Her apartment was already neat as a pin, and it's been livened up with some art supplies and a few toys. It's not enough for the long term - the child will need far more if Greta's going to care for her indefinitely - but she thought it best not to jar the girl with an overwhelming display. Aziraphale only asked for help, after all; it would be rash of her to act as if it was a given that Lilly would be staying here forever. Maybe she'll only end up watching the child for a few days. Maybe Lilly won't even like it here.
Greta really hopes she does, though. Now that a potential purpose has been dangled in front of her nose, she can't help but grasp at it. And if she's a little too eager, well, that's better than the numbing fog she's been drifting through of late.
How refreshing, to want something she can actually have.
She looks around the apartment, as if to give the furniture an opportunity to object to the impending visitor. Then she picks up her phone and texts Aziraphale one last time.
no subject
Her gaze slides slowly from her drawing of the cliff, to Greta's hand, up her arm, and finally to the woman's face. With a furrowed brow and eyebrows knit together slightly, it's clear she's struggling to say something. Finally, after a few seconds, she manages to get it out.
"G'eta sad." It isn't a question. To Lilly, it's obvious. Being raised by a spectre of a woman whose sole reason for still existing is the heartache of losing a child, the girl knows what to look for without even realizing it. "No more G'eta baby." Another statement of fact, but this one comes with something more.
Moving slowly, almost hesitantly, she places her hand over Greta's and squeezes gently. Then she offers a small smile and inches a little bit closer. Finally tearing her gaze from the woman, although not releasing her contact, she looks first up at Aziraphale, then to Melanie and gives an almost imperceivable nod.
"Mel'nie go," she says plainly. "Lilly stay."
no subject
And then - oh, god, she knows. It's not even a guess. Greta forgets to breathe for a moment, her hand slipping off of Aziraphale's as she stares at Lilly, her astonishment failing to mask her grief. No use in attempting to deny it. Nor can she confirm it without more tears, and she won't have that. This isn't about her own losses. This is about Lilly.
Lilly, who draws more comfort from the parallels than Greta had thought she might. The little hand on hers is too mature an offering from someone so young, and it jolts her lungs back to work. Greta pulls in a breath as the girl smiles at her and scoots a bit closer, a far more childish seal of approval. She's staying. She's choosing to stay.
Well. This has gone far better and far worse than Greta ever could have anticipated.
The temptation to just haul the child into her lap is almost overwhelming, but she knows better. Greta settles for resting her free hand atop Lilly's as she waits for her heart to stop hammering and the ache in her throat to ease. She sees Melanie get to her feet, though she can't bring herself to look at the child directly (goodness knows what she's making of all this). Once she trusts her voice, she turns to look up at Aziraphale.
"I think we'll be all right," she says quietly.