Work Text:
Maybe far away
Or maybe real nearby
He may be pouring her coffee
She may be straightening his tie
The last day of 2784 dawned bright and cold over a certain Next Step in Europe, and unusually Cathan was up with the winter sunrise. At midnight, he would officially turn 14 and be able to request his parental record. The odds were against him successfully reconnecting with his parents, but he still held out hope that on some other world they were eagerly waiting for midnight and contact to be re-established with their lost son. They could be as far away as Kappa sector, or as close as Adonis. But as much as he knew it was a vain hope, he wished that shortly they’d come to Earth to meet him in person.
Maybe in a house
All hidden by a hill
She's sittin' playing piano
He's sittin' paying a bill
Jarra had no plans to contact her parents. None of her pseudo-siblings understood her decision, but she knew in her heart that they had probably forgotten all about her. Tossed away the ape kid, and were happily playing family with some other norm kids. Nice little house, nice little family, going about their business, paying bills and holidaying on other planets. No way would she give them the opportunity to reject her again. Let them keep their picturesque life, she didn’t need them anyway.
Betcha they're young
Betcha they're smart
Bet they collect things
Like ashtrays and art
Issette understood her best friend’s view, in a way. Yet she couldn’t stop herself dreaming about them. Was she like them? Did they collect things the way she collected her fluffies? Perhaps abandoning leaving her was nothing to do with her handicap. She’d been ill when she was born, maybe they couldn’t afford the hospital bills. Or were very young, unable to support a baby and had heartbrokenly decided she’d be better of being raised by Hospital Earth. Such stories belonged in the vids, she knew, but still. Maybe.
Betcha they're good
Why shouldn't they be?
Their one mistake
Was giving up me
Keon stood apart from the others, projecting his long-practiced air of nonchalance. Year End? Oh yes, 14, contacting parents. No, he didn’t think he’d bother contacting his. Too much work. He didn’t crave a family like Maeth, or decend into wild hatred like Jarra. He didn’t compare himself to his imagined image of them like Issette, or spend his life trying to aspire to an unknown quantity like Ross. The people who gave him his genetic material were probably good people, with friends and jobs and a life. But they gave him up, and that was irreversible. They were probably good people. But they weren’t good parents. They weren’t his parents.
So maybe now it's time
And maybe when I wake
They'll be there calling me "baby"
Maybe
She had been dreaming about this day since she was old enough to realise what she’d lost. Maeth had been counting down the days until Hospital Earth deemed her mature enough to contact her parents. Realistically, she knew, mature enough to deal with her parents’ rejection, but she refused to believe it. All she wanted was a family, a real, blood family and that desire had only grown over the years. Maybe they would want to know her. Maybe this time next year, she’d be living in a house, not a Next Step. Having breakfast with her parents, maybe some siblings rather than nearly 80 similarly abandoned children. She would still see Ross of course, but he wouldn’t be the only one with pet names for her. Maybe her parents would call her ‘Mae’, or ‘kid’, or ‘baby’. She’d like to be someone’s baby.
Betcha he reads
Betcha she sews
Maybe she's made me
A closet of clothes
Since she first learnt to sew, back in Home, Vina loved it. She had been forbidden to alter her hated uniform, but as soon as she moved into a Next Step, she would adorn all her clothes with embroidery, applique, alterations, anything she could think of. The one thing she hadn’t been able to do was to make any clothes from scratch – the allowance they got was far too small to buy uncut fabric. Maybe she got her love of sewing from her parents though. Maybe, even if they didn’t want to move to Earth, they would visit. She’d show them her work, and they would gush over how amazingly talented she was. Maybe they’d give her money for fabric. Maybe they’d give her fabric, with some kind of parental comment like ‘the pattern made me think of you’, or ‘that colour brings out your eyes, just like your father’s’. Maybe one of her parents would sew, and would work with her to create a whole closet of clothes, unique in all the universe, sewn by a reunited family.
Maybe they're strict
As straight as a line
Don't really care
As long as they're mine
Ross knew he hadn’t done anything to drive his parents away. Technically. It was his immune system, not him that they rejected. But still, he was always followed by a nagging doubt – what if when he contacted them they replied, they came to Earth, he went to live with them. They got to know him. And rejected him. He was too mischievous. His grades were too low. He was too much trouble. He wasn’t worthy of their love. And then they dumped him, not his immune system this time. They decided he wasn’t they kind of child they wanted, and that their lives had been far better before he forced his way back into them. Ever since Home, Ross had strived to be the ideal child. He was hard working, he was conscientious. The only thing that could be disapproved of was his relationship with Maeth, and even then they hadn’t done anything. Not that they could, but he could never have given her up. Both of them took refuge in their love, in the reassurance both that they could feel love, and were worthy of receiving love. So Ross waited, striving to be the perfect child so that no matter which names would be delivered to his look up in three days, not matter how strict they were, they had no reason to reject him.
So maybe now this prayer's
The last one of its kind
As midnight grew closer, the nine soon-to-be-fourteen year olds gathered closer. As they all counted down to midnight, most of the attention was on the Seventeens who would soon become adults. Such a milestone seemed so far away as they huddled together. As Green Time ticked over into 2785, seven children tapped on their lookups to request information on their parents. Two children stood by, adamantly refusing to admit weakness. All nine though, shared the same though in their hearts:
Won't you please
Come get your baby?
Maybe