simon_doctor | (no subject)

(no subject)

It's a fine evening in early spring in Logan City; the first really nice weather of the season, with the sun lingering above the horizon well after the office closes. Simon's carrying his winter coat over one arm as he steps into the house and sets down his briefcase. He doesn't call out; even at this hour, it's probably not a good idea to make too much noise until he's sure he wouldn't wake anybody.

He's got two guesses as to where he might find Kaylee, and because of the weather he's going to check the sunroom and/or backyard first.

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The sunroom still gets sun at this hour, and Kaylee's got all the windows thrown open.

She's curled up on the swing in the corner, humming quietly. The sun's falling on them. It feels good.

Everything feels good.

She hears the door open, and footsteps -- but she doesn't stir. It's nice and quiet, and Simon will come find them.

He opens the door from the kitchen to the sunroom quietly, leans in enough to look -- and breaks into a grin at the sight of them.

"Wei," he murmurs, voice carefully pitched low. "Is she asleep?"

"Getting there." She glances at him, smile small, warm. "Good day?"

Between her smile and the sunlight, the whole room feels warm.

"Pretty good. How was yours? -- And is there room for a third on that swing?"

"Oh, I think so." Carefully she shifts up, leaving enough room for him to sit behind her, ideally so she can lean against him. "She was real good all day. I had a chance to do some stuff around the house."

By which she means fine-tuning various appliances and water systems.

"Oh, good." Carefully he slides an arm around her, gathering them both close, and leans his head down to murmur "Such a good girl."

Kaylee settles back comfortably against him. "Didn't do laundry, though."

"After dinner, then? Or tomorrow."

He reaches to stroke the baby's head as it rests on Kaylee's shoulder; she blinks sleepily at him and yawns.

"Either," she agrees -- and turns her head to kiss his cheek. "You want to put her to bed? Or make dinner?"

"Let's see if she'll let me put her down?"

Sometimes she does. Other times, being put to bed by anyone but Mama is evidently unacceptable.

"Mm-hmm." Leaning her head against his. "Want to eat anything in particular?"

"Anything besides pasta, I think. I had that for lunch."

He turns his head just enough to kiss her temple.

The baby yawns. Kaylee's eyes close.

Murmured: "After dinner, let's come back out here. It's nice today." Beat. "You smell good."

A small, fond chuckle. "I like that idea."

"We're all going to fall asleep together here if we're not careful."

Would that be so bad? she almost says.

Yes. It would. Because they've just established something approximating a routine and they cannot deviate from it or else both Jessie and Kaylee will cry for the rest of their lives.

She sighs, quietly. "You want to take her?"

"Yeah, let me just ..." Carefully, and a little regretfully, he disengages from the embrace and reaches out to begin the process of transferring the infant to his own shoulder.

"Hey," he murmurs, "hey, Jessamine. Prettiest girl. Baba's got you."

"Jessie," Kaylee says softly -- and amused.

(This is not the first time they've had this talk.)

Apparently the transfer does not disturb the baby. Kaylee slumps back, relieved.

(They've had this talk often enough now, in fact, that he doesn't feel any particular need to go through it again. His position is that they made a point of giving their daughter a name with many different possible variations, so there's no reason not to use any given variation until she's old enough to express a preference of her own.

... in the meantime, he'll probably use Jessie as often as anything else.)

Simon cradles her against his shoulder with the crook of his arm, fingers spread to support her back and head, as he carefully gets to his feet.

"If she stays this sleepy," he says with cautious optimism, "I'll be back down in time to help with dinner."

"Hate to break it to you, handsome," Kaylee says, stretching, "but I'm not making us anything that takes a real whole lot of time or effort. I intend to be done by the time she's down."

"Oh, well, in that case." He smiles, amused and fond. "I'll be back down as soon as her highness lets me."

"She is a baby of the people," Kaylee says, laughing quietly. "But fine."

Simon laughs a little at that, careful not to jostle the tiny warm almost-slumbering weight on his shoulder, and makes his way back inside.

The baby's room is next to theirs, for relative ease of midnight feedings; it's dim now, lit only by the golden glow of the nightlight and the luminous star pattern on the ceiling.

He bends over the crib and gently, gingerly, sets her down inside. Her legs twitch a little and she blinks, her tiny face puckering; he waits to see if she'll start crying or drift back down into sleep.

Meanwhile, Kaylee's in the kitchen, cooking rice and chopping vegetables.

There's a not-insignificant part of her that wants to be the one to put the baby to bed. But Simon's back at work, and he doesn't get much time with her -- and frankly, the quiet and focus is nice.

She hums quietly under her breath as she works.

A blurry wail sounds from the baby monitor in the kitchen -- not the strident howl of genuine distress, more of a general sleepy complaint. They can both tell the difference by now.

Simon's voice undercuts the wailing, murmuring something in low soothing tones. It turns into a hum, tuneful and wordless and interspersed with shhh.

...yes, Simon can be on duty.

Smiling a little, she turns to make the sauce.