Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Rianne throws him out of her hospital room, tells him she's fine, go keep watch.

So Val kisses her temple—dodges a swat—flutters off to the neonatal ward.

Now he sits in one of those impossibly uncomfortable plastic chairs and waits for news.

The doctor's voice rolls around the inside of his head.

““—only one in five—””

He studies his hands, engine oil black under his nails.

Picks at the hem of his shirt, stained with mine grit and rust.

Sighs.

““No news is good news—”” said the nurse.

Runs a hand through his curls.

Frowns as dust mists down.

There hadn't been time for a shower—

They'd barely made it as was; their son slipping out only a handful of terrifying minutes after they arrived.

And the baby ....

A half-kilo and silent.

But! breathing, squirming.

Now—

““—only one in five babies survives being born so early—””

—it's up to the doctors on the other side of the door to keep him so.

Val smiles a wry smile.

Vosses are tough to kill.

Maraises even tougher.

Their son will be the one in five.

Val's sure of it.

Chapter Text

Rianne sits at the kitchen table.

Pietr sleeps in her arms.

Val says, “Be in the yard.”

Kisses her hair.

Robert picks at his food. Mumbles.

“What did you say?” Rianne growls.

“I said you should give the baby up.”

“Excuse me?”

“He's going to be a burden his whole life and you and Val just can't afford to support him like that. You're barely making it as it is.”

“You think I should give my son away.”

“Rianne, be reasonable. He's never going to be normal. He'll never hear. He'll never talk. Who knows what else will be wrong with him. It's tragic, but it might be better for him to grow up in a different family. A family with more means to care for him.”

“Val! Come here for a moment.”

Her husband strolls over, eyebrows raised.

“Take Piet.” Hands over the sleeping bundle.

Rianne stands, crosses the room, seizes Robert's collar, and yanks him to his feet. Drags him to the front door, stuffs him out. “You're not welcome here anymore. I don't care you're my brother. Don't you dare come back.”

“Rianne ….”

She slams the door.

Chapter Text

Val leans against the back wall of the house, relaxing in the early evening glow with his eyes closed against the sun.

Niko and Maarten tumble about the yard like puppies, giggling.

Val smiles, basks in the sound.

Weight topples into his lap.

“Evening, kiddo.” Val ruffles Piet's delicate curls.

Piet beams, grabs a toddler-handful of t-shirt and pulls himself up.

Val hoists Piet the rest of the way, tucks him tight against his chest, and hums.

Piet puffs little gusts against Val's neck.

Giggling, like his brothers.

“You seem 'specially cheerful tonight.”

Piet presses himself closer.

“Like that, don't you? The vibrations?”

Piet giggles more.

“You like my talkin'.”

Piet turns, slides down to sit in Val's lap.

Val kisses his crown. “So, I'll just keep it up, then. I've got years worth of stories t' tell you.”

Piet sighs and tucks himself under Val's chin.

Chapter Text

Pietr snaps off the last thorns, straddles his chosen branch, and closes his eyes. Six deep breaths later he opens them, drinks in the afternoon light on the acacia leaves and flowers, the warm breeze in his curls, and sighs happily.

The branch twitches out of time with the wind.

Pietr investigates.

The branch jerks, tilts.

Pietr lunges for the trunk—

Weightless!

Thorns and leaves scraping his arms and legs.

Impact! Something solidish—

Impact! Something hard.

Pietr gasps, blinks up at sun-dappled branches wavy with tears.

Something under his back squirms.

He scrambles away from the motion, wobbles to sitting.

His brain sloshes around in his head and there're lines of blood sparkling along his arms and there're really pretty so he keeps—

A hand grips his shoulder, shakes him.

His brain sploshes, swirls; his world turns smoke-coloured at the edges.

He closes his eyes for two breaths, tests the world.

A circle of girl's faces: mostly angry, a few confused.

“Say ‘sorry’ to her,” orders the biggest, pointing.

Pietr tracks her finger.

His eye lands on fluttery pink streamers in blonde hair, blue eyes bright with tears.

The big girl shakes—

Pietr's stomach lurches with his brain; he swallows.

—him again.

::I'm very, very sorry,:: he says to the ribbon girl, shaping every word carefully.

Her forehead crinkles with confusion.

The other girls look angrier, close in.

Mrs Pillay swims into view, crouching to his level. “Are you alright, Pietr?”

He shakes—stomach flops—freezes, spells out, ::N-O:: instead.

“Hold still, then,” says Mrs Pillay, patting his knee. She turns to one of the girls, says something; the girl runs off. “The nurse will be here in a moment.”

::Thank you.::

Mrs Pillay smiles kindly, then part of her attention is drawn away. She beckons.

The ribbon girl steps closer, plops down beside Mrs Pillay.

“Pietr can't hear or talk. You need to face him and have his attention for him to understand.”

The ribbon girl nods—pink fluttering like butterflies—looks to Pietr, says carefully, “You're very cute.”

Pietr's face becomes very warm.

The other girls, laughing, grab the ribbon girl by the elbows and pull her away.

She waves.

Pietr grins, waves back.

A tap on his arm.

Mrs Pillay says, “Stay right here. I'm going to see what's taking Miss Botha.”

::O-K,:: replies Pietr.

Mrs Pillay squeezes his arm, stands, and leaves.

Pietr admires the ruby-bright spots of blood on his arm.

A tap.

Pietr flicks his eyes over.

Miss Botha!

“You fell from the tree?” she says.

::Y-E-S.::

Miss Botha looks to Mrs Pillay.

“Yes, he did. I believe he landed flat on his back, too.”

Miss Botha's lips thin and she pulls his eyelids farther open, peers into his eyes. “That seems alright. Do you think you can stand, Pietr?”

Pietr pushes—

The world spins spins spins.

—and throws up.

Mrs Pillay scoops him up, settles him on her broad hip.

Pietr pants, clings to her dress.

Mrs Pillay smooths his hair and hurries after Miss Botha into the school, humming—a deep, warm rumble against Pietr's skin.

Chapter Text

A shadow falls across Pietr's book.

He glances up and breaks into a huge smile.

Griet waves, sits down across from him, tucks her knees under the hem of her dress.

Pietr marks his page with a scrap of paper, waits.

“Whatcha readin'?”

Holds up the book.

“I like Stellaluna, too.”

Pietr grins, offers it to Griet.

“Can we read together?”

He beams, scoots over next to her, flips to the first page.

They alternate turning pages until playtime ends.

Griet taps Pietr's arm.

He attends.

“Mrs Pillay's calling.”

Sighs, closes the book, stands—

Griet tugs him back down.

He queries.

“I want you to be my boyfriend.”

Pietr nods enthusiastically.

“Boyfriends kiss girlfriends,” she declares.

He pecks her cheek.

She grins, grabs his hand. “C'mon, we gotta go or we'll be in trouble.”

Pietr glows, lets Griet tow him, stumbling happily, into the school.

Chapter Text

Pietr watches Griet and the way her hair sparkles like her eyes as she works out the knots and loose strands with her big blue comb and feels warm and squishy inside.

Griet sets aside the comb, smiles sunny-bright. “Ready?”

Thumbs up!

“Remember what I told you?”

Thumbs up!

“Then go ahead!”

Pietr beams, climbs onto the bed, shuffles on his knees around behind her.

Takes a deep breath.

Gathers all Griet's hair—so silky!—in his hand, twists the elastic around it near her scalp.

She thumbs up.

Pietr glows.

Daf comes in, sits down on his right, smile playing around her mouth.

Pietr queries.

“Here to watch the show,” she says.

Pietr glowers.

Daf flicks her hands, 'go on'.

He huffs, carefully separates Griet's ponytail into three sections.

Checks his work.

Redivides.

Takes the left part in his left hand, the right in his right.

Crosses the left strand over the loose one in the middle.

Crosses—

Frowns.

Untwists his arms—drops the right handful.

Frowns harder, lets go of the left.

Redivides.

Takes the left part in his left hand, the right in his right.

Crosses the left strand over the loose one in the middle.

Crosses the right strand over the loose one in the middle.

Gathers the middle with his left first finger and thumb.

Crosses—sets his teeth.

Crosses the left over the middle.

Crosses—drops the middle.

Glowers, recollects the middle.

Crosses the right over the middle.

Exhales.

Crosses the left over the middle.

Crosses the right over the middle.

Smiles.

Crosses the left over the middle.

Crosses—

Frowns.

Wiggles his right first finger.

Sticks his tongue out the corner of his mouth.

Wiggles his right second finger—huffs.

A tap on his arm.

“Are you stuck?” giggles Daf.

Pietr deflates, nods.

“Oh my god, Sis! He's stuck.”

Pietr scowls at Daf.

“He's got his fingers all twisted and—” Her words drown in laughter.

Pietr says—frowns at his trapped fingers, tries tugging them—

Griet swats at him over her shoulder.

Pietr freezes.

“We've found a way to make him shut up!” Daf doubles over.

Pietr ... sighs.

Daf straightens, wiping away tears, wheezes, “Would you like some help?”

Pietr bats his eyelashes, 'please?'

Daf snorts, eases the strands far enough apart to free Pietr's fingers.

::Thanks.:: He sits back on his heels.

::You're welcome~!::

Griet twists around, grinning. ::You can say all those fancy words, but you can't manage my hair?::

Pietr's eyebrows say 'funny' and he grumbles, ::I didn't learn all of those on the first try.::

::I know and I love you for trying so hard on this.:: Griet pecks his cheek.

Pietr melts.

Chapter Text

Pietr's mobile, deep in his pocket, buzzes.

He asks the engine block for patience with a huff and wiggles further under the rusty hulk of Christiaan's combi, wrench in one hand, catch-pan in the other.

Mobile buzzes.

Nudges the pan under the drain.

Mobile buzzes.

Applies wrench to drain nut.

Mobile buzzes.

Twists.

Mobile buzzes.

Resets, twists.

Mobile buzzes.

Resets, twists.

Mobile buzzes.

Sets wrench on his tummy.

Mobile buzzes.

Finger-loosens the last threads.

Sets nut on tummy.

Deep breath.

Jerks the plug out—doesn't get covered in oil!

Flutters kicks!

Wiggles to daylight, wrench in one hand, nut and plug in the other.

Sets the bits next to the front tire, sits with his back against the combi, digs out his mobile.

maarten_inthe_middle: Hi lil bro!

maarten_inthe_middle: Gess who hz mobile?

maarten_inthe_middle: Unlmted text 1!

maarten_inthe_middle: *1

maarten_inthe_middle: Shit

maarten_inthe_middle: *2

maarten_inthe_middle: Piiiiiiiiieeeeeeet

Snorts.

p_a_vos: U typing w/ yr elbows?

maarten_inthe_middle: Tiny kys!

p_a_vos: Tht is a terrble name too

maarten_inthe_middle: Its a goo d show!

p_a_vos: Didnt it get canclled?

maarten_inthe_middle: TRAVESTY!

Rolls his eyes.

maarten_inthe_middle: Hows werk?

p_a_vos: Good

p_a_vos: Waitng for oil to drain now

maarten_inthe_middle: Mamma wants 2 kno if u ned snack when yr don

p_a_vos: Plz!

maarten_inthe_middle: 15?

p_a_vos: Y!

maarten_inthe_middle: Ttml!

p_a_vos: ???

A moment passes.

maarten_inthe_middle: Sht

maarten_inthe_middle: *ttYl

Pietr shakes his head, sighs.

p_a_vos: Use yr fingers!

maarten_inthe_middle: TINY KEYS!!!1!

Pietr snickers, buttons his mobile back into his pocket, gathers up wrench and nut, lies flat, wiggles under the combi.

No oil drips.

Cheers!

Nudges the pan out of his way.

Replaces the plug.

Finger-tightens the nut's first threads.

Applies wrench to nut.

Twists.

Resets, twists.

Resets, twists.

Taps the pan with the wrench.

Wiggles back to daylight, wrench in one hand, gently tugging the full pan behind.

Stands, tucks wrench in back pocket, picks up the pan, dumps it into the recycling pail. Dusts off his bum and his hands. Skips to Christiaan's back door, knocks.

Kabibe opens it, smiling, and beckons him inside.

“You've finished?”

Pietr nods.

“Any trouble?”

Shakes his head.

“Good, good!”

Beams.

“I have something for you. Wait right here.” Kabibe bustles off to her pantry.

Rocks on his heels.

She comes back, presses a piece of paper into his hand.

A twenty-rand note!

Pietr gapes.

Kabibe closes his hand around the note. “You deserve to be paid for your hard work this week.”

Pietr blinks rapidly, swallows around a lump in his throat.

“Now, you should run on home for a snack and to finish your homework.” She steers him toward the door.

He stumbles along, down the step, onto the gravel.

Kabibe gives him a little push.

Pietr twists around, grins, says, ::Thank you!::

“You're welcome, Pietr.”

He waves and runs off home, rands in his fist and proud enough to burst.

Chapter Text

Pietr curls in a tight ball, tastes blood and dust in his mouth.

Impact to his back, his ribs, the back of his head.

Sees stars, lashes out with a foot, connects.

Something heavy—a body—falls across his legs.

Scrambles out from under, flails to his feet, takes off at a dead run for home.

Through the gate, collapses on all fours in the yard, gasping.

A hand on his shoulder.

Turns—

Brain sloshes.

—throws up.

Maarten's hand offers a tissue.

Pietr takes it, wipes his mouth, pants.

Maarten rubs circles on his back.

World slowly stops swirling.

Pietr sits back on his heels.

::Let's go inside and clean you up.::

::Okay.:: Sniffles, wipes his eyes.

Maarten stands, helps Pietr—still wobbly—up, out of his shoes, and to the washroom and flips closed the toilet lid.

Pietr oozes down.

Maarten wets and soaps a facecloth, gently scrubs Pietr's face.

It comes away dirty and bloody.

Pietr cringes.

Maarten tosses the cloth in the sink. ::It's mostly scratches, but you'll have a black eye.::

Sighs.

Maarten soaks another cloth in cold water and passes it over. ::Put that on your eye.::

Pietr does.

::What happened?::

::Ashwin—:: The cloth slips and Pietr frowns at it. ::—and his friends grabbed and kicked me.::

::Didn't anyone help you?::

::No one knew, I think.:: Shrugs. ::It's not like I can yell for help.::

Maarten's spine and shoulders go tight.

Pietr presses the cloth below his eye, pokes a loose tooth with his tongue, tastes more blood.

A puff from Maarten and he crouches. ::The next time someone comes for you, whistle as loud as you can, yea?::

Pietr queries.

::If I hear, I'll come help.::

Nods.

::Then, I'm going to teach you to fight.:: Grimaces. ::Or at least get away faster.::

::Why?::

::Because they'll give up if you're not an easy target.::

'Really?' asks Pietr's eyebrow.

::They're chickens.:: Grins nastily. ::It's why no one comes after me or Niko anymore: they're scared we can hurt them, even if we can't beat them.::

Pietr hangs his head, sighs hopelessly.

Maarten pokes his knee. ::What's that about?::

Pietr sets down the cloth. ::I'm too small and skinny to fight.::

::That's not true. You obviously did well enough to get away today.::

::I did knock somebody down ....::

::That's great!::

Pietr straightens a little bit.

::We'll just make sure you can always knock someone down. Do that enough times and they'll leave you alone.:: Maarten grins. ::We'll start after dinner.::

::I can't wait!::

Chapter Text

Griet knocks on Pietr and Maarten's door.

Daf nudges her. “What's our story for Papa again?”

“Homework at Reneilwe's.”

“She's in on it?”

“Yep.” Knocks again.

Maarten, breathless, whips it open. “Sorry!” Steps aside. “Popcorn emergency.”

“Which means ...,” drawls Daf, slipping off her shoes.

“Iiiitty-bitty fire.”

“And you left Pietr to deal with it?!”

“It was mostly out!”

Griet rolls her eyes, marches past him to the kitchen.

Pietr, his back to her, levels the popcorn in two bowls while a thin cloud of smoke hovers just below the ceiling.

She walks—lifts her sopping socked foot with a growl—hops up beside Pietr.

He notices her, smiles broadly, offers a heaping bowl.

She accepts, kisses his nose.

He blushes.

“You know you can't use water on an oil fire, yea?”

Pietr grimaces. ::Now we do.::

“Silly boys.”

He sticks out his tongue, picks up the other bowl, and heads for the front room.

Daf already has Maarten squashed against one end of the sofa.

::Help!::

Pietr laughs.

“Let him breathe, Sis.”

“He can't chatter so much if he can't.”

Pietr nudges her, tilts his head and shrugs, 'she has a point'.

“Hey!” wheezes Maarten.

Pietr beams at him.

Maarten glowers.

“'sides, we need the room if you two are gonna fit.”

Griet shrugs helplessly, plops down next to Daf.

Pietr hands his to Daf, wiggles in on Griet's other side.

“Everybody ready?”

“Yep!” cheers Griet.

“—” squeaks Maarten.

Daf grins, presses 'play' on the remote.

The opening credits play.

Then the first scene.

Pietr pokes her arm. ::There's no words?::

Griet checks, frowns. “Turn on the captions.”

Daf pauses the show, pokes buttons.

- CAPTIONING UNAVAILABLE -

“Well, that sucks,” she huffs.

Griet turns to Pietr. ::Should we watch something else?::

::It's okay. I know you've wanted to see this for a while.:: He smiles reassurance. ::I'll play games.::

“Thanks, Dandelion.” Kisses his cheek.

Pietr thumbs up, grabs his DS from the side table, and starts Black and White.

“He's going to play Pokémon and we can keep watching.”

“Cool.” Daf re-starts the playback.

Half a bowl of popcorn and and episode and a half later—

Griet freezes mid-wince, popcorn halfway to her mouth.

“I can't believe he just did that,” cringes Maarten.

“I have no idea how he can with a straight face,” adds Dafne.

“That's why he's a professional,” declares Griet.

There's a soft brush against her fingertips, a teensy crunch from her beside her, and no popcorn in her grip.

She twists to face Pietr, pouts.

Pietr puts on his biggest, softest puppy-dog eyes and barely kisses her fingertips.

The corner of Griet's mouth turns up. ::That's the last kiss you'll get tonight, you thief.::

He slouches lower into the cushions.

Maarten leans across her—

Daf squawks.

—pokes Pietr's thigh.

Pietr attends.

“Was it worth it?”

Pietr huffs, crosses his arms, sinks even deeper into the couch.

The rest of the popcorn and another two episodes slip by.

Pietr puts away his DS, edges closer.

Maarten laughs—

“That's so sexist,” sulks Daf.

—sobers.

Pietr presses against her side.

“It's a sitcom, not feminist propaganda.”

“Why can't it be both?”

Pietr drapes his arm around her shoulders.

“Because we live in reality.”

“Which would really benefit from some feminism.”

Pietr huffs.

“Can we just watch—”

“No.”

“Not until we finish this.”

Pietr kisses her cheek.

Griet twists to face him, lips pressed very thin. ::Not now! I need to win this argument with Daf!:: Turns away. “Of course it would benefit, but it'll never happen!”

Pietr sighs.

“Well, it should!”

Chapter Text

“Vos!”

Piet stumbles into the yard.

“Get this idiot—” Issac shoves him forward. “—son of yours under control!”

Piet trips, lands hard on his knees.

“He's no idiot, you know.” Val helps him up.

“Wha-what does that have to do with ....” Isaac shakes his head viciously. “Keep him away from my daughter!”

Val shrugs, helping Piet dust off his clothes. “I think they make a good pair.”

“I caught the two of them half-na—”

“Yea, Naudé—” Val rolls his eyes. “—they're teenagers. That's what they do. What's the problem?”

“What's the—he's useless, Vos. You know he's useless,” he wheedles. “He'll never support himself, let alone a wife, never mind kids!”

“He'll be fine,” Val sighs.

“He failed school again this year!”

Piet cringes.

Isaac ruffles. “In fact, I hear he's quitting.”

Val checks Piet's slink with a hand on his shoulder. “Yea, we'll be working together full-time from now on.”

“So you're training up another good-for-nothing Vos charity case. Just what this town needs.”

“We take care of our own, Naudé.”

“Like—” Isaac clenches his fists. “He's a pet!” He jabs a finger into Val's chest. “My daughter won't need a pet! She'll need a partner!”

Val gently, firmly pushes Isaac's hand away. “Piet's only sixteen and he's already a better man than half the guys in town and a better mechanic than almost all of them.” He smiles. “I think your daughter's made a good choice.”

Isaac sputters. “YOU! Ju-just keep that boy away from her!” He storms off.

Val shakes his head, turns. ::He doesn't know—::

::He's right.:: Piet looks away. ::She deserves better.::

Val cups Piet's chin. “I mean everything I said.”

Piet's hands twitch at his sides.

“Maybe you'll have to go to a city to find work, save some money, then come back for her, like great-grandpappa did.”

Piet doesn't think it'll work, shakes his head.

Val pulls Piet into a tight hug and that hopelessness sags against him.

But Piet squeezes back.

Chapter Text

Pietr breaks the surface, shakes dam water from his eyes. He pushes his hair off his forehead, beckons to Griet.

In the starlight, her gesture for patience is barely visible.

He smiles, swims a little closer to shore, and treads water.

She works on the buttons of her shirt.

Pietr watches.

Griet crouches, sets her bra atop her folded shirt and jeans, steps out of her panties, and adds them to the pile. She faces him, smiling shyly, wades in.

Pietr swallows—a mouthful of water, spits, remembers to move his limbs.

She swims to him, laughing.

He smiles.

Griet draws near, treads water, grins.

Pietr—

She splashes him with a faceful of water.

Pietr sputters, wipes his eyes clear, queries.

“It's not polite to stare,” she says, eyes sparkling.

Pietr grins wickedly, lunges for her.

Chapter Text

After dinner, while Mamma and Sandra clear the table, Pietr grabs Ty's arm with one hand, snags Maarten with the other and tows them both into the carport.

Ty and Maarten lean against Ty's car; Pietr checks over his shoulder for eavesdroppers.

“What's this about, Piet?”

::I want to buy a ring. For Griet.::

Ty's eyebrows climb. “The ring?”

::Finally?:: adds Maarten.

Pietr nods to Ty, sticks his tongue out at Maarten.

“How much do you have saved toward it already?”

::One hundred rand.::

Ty grimaces.

Pietr sags.

“Rings cost a lot more than that, kiddo.” Ty offers a smile. “The Bank doesn't give loans for this, but I should be able to help you.”

Pietr straightens a bit.

“We can invest part of what you have—help it stack up a little faster—and I'll talk to the family in the city about more work for you, but it's still going to take months to collect enough.”

::I know, but it's worth it. She's worth it.::

“She certainly is,” smiles Ty.

Pietr beams.

::More than you, at least,:: snickers Maarten.

Pietr scowls—

::What? You said so yourself!::

—charges—

::Watch—!::

—catches Maarten high, rides him to the ground, straddles his stomach.

“I shouldn't 've taught you that.”

Pietr smugs.

“Are you gonna let me up?”

Pietr makes a show of considering.

A hand on his shoulder.

Pietr twists around—

Ty says, “I'll leave you two to—”

Pietr's tumbling—ends face-down on the driveway, Maarten's weight on his back. He squirms.

Maarten ruffles his hair.

Huffs, waves surrender.

Maarten slides off.

Sits up, dusts himself off, glowering.

Maarten taps his arm. ::You might be getting married first, but you're still my little brother.::

::If you'd ask Daf, she'd probably say 'yes'.::

Maarten rolls his eyes. ::I'm not asking Daf to marry me. We're friends.::

::Griet and I are—::

::Just friends.::

::It'd get her pappa off her back~.::

::And onto mine.:: Eyebrow up. ::You think he'd like me any more as a son than he does you?::

Concedes.

Maarten pushes to his feet, brushes off his knees, straightens. ::I've got an idea for some work for us—::

::What—?::

::Don't get your hopes up yet. I've got to talk to a couple people first.::

Pouts.

::Go daydream while you can.:: Maarten grins. ::You're going to be busy.:: Waves and heads off down the street.

Pietr takes a deep breath, shuffles over to the courtyard wall and perches, swinging his feet and soaking up evening sun.

A tap on his arm.

Pappa!

Pietr grins.

Pappa climbs up beside him, says, ::Ty says you came to him to borrow money.::

Pietr's eyes fall to his battered takkies.

Pappa taps under his chin.

Lifts his head.

::For the ring?::

Nods.

::Why didn't you ask your mother and I?::

Swallows. ::Because you're not finding work, either, Pappa.::

::I have money set aside—:: Pappa smiles. ::—for just this.::

::But—::

Pappa pats the back of his hand. ::Grandpappa bought your mother's ring and I bought Marje's.::

Blinks. ::Is it?::

Pappa nods solemnly. ::It's a secret family tradition. I have enough set aside for both Griet and Maarten's wife—if he ever finds one.:: Sighs.

Snorts. ::He's not the type.::

'I know, I know', waves Pappa. ::You'll have to make up for him, then.::

Raises an eyebrow.

Pappa grins hugely. ::You'll pay me for the ring the same way I paid Grandpappa: with grandbabies.:: Nudges Pietr's foot. ::I want a lot of them to make up for Maarten.::

Schools his face out of a laugh into something sort of earnest. ::We'll do our best.::

Chapter Text

Pietr blinks in dim light, sits up. He rubs his eyes, stretches his arms over his head, inhales—

‒bacon!‒

Pops out of bed, skips—doubles back for the mobile under his pillow—skips into the kitchen.

Mamma looks up from her newspaper puzzle. ::Good morning.::

::Morning~! Smells great!::

::The rest is for you.::

Tosses the mobile on the table, throws his arms around her shoulders, hugs, bounces away.

Mamma straightens her hair, grinning. ::Your pappa and Maarten've already gone.::

Sighs, slouches a little.

::No work today?::

Shakes his head.

::Well, I have a job for you.::

Brightens.

::I need someone to wash the laundry, straighten the house, and watch the roast while I'm out.::

Skeptical look (mostly). ::What's the pay?::

Mamma's eyes sparkle and she bites her lip against laughing. ::All the coffee you can drink.::

::Sold!::

::Then I'm off!:: Stands, pecks Pietr's cheek, separates. ::There's a list of times to check the roast on the message board and I'll be back by one.::

Salutes.

Mamma laughs, grabs her pocketbook, leaves out the back door.

Pietr bounds to the cupboard, retrieves his favourite mug, fills it to the brim with hot coffee. Gulps a mouthful, sighs happily into the steam. Reluctantly ferries it to the table, returns to the stove and heaps the waiting plate with every morsel available. Slides into place at the table and sets to savoring every bite.

Halfway through, his mobile wiggles.

Pietr considers, shrugs, spears another—

Mobile wiggles.

Rolls his eyes, nabs the annoying thing with one hand, wraps the other around his coffee.

air_lucas: Seen teh news?

air_lucas: Wake up lazy!!!

p_a_vos: 凸(-_-)凸

p_a_vos: No?

air_lucas: Theres a monster attackng the usa

Eyebrows climb.

p_a_vos: Srsly?

air_lucas: Srsly

air_lucas: Knocked down that bridge

air_lucas: Chk the news

Frowns, trades mobile for newspaper, flips to the 'World' section.

Riot in Belfast.

Volcano in Indonesia.

Drones everywhere.

Earthquake cleanup in Guam.

Leaky nuclear reactor in Taiwan.

Collapsed bridge in—

Blinks.

- Golden Gate Bridge collapses; hundreds feared dead -

Swallows.

- A portion of California's iconic Golden Gate Bridge collapsed Saturday, sending dozens of cars and hundreds of people plunging into San Francisco Bay.

Witnesses report the majority of the iconic 76-year-old structure's central span tore away soon after the conclusion of the morning rush hour.

The cause of the collapse is being investigated, but seismic monitoring stations around the world report the failure closely followed an earthquake centered on the Marin Headlands, near the bridge's north end. -

Back to the mobile.

p_a_vos: Nt in paper

air_lucas: ಠ_ಠ

p_a_vos: ???

air_lucas: OMG PIET

air_lucas: INTERNET

air_lucas: TV

Pietr huffs, abandons his coffee, shuffles to the front room, pokes the clicker—

A thing, grainy and shaky, grey and yellow and claws, surrounded by smoke and fire and dust.

A remote-control helicopter zips across the frame, model pilots leaning—

Not models.

Pietr folds to the couch, forces himself to breathe, swallows.

p_a_vos: o_O

air_lucas: I KNOW

air_lucas: Its like a movie

p_a_vos: Scray movie

air_lucas: Yeaaaaaa

Deep breath.

p_a_vos: Wht is it?

air_lucas: They dnt know

air_lucas: Walked outta the ocean n started smashin thngs

air_lucas: Their army cant stop it

Most of the front room's colours drain away.

p_a_vos: Ppl r dying?

air_lucas: Prbly?

air_lucas: Its slow so ppl are evacing ahead now but

Shaky exhale.

air_lucas: shit gotta go

air_lucas: take care

p_a_vos: bye!

Pietr sets the mobile aside, drags a hand down his face, peeks out between his fingers—

Grey and yellow and claws and teeth smashes a ... fighter jet in midair.

—stabs the remote.

Grey and yellow and claws and teeth fade.

Seven deep breaths and he pushes to his feet, shuffles back to the kitchen and the comfort of his coffee.

Chapter Text

Griet and Pietr sit on her bed working on her maths homework, or rather, Griet works on maths and Pietr lounges against her side. She pokes at his head—she need her arm—and he flops over, pressing his forehead into her neck.

She totally ignores his heartbeat and the hand that's snuck around her back to rest on her hip; in fact she needs to use most of her brain to focus on not giggling because Pietr's kissing her neck and it really tickles and dear god will they be in trouble if Papa catches them—

Griet takes a deep breath, reaches across with her free hand, shoves his shoulder.

He huffs, warm air washing down her shirt, and kisses the corner of her mouth.

And her heart flutters.

Pietr smiles against her skin and kisses her more enthusiastically and his hand kneads her hip.

Griet makes a noise at the back of her throat she totally doesn't mean to—

And Pietr's heart flutters—

Footsteps in the hall.

She grabs Pietr's chin, hisses, “Papa!”, and shoves him toward the open window.

Pietr flails away from her, eyes huge, scrambles across the duvet—

Doorknob rattles.

—dives out the window and's gone.

Griet hastily straightens her blouse.

“What's going on in here?” hollers Papa, slamming open the door.

She looks up, pencil in hand, blinking. “I'm working on my maths?”

Papa scans the room, deflates. “Oh. I swore I heard ....” Shakes his head. “Finish your homework.” Backs from the room, closes the door.

Griet exhales, then smiles to herself and focuses on her textbook.

Chapter Text

Pietr shuffles from the washroom into the kitchen, flumps into a chair, pillows his head on his arms atop the table.

Griet steps behind him, ruffles his hair.

He sighs.

She digs her fingers into his stiff shoulders.

Pietr oozes lower as she kneads the knots from his muscles. He frees a hand, squeezes her wrist in gratitude.

Griet brings his hand to her lips, kisses a scraped knuckle.

He sighs contently.

She kisses his nape, along his hairline, below his ear—kisses that spot again, rolls the taste of his skin around in her mouth, then drapes herself over his back, giggling.

Pietr lifts his head, twists around, queries.

Griet straightens, still laughing. ::There's banana mush behind your ear.::

Pietr pinks madly. ::I thought I got it all.::

::Wil practicing his aim at lunch?::

Pietr huffs. ::I looked away for one second and splat.::

::It's good practice for you.::

Pietr beams, kisses her stomach, looks up at her with adoration.

::We've both got about a year to learn to dodge flying mush.::

His gaze slides from her face to her elbow. ::Hope I can pick up enough before then.::

::You'll be a wonderful father—:: Griet kisses his crown. ::—and she'll love you so much.::

Pietr quirks an eyebrow. ::'She's the size of a pea?::

::Mothers know these things.:: Griet smirks.

Chapter Text

Griet turns down the flame under the soup and checks the clock.

Thirty past six.

“Pappa's working late tonight, yea?”

In her pouch, Elize squirms against Griet's chest.

She forces herself to relax and settles at the kitchen table. “You hungry, Princess?”

Elize chirps, drools extravagantly.

“We'll just have to fix that now, won't we?” She unbuttons her shirt, adjusts her bra, guides Elize into place.

Elize grunts, latches on.

Griet winces, shifts Elize. “Easy, sweetie; no need to rush. There's plenty.”

Elize keeps eating greedily.

Griet strokes fuzzy blonde hair, sighs fondly. “You're a little Snorlax like your pappa.”

Her mobile chimes.

“Speak of the dandelion ....” Works the mobile.

p_a_vos: <3!

p_a_vos: Sry!

honeyBEE: <3!

p_a_vos: Home soon!

honeyBEE: K!

honeyBEE: We'll have dinner redy!

p_a_vos: ^u^

p_a_vos: Sry so l8!

honeyBEE: It's okay!

honeyBEE: <3!

p_a_vos: <3333

“Pappa will be here soon!”

Elize grunts.

“I totally agree.”

Elize is dozing and Griet reading a library book when Pietr plods in at five before seven. He stops just inside the door, pulls off his boots and socks, then shuffles over, kisses Elize's forehead, pecks Griet's cheek.

::What—?::

But Pietr's not looking; he's fishing in his pocket. When he lifts his face, he smiles weakly and presses a handful of crumpled bills into her hand.

Ninety-five rand.

::Is that enough?:: His eyes glimmer with hope.

Griet bites her lip, straightens the paper.

Pietr deflates. ::How much more?::

She sets the money aside to add to the coffee can later. ::Four-hundred-twenty more.::

He slumps into a chair, takes a deep breath. ::Does that include saving for the insurance?::

She shakes her head. ::Forty-five for our mobiles. The rest for our debt.::

Pietr pulls himself up. ::Maarten may have something for me day after tomorrow.:: Gestures shrink. ::I'll find enough for the mobiles, at least.:: Swallows. ::My parents'll understand if we pay late again.::

::They don't hold it against you.::

Pietr sighs.

::Let's get you cleaned and fed.:: Offers a hand up. ::Then you can take your turn with Princess.::

He smiles back, takes her hand, lets her lead him to the washroom.

She soaps up a washcloth, passes it over.

Pietr scrubs his face clean.

::You're all nipped up. What did you do today?::

Rinses the cloth, drapes it over the sink's edge. ::Pappa and I unstuck and sharpened the blades on Old Fourie's hay mower. Awful mess.::

::Good thing you have your shots.::

He snorts, flicks soapy water—

Griet shields Elize.

Pietr flutters.

She laughs, splashes him with a double-handful.

He pouts, drips on the tile.

::You needed the bath.::

Wrinkles his nose. ::Thanks?::

She smacks him playfully on the arm. ::You finish washing up. I'll get you something clean.::

He frowns at all the cuts on his arms and hands. ::I should probably shower.::

::You probably should.:: Griet kisses him, heads to their closet.

The shower starts.

Around-the-house clothes tucked under her arm, she returns to the washroom, sets them on the back of the toilet, admires Pietr's silhouette through the curtain for a moment, then scoops up the washcloth and his dirty work clothes folded on top. They go immediately into the washing machine, and she's off to the kitchen.

She washes her hands, then serves two bowls of soup and sets them and some rolls on the table.

Pietr emerges squeaky-clean. He kisses her cheek ::Smells great.:: Reaches for Elize.

Griet crouches.

Pietr lifts Elize and her sling over Griet's head and drapes it around his own shoulders. He tucks their Princess close and absolutely glows.

Griet pulls out a chair—Pietr eases himself down—claims the one across the table.

::Your aunt—::

::Which one?::

::—Kabibe—brought the rolls by.::

Pietr frowns at the plate.

::They're not poisoned.::

::They're pity rolls.:: Takes one with a sigh, pokes it with the buttered knife.

Pokes him. ::You'd do the same for her family.::

::Rather be the one giving.:: Takes a bite.

She swirls the vegetables in her soup.

They eat without conversation.

Griet sets her spoon in her empty bowl. ::I'm at the shop all day tomorrow, so you and Princess will need to keep yourselves out of trouble.:: Grins. ::I'll set aside some lunch for her, but you're on your own.::

Pietr huffs. ::I'll be at Niko's. Marje said she'd feed me if I distract Wil while she's sick.::

Griet scrunches her nose. ::Morning sickness is the worst.::

::So you said. A lot::

She sticks out her tongue.

He responds in kind.

She laughs. ::Your turn for dishes.::

Pietr heaves an exaggerated sigh, gathers up the flatware and bowls, kisses Griet's crown on his way to the sink.

Griet adds the cash to the coffee can atop the fridge, heads to the laundry room and starts the washer, then wanders into the front room with her book, listens to Pietr rattle about the kitchen and the swish of the broom as he tidies up.

::Cards or reading?:: she asks as he steps into the room.

::Too tired for cards.:: Grabs a book from the side table, curls himself next to her on the sofa.

::Too tired for Pokémon? Are you sick?::

'Funny,' says his eyebrow as he rests the book on his lap. ::Tired of getting my a—::

Griet pokes his nose.

::—butt kicked, maybe.:: Nudges her with a elbow. ::Still think you cheated last time.::

Nudges him back. ::I kicked your butt fair and square and you know it.:: Crosses her arms, eyes twinkling.

Lowers his eyebrows. ::See if I ever lend you Chandelure again.::

::Such a sore loser!::

He sniffs. ::Serious business.::

Rolls her eyes, kisses him. ::Read your book.::

Huffs, opens to the marked page.

Thirty pages later, he's oozed his head into her lap and hooked his knees over the couch's arm.

Elize sleeps on.

Twenty more pages and Pietr joins her.

Griet finishes her chapter, then pokes his forehead.

Pietr snorts awake, blinks rapidly in the light, smiles sheepishly. Eases himself upright. ::Bedtime, yea?::

::Princess first.::

'Of course,' nods Pietr, standing as smoothly as he can.

She trails him to their bedroom.

He stops next to the dresser.

Griet scoops Elize from the pouch, cradles her head, lays her on the changing blanket.

Elize wiggles, makes a cranky sound.

“Diaper time~!” Unsnaps the onesie (orange with tiny robots, a hand-me-down from Wil), eases Elize free.

Elize waves arms and legs.

“Just a moment, Princess.” Unsnaps the diaper. “Just in time, yea?” Takes hold of tiny ankles, lifts a tiny bottom clear.

Elize coos.

Pietr trades a wipe for the damp diaper.

“A clean bum for you~!” A quick swipe. “All clean~!”

Pietr trades the wipe for powder.

“Poof!”

Elize giggles.

Pietr trades powder for a clean diaper.

Griet folds it up around Elize, blows a raspberry against her bare tummy.

Elize squeals.

Pietr offers a fresh onesie—green with dancing frogs (passed down by Lene).

“Your arms go here—” Threads her right through the proper sleeve. “—and here—” Left. “—and your feet go here—” Right. “—and here!” Left. “Yay! You're all dressed for bed!”

Elize yawns enormously.

“Almost done~.”

Griet settles Elize in her crib, tucks her under a light blanket, kisses her forehead.

Pietr pads back from the baby hamper, smooches Elize's head.

She snuffles.

He strokes her cheek.

She yawns again, eyes sliding shut.

He glows at her.

Griet smiles, tugs his sleeve.

Pietr sighs, tiptoes to the door, turns out the light. Halfway to the washroom, he stops, turns, grins mischievously, steps—

::Don't you—!::

Scoops her up, cradles her to his chest, nuzzling her neck as he crosses the house.

She giggles, squirms until he puts her down, and dusts herself off with an indignant frown.

He pouts, bats his eyelashes.

Griet makes a show of being exasperated, huffs, then puts her arms around his neck and kisses him thoroughly.

Pietr smiles back against her mouth and then he yawns.

Griet pulls away, tilts her head towards the washroom.

He sighs, plods in.

Griet ducks into the laundry room, clips Pietr's work clothes to the line to dry overnight, goes back to their bedroom for their pyjamas (baggy t-shirts and flannel pants for both of them); she changes there, gathers Pietr's and returns to the washroom just as he finishes.

Pietr changes as she brushes her own teeth and gives her face one last splash, and the both of them head to bed—checking on Elize on the way—climb in, and fight for a moment over the blankets (she lets him win).

They end up pressed together, back-to-back.

Griet relaxes.

Pietr shifts restlessly.

She turns over, gathers him to her chest, and strokes his hair until he quiets and falls asleep. She follows shortly thereafter.

She wakes deep in the night.

Pietr's side of the bed is empty.

She pulls her housecoat and his jacket from the wardrobe, turns on the baby monitor, tucks the speaker in her pocket, heads outside.

Pietr sits on the courtyard wall, looking up at the stars and swinging his feet.

She settles the coat on his shoulders—

He startles, nearly tips off into the street.

—scrambles up beside him.

Pietr grins, hoists her all the way up.

She leans into him, head resting on his shoulder, hums.

He leans back against her, lays his head on hers.

They sigh together and burst into giggles.

Chapter Text

An uneasy ripple passes through the gym.

Pietr attends the door and the black person walking in with self-defense instructor Insley.

The crowd around him steps back as one.

Pietr cringes.

Officer Insley beckons him.

He creeps to the center of the mats.

She says something to the black person, who nods.

Pietr tenses; his heart rate jumps.

The black person assumes a fighting stance.

Pietr mimics.

Movement!

Strong hand on his forearm.

Pietr twists, reverses the hold—

Black person pivots, kicks—

—lands hard on one knee, grabs—

—spins, trips—

—yanks the hem of their trousers—

—lands on their butt, scrambles—

—throws himself to his feet, hands up to guard.

—upright, tilts their head back, and laughs.

Pietr's eyebrows brush his hairline.

"Nice work," says the black person, eyes sparkling. "You've been in a fight or two before, ay?"

Pietr ducks his head—eyes still on the black person's lips—and shrugs.

The black person turns away, says something—

Insley shoos Pietr off the mat.

Pietr retreats to the edge of the gym, shakes his head clear.

Something tickles the hairs on the back of his neck.

He scans the room, marks a new person with an aura of calm authority studying him. He offers a small smile and sketches a wave.

The person bobs their head in acknowledgment.

A elbow pokes Pietr's ribs and he forces his attention back to the mats and Insley freeing a student from the black person's arm lock.

Too far away and at a bad angle to understand their words.

Pietr sighs, looks for the person with authority.

They're gone.

Sighs again, searches for a better spot, completely fails to find one. Asks heaven for patience.

Sees enough to know the black person is sparring with every student in the class, though.

A tug at his sleeve.

Attends.

Student points to Insley, who waves him over, frustrated cast to her features.

Slinks over.

"Try again," she says, tilting her head to the black person.

Nods.

Motion in his peripheral.

Authority is back.

Shrugs it off.

Mimics the black person's ready stance.

Movement!

The floor races up.

Pietr twists, catches himself, rolls clear of kicking range and to his knees—

Black person sizes him up, circles—

—lunges for their middle—

—windmills, still goes over backward—

—pins an arm—

—shoves Pietr away with a foot, darts—

—fights for balance—

—slings themselves onto Pietr's back—

—down on all fours—

—gets an arm around Pietr's neck—

—squirms, rolls—

—holds fast, tightens his grip—

—straightens, wiggles a hand under his arm—

—tightens—

—gets light-headed, taps his free hand against the black person's—

—lets go, hops away.

—drops back to all fours, gasps.

Hand on his shoulder.

Pietr twists around.

"You okay?"

Thumbs up.

Black person offers a hand.

Accepts, gets back on his feet.

Black person bows.

Pietr does, too.

Insley herds everyone toward the door.

From the corner of his eye, Pietr catches Authority watching him. He waves—

Authority returns something like a smile.

—and trudges to Circuitry.

And then on through the rest of his day.

He yawns his way out of Etiquette—

Mobile buzzes in his pocket.

AGNIS: Please report to Room 228, Instructor Ramos' office, ASAP.

Pietr blinks.

p_a_vos: B ther soon.

Starts walking.

AGNIS: I will inform her you are en route.

p_a_vos: Thx!

Picks up his pace, puts away the mobile.

Stops at door two-two-eight, squares up, breathes deep.

Peers in, knocks.

Person with authority looks up, beckons.

Pietr steps inside, stops in front of the desk.

Authority indicates a chair.

Sits.

"You read lips?"

Nods.

Authority offers a notepad and pen.

Pulls them closer, picks up the pen.

"I'm Instructor Ramos, she-her-hers—"

Bobs his head.

"—and you're Pietr Vos, he-him-his?"

Nods.

"When'd you lose your hearing?"

- never had it -

"What about your voice?"

- same -

Ramos appraises.

Waits.

"Why didn't you tap out as soon as he had the chokehold? You knew he had you; I could see it in your face."

- forgot I could -

"Too used to winning?"

Shakes his head violently.

- not an option in schoolyard -

"That where you learned to fight?"

Nods, adds,

- & older brother -

"No lessons? No classes?"

Shakes his head.

"How many fights have you been in?"

Grimaces.

- too many -

"You start them?"

- not usually -

"Why'd they happen?"

- easy target -

Bares teeth.

- at first -

Ramos grins.

"Do you know who you dropped this morning?"

Pietr shakes his head.

"Lachlan Riley, one of the top candidates for Ranger."

Blinks.

"He fought half the general-track students on the grounds today and you're the only one to take him off his feet."

Blinks more.

"So why aren't you a candidate for Ranger?"

Eyebrows climb.

- deaf -

Cringes.

- stupid -

"Why're you here, then?"

- mechanic -

One of Ramos' eyebrows twitches. "You want to be a tech."

Pietr nods.

"I've got a better idea."

Queries.

"I want to train you as a fight instructor."

'Me?'

Ramos snorks. "Yes, you."

'Is it?'

"A person who walks in off the street—with no formal training—and takes out someone like Riley is not tech material. It'd be a waste." Ramos smiles, big and warm. "You're a fighter, Vos."

Pietr chokes on a laugh.

- I'm a what? -

Ramos stifles a laugh, too. "A fighter, Vos."