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“Who’s a special boy?”
She leans closer to the baby strapped tightly in something they called a highchair, which she misunderstood as being some sort of device to inebriate the baby. She had held him defensively, his little loafers kicking against her hip until they explained the chair’s purpose.
He chuckles at her now, little eyes rolling in under just the fattest cheeks she’s ever seen. There are circle oat Os splayed out over the tray. She slides one over to him with an over-exaggerated face, a wide open-mouthed grin with huge unblinking eyes.
He happily bounces in the seat, guffawing, and snatching up the cereal piece.
“My, you are just a delightfully happy baby,” speaks in singsong, in happy falsetto tones of praise, and offers up another O for him to clumsily wrap all five of his fat digits around, and shove in his practically toothless mouth.
Only he hits his face a little too hard, his expression sours, his crumb covered lip trembling.
“Oh my.” She reaches forward, straightening his teensy slanted glasses, caressing his cheek lightly until he grins again. “Such a strong little man.”
As she lines up more cereal for him to munch on, the door to Daniel’s laboratory opens, and Mitchell rushes in holding a folder and a tad out of breath. “Vala?”
She doesn’t answer, instead choosing to whistle in different octaves with each O she sends to the baby.
He shimmies, clapping happily, and slapping his hand down to try to get hers.
“Vala!”
“Uh oh, Uncle Colonel Mitchell is using his outside voice.” She spins slowly in her chair to give him just a fraction of her attention, using the same singsong tone sans the praise. “Apparently, he doesn’t care if an oaty O gets stuck in your tiny trachea.”
Mitchell narrows his eyes at her but slaps the folder with the back of his hand. “We found a planet that will change him back.”
“Oh.”
She turns back as the baby grunts in frustration, his fat hands reaching out for her.
“We’re heading out within the hour.” Mitchell pivots on his feet and heads back to the door before adding, “the ruins are through a tropical jungle so make sure you’re both dressed for sweat and skeeters.”
She releases the baby from the chair’s hold, rocking him against her hip. “You’re not suggesting we bring him with us?”
Mitchell pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs into his hand before turning back to her. “He has to be in the ruins to be re-aged.”
“I suppose you’re right.” She takes one of the baby’s hands, playing with it, hearing him laugh again. For the last two weeks she’s been practically raising him alone.
Mitchell pauses again. This time his face falling serious. He takes another step back into the lab, the folder hanging at his side. In a low voice he asks, almost as if he’s afraid to broach the subject, “you know he has to get re-aged, right?”
“Yes. Yes. Of course.”
“Okay—” he smiles at her, but it’s rueful, perhaps a little understanding. “Then I’ll see you two at the gate in forty minutes.”
She nods, watching her team leader disappear into the corridor, and tries to quell the emotions suddenly swirling within her.
The baby must sense the change in her nature, because he babbles, his little fat hand clamps down on a loose strand of her hair, tugging her attention back to him. He grins, four teeth greet her from within an otherwise gummy mouth, and she can’t help but grin back.
“Oh Daniel.” She rests her cheek a top his head and is well aware her hair has been inserted in his mouth. “You’re much better as a baby.”