Chapter Text
Courfeyrac and Combeferre sat I the waiting room eagerly, Enjolras and Grantaire sitting with them as they awaited the arrival of their baby. Courfeyrac couldn’t help but smile, so completely excited. His knuckles were white around his cane, anticipation coursing through him. Combeferre sat with his face in Grantaire’s chest, crying hysterically, his glasses a smudgy mess in his hands.
“Why are you crying, Combeferre? Nothing bad is happening!” Grantaire said, laughing. Courfeyrac rubbed his back.
“I’m just s-so happy!” he stammered into Grantaire’s shirt. Courfeyrac laughed.
“I wonder if she’ll look like me or you, ‘Ferre.” Courfeyrac said with a smile. They had opted for a random selection of donor, so they were unsure of the baby’s
‘father’. They both hoped the baby would look like the other, and were both excited to see for sure.
“I want them to look like you.” Combeferre said, wiping his nose on his sleeve and resting his head on Courfeyrac’s shoulder. “You are so lovely. Your hair is my favorite.” He raked his hand through Courfeyrac’s wavy, honey hair.
“I have gross skin though.” He replied. Enjolras leaned against Grantaire and took his hand, remembering the day six years ago when they sat in the waiting room of an American hospital, awaiting the arrival of René.
A nurse opened the door to the waiting room.
“Courfeyrac and Combeferre?” she asked, seeming far less excited than she should have been. She did not smile, and she did not offer congratulations.
“That’s us!” Courfeyrac said, pushing himself up on his cane as Combeferre held his hand.
“Would you like to meet your daughter?” she asked, again, without much of a smile. Combeferre started to cry again.
“She’s a girl!” he said to Courfeyrac.
“Could Enjolras and Grantaire come?” Courfeyrac asked, looking back to their friends as they sat on the sofa.
“Um…you might want to come back on your own first.” She replied.
“Oh…Alright!” he replied. The nurse lead them back into the recovery room, where there was no baby girl to be seen or heard—only Molly, the woman acting as their surrogate, sobbing on the hospital bed, being comforted by a doctor and two other nurses. Combeferre was suddenly worried. He had delivered babies in the emergency room before, and these were not typical reactions. And where was the baby?
“Is everything alright, Molly?” he asked, taking the woman’s hand. She would not look at him or at Courfeyrac.
“I’m sorry.” She whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
“Sorry for what?” Courfeyrac asked, beginning to understand that something was wrong.
“Can we see our daughter?” Combeferre asked the doctor, who stood beside the bed.
“She’ll be out in just a moment. They’re cleaning her up.” The doctor explained.
“Is she alright?”
“She has congenital—” a nurse entered with the baby girl in her arms. She handed her to Combeferre while she got a blanket, and he closed his eyes, biting back tears.
“Oh my God…” Courfeyrac said quietly when he realized. The beautiful little girl, with Courfeyrac’s light hair and peachy complexion, was missing her little left leg from just above the knee.
“Congenital amputation.” Combeferre finished the doctor’s thought. He handed the infant to the nurse, who wrapped her in a soft pink blanket, placing a little knit cap onto her head before handing her back to Combeferre. Courfeyrac ran a gentle finger across her soft little cheek.
“I am so sorry, you guys…” Molly said again, sobbing still.
“Oh my dear, there is nothing to be sorry for.” Combeferre said, handing the baby to Courfeyrac, who rocked her gently until she drifted off to sleep. “It is not your fault. And she is beautiful. She is perfect!” he smiled, looking to the baby. “She looks very much like Courfeyrac!”
“She’s not perfect. She won’t walk or run or play sports or do ballet or anything…I’m sorry. This is my fault. I’m sorry.” A jolt seemed to radiate through Combeferre. She was right, of course. The baby would most certainly be disabled, and would face struggles all her life…But that didn’t mean she wasn’t perfect. That didn’t mean Courfeyrac and Combeferre did not love her.
“Molly she’s beautiful.” Courfeyrac smiled, continuing to rock the baby in his lap.
“You don’t have to keep her. You can put her up for adoption. You won’t hurt my feelings.” She continued. Combeferre sat on the bed and held the woman in a hug.
“Why on earth would we want to do that? We love her.”
“You wanted a perfect little girl.”
“She is perfect.”
“What should we name her?” Courfeyrac asked with a smile, holding the baby girl as she slept.
“Molly you name her.” Combeferre smiled.
“No…No I couldn’t…”
“You should! You’ve been taking care of her for months!” Courfeyrac agreed.
“Well…I like the name Caroline…But whatever you want.” She replied.
“I think Caroline is a lovely name for a lovely little girl.” Combeferre said, letting the baby squeeze his fingers as Courfeyrac held her.
Enjolras and Grantaire peeked around the door when the nurse lead them back.
“Oh come in! Meet Caroline!” Combeferre smiled when he saw them at the door. Enjolras was first to his side, inspecting the baby lovingly. He loved babies, and missed the days when René was still very small.
“She’s beautiful!” he said quietly, holding the baby’s little hand. Grantaire sat his chin in Enjolras’ hair and looked on as well.
“Is everything okay?” Grantaire asked, seeing Molly’s discomfort.
“She has congenital amputation.” Combeferre explained, unwrapping her from her pink blanket and showing what was left of her left leg.
“I’m so sorry…” Enjolras said.
“Don’t be sorry.” Courfeyrac said with a smile. “She’s perfect. She’s just right for us; a little different.” Grantaire smiled.
—o0o—
Because of her situation, Caroline was kept in the hospital for about a week to be sure she had no other defects that could pose a risk. Courfeyrac and Combeferre stayed with her the entire time, holding her hand, talking to her, giving her kisses. Courfeyrac’s parents came almost every day, and Combeferre’s mother and father visited as well, though they lived farther away. All of their friends came to visit as well, all of them immediately falling in love with the little girl, despite her obvious deficiency.
When they were finally allowed to bring her home, she adjusted smoothly. She loved her cradle and her moth mobile, and she loved the stuffed rabbit Joly knitted for her. She was always smiling, and hardly ever cried. They couldn’t have hoped for a better baby.
“What a lovely little girl I have.” Combeferre said as he sat with her in the armchair, giving her a bottle. “Thečhíȟila, Caroline.” He whispered in Lakota, the language he spoke as a child.
“What does that mean?” Courfeyrac asked as he sat on the ataman. Combeferre looked up.
“I love you.” he explained.
“I love it when you speak Lakota.” Combeferre blushed, looking back down to the baby as she slept in his arms, dressed in the floral footie onesie Jehan and Feuilly had given them. He couldn’t help but become slightly sad when he saw the empty leg, the limp little foot hanging like a flag on a windless day. His smile was quickly restored, however, when Caroline began a sucking motion in her sleep.
“You have to teach her to speak it.” Courfeyrac added.
“It is not very useful to know…Not here.” Combeferre replied.
“But it’s so beautiful. And that way she can talk to your family.”
“Speaking of, I should send them a picture.” Combeferre said. “Sit with me.” He held out his cell phone for a picture of the three of them. He sent it with the caption we cheen ja la hey cha! ‘it’s a girl!’ His phone rang almost immediately, and he handed Caroline to Courfeyrac.
“Hello, Zonta.” Combeferre said as he picked up the phone. Courfeyrac smiled. Zonta was Combeferre’s extremely talkative cousin. “Yes her name is Caroline! …she is wonderful! …Oh no. No it’s congenital amputation. She’s alright it’s just…no…no she was born without it. She’s all right. She’s already been fitted for a prosthetic and Joly said she’d be completely ordinary. …yes. …Yes I love you as well. Say hello to everyone! Explain her leg if they ask. I’d rather not tell everyone over and over again! Yes we will bring her for Christmas when we come! Goodbye!” he hung up the phone and returned to Courfeyrac, who held the baby as she cooed and gurgled.
“She asked about her leg?” he asked. Combeferre nodded.
“They were just concerned. But she is all right. She is perfect.” He leaned over and kissed the baby’s nose, then kissed Courfeyrac.
“She is perfect.” He agreed.