Chapter Text
You’ve always liked how lush and green the landscape is on the drive from your place to Roxy’s.
In your life before, on the original Earth, you almost never got to see scenery like this—these rolling hills and winding rivers and deep forests and distant mountains. In that previous life, five thousand years ago now, it seems, most of your memories are of sun-baked concrete, tall buildings, hazy skies.
And then, after, during your long trip on the meteor...well, there was nothing green there at all, really, aside from some limp canned vegetables. No fresh air, no rain, certainly no sunlight or blue sky or clouds. Not even any stars to be seen.
A displeased grunt from the driver’s seat pulls your attention away from the window. Karkat is peering through the windshield with a familiar scowl on his face, his muscles tense. You follow his line of sight to find the source of his current irritation: a Carapacian driving an obnoxiously large truck has just changed lanes in the middle of an intersection, cutting right in front of your car in the process.
You remember a time when Karkat would’ve responded by speeding up to follow the truck closer, yelling and cursing and flipping the guy off, you know, just kinda losing his shit in general. Now, though—now he just grits his teeth and steps gently on the brake, to put a more comfortable amount of space between your car and the truck.
“You drive like such an old lady, dude,” you say from the passenger seat. In truth, you don’t mind Karkat’s cautious driving at all—it’s nice, actually. Makes you feel...safe. But that’s the kind of thing you might tell him at two in the morning, half-asleep with your arms and legs tangled together in bed—not wide awake, in broad daylight. It’s only barely past noon, so the day hasn’t even really started yet, as far as you’re concerned.
“The hell I do,” Karkat replies with a scowl. His eyes never leave the road, nor does his iron grip on the steering wheel loosen. “I drive like someone who’s paying the fuck attention, nookwipe. And anyway, you can’t drive at all, so maybe shut your mouth?”
“Got me there,” you admit, grinning down at the wiggler cradled in your arms. He seems happy enough, for now—he isn’t currently trying to bite you or squirm out of your grasp, anyway. He’s looking out at the scenery passing by with that familiar semi-permanent look of bewilderment on his little face, his yellow eyes wide and sort of unfocused, and you have to work to restrain yourself from laughing. You don’t want Karkat thinking you’re laughing at him, in the stressed-out state he’s in right now.
You let your gaze drift slowly over him as he glares through the windshield, too focused on driving to notice you. He woke up before you this morning (or, maybe, judging by the bags under his eyes, he didn’t sleep at all), so for once you were spared being gnawed on by the baby.
The kid never bites Karkat when he wants to be fed. Just you.
Anyway. Karkat looks good today, his tired expression aside. He’s wearing those short little shorts you like (the ones you used to make fun of), with a light blue, summery, short-sleeved button-up shirt. You aren’t sure where he got that from—you’ve never seen it before. He looks sort of dorky in it, to be honest, but you bit your tongue earlier this morning and didn’t tell him that, because you like looking at him wearing things that aren’t dark sweaters once in a while. His thick black hair is out of control in the best way, his cute little rounded horns (repeated in miniature on the baby’s head) almost totally obscured by his fluffy curls. You just barely manage to stop yourself from reaching over and running your fingers through them. He doesn’t seem to be in the mood for that, at this particular moment, with all of his attention fixed firmly on driving.
From behind the safety of your shades, you let yourself imagine it, though. How satisfying it’d be, to massage his scalp, watch him react—watch his eyes close and feel him press his head back against your hand in a silent request for more. You could rub his back and neck and shoulders, too, and still hold the baby in your other arm just fine. In your imagination you watch the tension slowly drain from his body as you work to relax him. If he pulled over, maybe you could—
Ow.
“Ow, dude,” you say, as your brain finally processes that the baby is biting your arm. “What the fuck.”
He squeaks in reply, looking up at you with those huge yellow eyes, and god damn it...he’s so cute. You instantly forgive him, because of course you do. You forgive him every single time he bites you, or poops on your clothes, or sneezes directly into your mouth. And you’ll keep on forgiving him, probably forever. He’s only a baby, after all.
“Were you spacing out again?” Karkat asks, the tiredness in his voice making it sound deeper and scratchier than usual.
“No,” you say automatically. “What even makes you think that, huh?”
“Because whenever you start to space out, you stop holding him correctly. And then he bites you.”
“He also bites me when he’s hungry,” you point out.
“Yeah, but I fed him just before we left the house, so it’s probably not that.”
He’s right, of course. You sigh. “Yeah, I guess I was...thinkin’ about. Stuff.”
“What stuff,” Karkat asks gruffly. “What’s more important than keeping him safe while we’re driving?”
You elect not to answer that. Instead, you say, “Remind me why we don’t have a car seat for him yet.”
“Because I don’t trust any of the ones I’ve looked at! They don’t look like they could contain him for more than a minute. He’d just wriggle out, or hell, bite his way out, more likely.”
“So it’s better to let him bite me?”
“Like I said, fuckstain, he only does that when you stop holding him correctly. So what were you thinking about, anyway? Was it your awful fucking raps? Tell me it wasn’t.”
“It wasn’t,” you assure him.
He glances over at you, then, finally—and whatever he sees in your expression, even with your shades on, must tell him plenty about the direction of your thoughts. He looks away fast, his cheeks tinged pink.
You trace the faint little worry lines on his face with your gaze, making sure to hold the grub securely as you do. He doesn’t let his eyes leave the road again, though by now you know he must be aware of the way you’re staring at him.
“Y-you’re right, though,” he says, only very slightly visibly flustered, now. “He should—have a car seat. This isn’t really all that safe, you holding him like this.”
“We could alchemize a custom car seat,” you say, musing. “With, like, a plastic bubble covering the whole thing, maybe? So he can’t get out?”
“He’d suffocate, idiot. No way.”
“I mean, there’d be air holes, dude, c’mon. How dumb d’you think I am?” you say, trying not to laugh. The grub lets out a high-pitched squeak as if in reply.
“Dangerous question to pose, Strider,” Karkat says, a smile creeping onto his face, though he doesn’t look away from the road.
“Yeah, yeah.”
You lift the kid up with both hands, grinning when he practically screeches with joy. He loves being lifted up—it’s one of his favorite games.
“Wouldn’t have to worry about a car seat at all if you’d just let us fly places,” you say. “It’d be faster, too.”
“Absolutely the fuck not,” Karkat responds flatly.
“It’s perfectly safe—”
He interrupts you, shaking his head. “No way are you flying anywhere with him, Dave. I won’t allow it.”
You know you’re going to lose this one again, like you do every time it comes up, but you can’t seem to stop yourself. “You’d be the one holding him,” you explain, bringing the grub back down into the crook of your arm. “I’d have my hands full with you.”
His answer is as emphatic as it is immediate. “No!”
“I’ve never dropped you before, babe,” you mumble, because you are apparently medically unable to quit while you’re still (sort of) ahead. “I don’t know what you’re so—”
He doesn’t have to interrupt you with words this time. The look on his face is enough.
“Okay, okay. I get it,” you say with a shrug. “It’s fine, anyway. It’s not like we’re usually in any particular rush, you know? I mean I—I’m just saying I’m good with you driving us places.”
He seems to relax, however minutely. “Thank you.”
“Even if you do drive as slow as my grandma,” you add.
He snorts loudly. “You don’t even have one of those.”
“Ouch, dude. Not cool,” you say with a slow shake of your head. “You know I’m sensitive about my lack of grandmas.”
“I know you’re chock full of hoofbeastshit,” he says, the soft tone of his voice at odds with his words.
You look down at the baby. He’s getting sleepy, his eyes slowly closing as he listens to the two of you talk—the two of you talking is the lullaby that puts him to sleep every night, after all, curled up in your arms (or, in the case of his midday naps, sprawled across Karkat’s stomach). Being as careful as you can not to disturb him, you reach down and brush a stray curl away from his half-closed eyes with your fingertips. His six little bug legs twitch slightly in response.
“I wonder if he’s cold,” you say, keeping your voice low. “I couldn’t find his blanket when we were leaving.”
“That’s because I’ve got it in my sylladex,” Karkat replies, shrugging his shoulders as if it’s no big deal. You’d searched every room of the house for that thing, damn it.
You should’ve known. Karkat has a habit of captchaloguing literally everything he thinks might be useful later, like some kind of...grub scout or something.
“You’d think you were in the grub scouts or something,” you mutter.
“What?”
You try to catch his eye, but he’s keeping his gaze stubbornly glued to the road now. You smile at him anyway. “Y’know, ’cause of how ridiculously prepared you always are?”
“‘Grub scouts’ isn’t a real thing,” he says, grouchily. He’s cute, furrowed brow and exaggerated frown and all. God, you love him so much. “What are you even talking about right now.”
You sort of wish you could lean over and kiss the little vertical wrinkles between his eyebrows. You can’t, though, of course. So you just look down at the baby, watch with a small smile on your face as he slowly loses the fight to stay awake, and his eyes completely close at last. You bend down and kiss his little forehead before you even realize what you’re doing, but...you suppose there’s no reason to get all embarrassed about it. There’s nobody else here, just you and Karkat.
Just then, another car abruptly pulls in front of yours, much too close. This time, Karkat’s rage is immediate. He sort of bristles, gripping the steering wheel tighter, baring his gritted teeth in a grimace—but he still doesn’t shout, doesn’t even curse under his breath. He controls himself, slowing the car down even more to give the offending driver a wider berth, breathing deeply through his nose again and again until, finally, his shoulders relax (somewhat) and his posture unclenches (somewhat).
“Wow, not even a middle finger,” you comment mildly, rocking the sleeping grub gently in your arms. “You’re making really good progress, man.”
“Shut the fuck up,” he grumbles.
You don’t take it personally. You know he’s just concerned for the kid’s safety—and both of yours, too, of course. You can see it in the way his hand shakes, even now, when he moves it from the wheel to use his turn signal.
“No, I really mean it,” you tell him. “You’ve gotten so much better, you know?”
“Oh,” he says, much more quietly. Then, after a pause, “Thanks.”
There’s a long moment of silence in the car as you think your separate thoughts. The quiet is broken only by the baby’s open-mouthed snores, a familiar sound by now. You find yourself looking out the window again, at the passing scenery, and thinking about days long gone.
“Anyway,” Karkat says, heaving a deep sigh, “I’m glad we’re finally getting him out of the house.”
He sounds so, so tired. You’d like nothing more than to take the wheel and let him rest, but you know he’d never let you—not without a license. Besides, you’re nearly there, now. You recognize the streets and houses here.
Oh, fuck. He’s still talking. You try to pay more attention. “—wiggler should be around people who aren’t us from time to time,” he’s saying. “I think this’ll be good for him.”
“Us too,” you remind him. “It’s good for us to see our friends sometimes, too, ’Kat.”
“R-right,” he stammers. Apparently he hadn’t considered that.
It’s been too long since you last left the house, if even Karkat has forgotten what it means to have a social life.
“We’re here,” he says, as he pulls over and parks at the curb in front of Roxy’s place. He turns off the car, and finally, finally relaxes, dropping his shoulders with a deep sigh.
“Okay?” you ask.
He turns to you with a tired half-smile. The expression is so familiar it hurts. “Yeah, I’m okay,” he says. “I’m actually looking forward to this, I think.”
He uncaptchalogues the grub’s crab-print blanket. (You still can’t believe you spent so long looking for that fucking thing earlier.) You turn your body so that Karkat can drape the blanket over the sleeping child.
You watch him as he strokes his thumb over the baby’s soft gray cheek, brushing that same stubborn lock of hair back out of his sleeping face. Then, before he can move to get out of the car, you lean forward just a bit and kiss him on the corner of his mouth—nothing fancy, just a warm press of lips. A tiny reminder of your affection.
He seems surprised, touching the spot where you’d kissed him with his fingertips. “What was that for?” he asks.
You shrug, just a little, so you don’t disturb the grub. “I need a reason now?”
He sighs again. “Sorry. Of course not. I just...”
He chews his lower lip, staring contemplatively at the wiggler in your arms. You’re pretty sure you know what he’s thinking—that ever since he fell into your lives, you’ve both been so focused on taking care of this child that, without quite meaning to, you’ve begun to neglect one another.
“I know,” you say, softly. “It’s okay, babe.”
“Okay,” he says, before leaning in to kiss you again, properly, this time.
You hand over the baby when you get out of the car, so Karkat can carry him up the walk to Roxy’s front door.
The home Roxy and Calliope share is bright and spacious inside, a modest, pretty house that sits perched at the edge of a crystal-clear lake. The water’s still too cold to go in, this early in the year, but the pool in the backyard is heated. You never learned to swim as a kid, but you’ve sat drinking iced tea with your feet in the water plenty of times, just talking with Karkat and Roxy and Callie, and sometimes Rose and Kanaya, too. It’s been a few months since the last time, though.
Today, Callie greets you at the door. “Come in, please,” she says, beaming at the sleeping wiggler. “Oh my goodness. Look at him!”
The grub stirs at the sound of her voice as you walk inside together, and Callie watches his eyes crack open with an expression of absolute delight on her face, her hands clasped together in front of her.
“Well hello there, little fellow!” she squeaks, in an even higher-pitched voice than normal. You half-expect him to hiss at her—it’s been a month (or maybe two) since Callie first met him, back at your place, and you don’t really expect him to remember her, but...
But he apparently does, because as soon as his eyes open enough to focus on her face he’s smiling from ear to ear, huffing little excited breaths and showing all his tiny pointed teeth. He squirms in Karkat’s arms suddenly, shaking off his blanket, nearly wriggling free.
“Whoa,” Karkat says under his breath, and he tightens his grip on the squirming, squeaking grub as you bend to retrieve the blanket from the floor. “What’s gotten into him?”
You suspect it’s got something to do with the fact that Callie brought a plate of homemade sugar cookies when she and Roxy came over to see him for the first time. He’d somehow managed to stuff himself with three entire cookies while your back was turned. The ensuing sugar rush (not to mention the disastrous crash, later) made it a visit you won’t soon forget.
But Karkat apparently doesn’t remember, somehow, so you just shake your head slowly and say, “No idea. Guess he just likes you, Callie.”
She looks almost like she might burst into tears, holding her face in both hands. “Oh,” she says softly, with a toothy smile. “Well, gosh. I like him, too!”
He’s stopped trying to escape from Karkat’s arms, but he’s still looking at Callie and making those little pleased huffing noises. It’s infectious, and as soon as your eyes meet Karkat’s you both snort with laughter.
“Does that sound he’s making...er, mean something?” Callie asks Karkat, as she leads you through the house to join the party in the backyard.
Karkat shakes his head and explains, “It’s just how wigglers laugh. It means he’s happy.”
“Dave! Hey! Karkat, hey!”
You follow the sound of Roxy’s voice through the open French doors and onto the shaded back patio. Everyone else is already here, clustered around the lounge chairs and the pool in small groups. Roxy waves to you enthusiastically from beside the grill, where Jake is flipping burgers. Jane stands close by, too, watching him nervously, as if supervising.
He gives you a rueful little smile as you walk by. “Ms. Crocker has no faith at all in my grill skills, I’m afraid, gents,” he says. Jane jumps as if she’s been caught doing something shameful.
“I just! Don’t want anything to catch fire,” she stammers, her face pink. “I’m sure your skills are just fine, Jake.”
He rolls his eyes in your direction. You shrug as if to say not my problem, sorry! and leave him to his task, turning toward your m—Roxy.
She’s not looking at you, though. She’s extending her arms to take the grub from Karkat. Her smile is practically blinding. “Does he feel heavier? I think he might be heavier,” she says. “Hi, kiddo!”
“Yeah, he’s not any bigger but he is getting heavier, I think,” you say.
Karkat nods. “Yeah, a little. That’ll keep happening until it’s time for his first molt. But...Kanaya said that won’t be for a while yet.”
The baby is squeaking and chirping happily, wiggling his little legs as Roxy lifts him up in the air, just like you’d done earlier, in the car.
“You guys can leave him with us if you need a break,” she offers as Callie sits down beside her. “Grab a drink, go for a swim, whatever you like.”
It’s tempting, it really is, but...you hesitate.
“That’s okay,” Karkat says. “Thanks anyway, Lalonde.”
“Maybe later,” you add. Karkat’s mouth twists sideways, like he wants to disagree, but he says nothing. He just takes the grub back from Roxy, who looks slightly disappointed, but hands him over anyway.
You’re doing your very best not to let your imagination run away with itself, but—you almost can’t help it. It’s been ages, now, and...with just a few minutes of free time with Karkat, without having to worry about the baby, you could do so much. You could spend some time kissing him, for one, really get deep into a good old-fashioned makeout session—or you could go down on him, god, you’ve missed that so much—or, if you’re fast, you could fuck in the bathroom or maybe one of the upstairs bedrooms, making sure to cover his mouth with your hand so his loud ass doesn’t get you both caught—
“Just let me know, then,” Roxy says, smiling a sly sort of smile at you, “if and/or when the two of you want...a break. Wink.”
You glance at Karkat sideways, from behind your shades. His face is predictably turning red, and in fact you think yours might be, too—it’s still weird, hearing your twenty-four-year-old mom talk about suggestive shit, never mind that you do it almost constantly—so you clear your throat and change the subject.
“So, I guess this must make you the youngest grandma in the history of Earth C, huh?” you say. “Like, I’m sure there were some tragically young grandparents on the original Earth who had you beat, just statistically speaking, uh—jesus, wow, sorry to be a huge bummer at your fun pool party, Rox—”
She ignores most of that, thank god. “Wait. Me, a grandma? How’s that?” she asks, her head slightly tilted to one side, and it’s only then that you realize your mistake. Fuck.
“Uh, not that I’m, the—the kid’s dad or anything. Oh god. I mean I never even—jesus fuck,” you stumble. For no particular reason, you find yourself glancing nervously over at Dirk, sitting way across the yard from you, next to the pool, conversing with Rose and Kanaya. He doesn’t appear to notice you looking. “I never even, like, had a dad? So that’s. Definitely not something I wanna, uh...be. Or even—fucking think about. Y-you know?”
“It’s okay, hon,” Roxy tries to interject, but your mouth won’t fucking stop.
“I mean if anyone is his dad it’s Karkat, right?” you say, almost to yourself. If Karkat has any reaction to that coming flying out of your mouth, you don’t see it—you’re kind of avoiding looking at him right now. “But me? I’m just kinda. A guy who’s there. But that’s, that’s all I meant when I said you were his grandma—’cause of Karkat. Uh, ’cause, I mean, me and Karkat are...uh, shit. Fuck. I mean I know we ain’t actually married or nothin’ but—”
You hear a sort of choked sound from the approximate place where Karkat is standing with the grub. From her seat beside Roxy, Callie silently watches you crash and burn with wide, terrified eyes. Your face and neck are suddenly unbearably hot—you curse internally and will yourself to stop stepping on rakes, god damn it.
You take a breath and say, “Okay—wait.”
Roxy is looking at you expectantly, sort of half-heartedly covering her smile with one hand. Even Jake and Jane seem to be listening in now, though they seem to be trying to pretend they’re not. You still refuse to look in Karkat’s direction—you already know he’s staring daggers into the side of your face. You don’t need to see him to know that.
“Yeah, so that one got away from me,” you admit. “Circling back to the grandma thing for a sec, though—”
There’s a muffled groan from Karkat’s direction, like maybe he’s hiding his face in the baby’s blanket, impatiently awaiting the day you stop publicly embarrassing the hell out of him. That’s...probably exactly what he’s doing, actually.
You press on anyway—you need to clear this up, fast. “We were just talking about this on the way over,” you explain. “How I’m, like, all fucked up on account of never having any grandmas as a kid. So...you see where I’m goin’ with this, probably.”
Roxy just shakes her head, still smiling like she’s trying not to laugh at you.
You say, “My point is just—there’s no need for this kid to experience the same fucked-up childhood shit we all did, right? We’re all together now, and everything’s chill, so...so he can have a little grandma, as a treat, is all I’m saying.”
“Oh,” Roxy says simply. Her expression tells you absolutely nothing. There’s a cold sweat threatening to break out on your forehead, but you keep your face straight. At least you’re still pretty good at that.
“It—it doesn’t have to be you, though—if you don’t want?” you quickly add. “Sorry, guess I really should have asked before I nominated you to be his fake grandma, completely at random, of course, and not because you’re sorta my mom, haha. Uhh, what about Jane instead? She’s got grandma vibes. Shit, Jane, no offense—it was a compliment, I swear. Like—GILFs are a thing, y’know? Fuck—”
“Whoa, take it easy, Davey,” Roxy says, a wry smile creeping over her face. She takes your hand in both of hers in a gentle gesture of comfort, like she’s afraid of startling you or something. “It’s cool. I’m down to be his fake grandma!”
“No, but it’s—I mean you don’t have to—”
Before you can even begin to untangle your thoughts Roxy silences you with a hug, wrapping both arms around your shoulders. “Honey, shhhh,” she shushes you, a hint of laughter in her voice, and this time you seize the opportunity to stop talking before you can really embarrass yourself.
Just then, Jake interrupts your little huddle with a clap of his hands and a cheerful “Grub’s grilled to perfection, ladies and gents! Come and get it!”
You look up to see Karkat giving Jake his iciest death glare, protectively holding the grub against his chest. You can’t help but smile—it’s a relief, right now, to see Karkat direct his annoyance at someone who isn’t you, even if Jake doesn’t exactly deserve it.
It was a poor choice of words, but...still.
“Er—that is, the burgers are—grilled to—!” Jake stammers, raising his hands in surrender. “Goodness me. So terribly sorry, ol’ Kitkat! I never meant to imply—”
“Oh, shove it down your chitinous windhole, English, I know what you meant,” Karkat says, and when he rolls his eyes and smiles at you, reaching out to take your hand, the effect is almost instantaneous—you feel your whole body relax, feel yourself let go of all the useless words that had been piling up in your brain.
It might make you feel pathetic—that after all that stupid bullshit you’d said to Roxy and to Jane, tying yourself in tighter and tighter knots, all Karkat has to do is smile in your direction, and all of a sudden it feels like you can breathe again.
It might make you feel kind of pathetic, if it wasn’t for the fact that you stopped giving a shit about how much you need him a long, long time ago.
Roxy pats you on the back as if to say see? Everything is fine. You shoot her a grateful smile, and go with Karkat to get some paper plates.
After lunch, for the first time ever, your sister asks you if she can hold the baby.
Whenever Rose and Kanaya had visited your house over the last few months, she’d seemed...almost uninterested in him. Kanaya was always the one who wanted to hold him, play with him, ask you questions about him and give you advice on raising a grub, and to be honest you felt like you understood Rose’s hesitation—it’s not as if you and Karkat went looking for a kid to adopt, after all. Your own feelings about raising a child were probably similar to hers, at the beginning of this whole thing. Neither of you had an upbringing that made you eager to raise children of your own someday.
But despite all that—despite all that, you saw the silly faces Rose would sometimes make at the grub, playfully, when she thought you and Karkat couldn’t see. You noticed the exceptionally soft way she’d look at Kanaya whenever Kanaya held him. You never said anything about it, not even to Karkat, but...you noticed.
Anyway. When you hand him over, he squeaks and chirps and wriggles energetically in her arms, but Rose keeps a firm grasp on him. Karkat hovers just behind her shoulder, shifting from one foot to the other nervously, like he thinks she might drop him. You stand by, too, ready to flash-step in if he tries to bite her—and with several disposable absorbent mats locked and loaded in your sylladex, as always, just in case he decides to shit on her or something.
So far, he’s behaving himself, though, just looking at Rose’s face with those big, curious yellow eyes of his. She stares back at him, like he’s some kind of puzzle she wants to solve.
“How old did you say he is, again?” she asks Karkat.
“We still aren’t exactly sure,” he admits. “Kanaya estimated...almost a quarter-sweep, now?”
Rose doesn’t really seem to have any follow-up questions. Now that she’s holding him for the first time, she just seems...kind of lost.
“You could try talking to him,” you suggest. “Doesn’t really matter about what. Or you could lift him up—yeah, like that, but faster—almost like you’re gonna toss him? He loves that shit, dude.”
Watching him squeal with joy in her arms—watching Rose smile at the sound— you almost miss the stark look of concern on Karkat’s face at your choice of words.
You quickly clarify, more for Karkat’s sake than Rose’s. “Uhh, but don’t actually throw him though,” you say. “That’s like, expert-level, Rose, varsity stuff, and I’m sorry but you’re still a mere freshman here at Wiggler High. You gotta learn the cheers before they’ll let you be on top of the pyramid. And even then, you know, you still probably gotta do a whole montage of like—calisthenics? Acrobatics? I dunno, cartwheels and flips and shit. Why’d I start talkin’ about cheerleading, anyway, I know nothing about it as a sport—less than basketball, even, and you know exactly how much knowledge I got about that topic. Fuckin’ none is how much. Whatever, the point is you aren’t ready yet, Rose.”
“Ready for—what? I’m afraid you lost me somewhere back there,” she replies, with a familiar, arch little half-smile on her lips.
Sometimes you wonder whether Rose can tell when you roll your eyes at her, in spite of your shades.
You explain, not thinking about the fact that Karkat is standing less than two feet away, and he’s listening, too. “For the advanced moves. Like, okay, throwing him up in the air is easy enough, right? But catching him, which I would argue is the more important part—”
Karkat’s sharp inhale quickly alerts you to your mistake, of course.
“I mean—” you interrupt yourself, watching as his eyes grow wider, seemingly in slow motion. Oh fuck.
He’s opening his mouth to say something, a storm already gathering on his brow—but you cut him off before he can even take a breath.
Quickly, you say, “I mean, I wouldn’t know, ’cause I’ve never done that. That would be way too dangerous. Irresponsible, even. Even if the kid does love it and has the time of his life every time and I mean it’s not like I’ve ever dropped him, babe, so it’s all good, right? No harm, no foul?”
You’re pretty sure you’ll get a lecture about that later, at home, but for now Karkat just sighs tiredly and shakes his head.
Rose saves you, at least temporarily, by changing the subject. “So—because this grub is your ecto-clone, I suppose we now know what you looked like as a wiggler, Karkat.”
“I guess so,” he says, furrowing his brow at the thought. “More or less, yeah.”
“Well, he’s adorable,” she says, addressing the happily squirming grub. “Congrats on being cute as a baby.” She raises her eyebrows, looking slyly in your direction, and she doesn’t say the next part—the “what happened?” part—but she doesn’t need to. It’s written on her face, in the quirk of her lips, the glint in her eye. You snort a laugh and shove at her shoulder.
“Watch yourself, Lalonde,” you say. “That’s my—”
She waits, with that little knowing smile on her face, during the half-second it takes you to wrestle with yourself.
“M-my—uh, boyfriend you’re talking about. I happen to think he’s still cute.”
“Oh, are we talking about Karkat?” you hear Kanaya ask from behind you. “He is rather cute, isn’t he? In an—unconventional sort of way?”
“Wow, would you look at that? It’s time for everyone to shut the hell up!” Karkat grumbles as he crosses his arms. His brow is so deeply furrowed it’s gotta hurt. “I don’t remember asking for any of your opinions about how I look in the first fucking place.”
“Cute is how you look, dude,” you say, pressing a soft kiss to his temple, just to see his face turn red. “Like I said.”
After bending down to give Rose a peck on the cheek, Kanaya takes a moment to gently correct her wife’s baby-holding technique. They seem to be having some kind of private moment about it, and it’s honestly kind of uncomfortable for you to witness, so you avert your eyes, trusting that the grub is in good hands.
With your arm slung around Karkat’s shoulders, you take a look around the yard. The others are all gathered by the pool, most of them in their swimsuits already. Roxy jumps in first, cannonballing into the deep end with a loud cackle, closely followed by Callie and Jane. You notice Jake looking at Rose and the wiggler with a cautiously interested sort of look on his face, like he’d like to try holding him, too, or maybe playing with him. But...he just stays by Dirk’s side, and doesn’t approach.
Dirk, for his part, seems to be entirely uninterested in the kid.
You know it’s not that, not exactly. You know what it actually is.
You know how Dirk feels about children. He fears that he’s just like your Bro, somehow, fears fucking up some poor innocent kid’s life just by being around them. You have no idea how to even begin to talk to him about it, no idea what you could ever say that would convince him that this is different—that it’d be nice, for the kid to have a grandfather or even just an uncle oh shit, oh fuck. No. A—family friend? Yeah. A family friend who’s sort of...uncle-like, avuncular, if you will, and maybe ever so slightly grandfatherly, without actually technically being an uncle or a grandpa, because neither of those is what Dirk would technically be, since you’re technically not—
Anyway.
After all these years on Earth-C, you still haven’t even been able to convince Dirk that you like him, that you see him as an entirely separate person from your Bro. You’ve tried, but he’s stubborn as all hell, is the thing.
So you let him keep his distance.
Karkat moves out from under your arm, uncaptchaloguing the grub’s blanket again. You turn and follow his line of sight, back to Rose and Kanaya and the baby. Kanaya is holding him now, rocking him back and forth gently. He’s nodding off in spite of the noise of laughter and splashing from the pool, undoubtedly tired out by all the attention he’s been receiving.
“Karkat,” Kanaya says, her voice full of emotion, as he reaches up to tuck the blanket over the baby. “I just...love him.”
“Yeah,” he replies.
“How can you be so small,” Kanaya says quietly, as she boops the kid’s nose. “It’s absurd.”
And it’s...weird, the feeling that blooms in your chest just then. You have no idea what to call it. It sort of feels like pride, but...that doesn’t really make sense. You’re not his dad. You’re not. You’re just...the dude who helps his actual (sorta) dad take care of him? Because, you know, you love that guy or whatever.
Gay.
Yeah, but...so what?
So fucking gay. Gayer than a fruit cocktail on roller skates at a pride parade. Gay, gay, gay.
Bisexual, specifically. Your point...?
You snap out of your little internal argument when Rose touches your shoulder. “Look,” she whispers, gesturing toward the three trolls. “Tell me you have your camera with you.”
Kanaya is making little bug noises at the sleeping grub, now, chirping at a high enough frequency that it’s almost inaudible to you. You glance over at Karkat, and there’s a genuine expression of quiet happiness on his face—which is a, to say the least, rare look for him. You rather like it.
Following Rose’s suggestion, you quickly uncaptchalogue your camera and snap several candid photos of them. You’re almost never without a camera these days—you could probably fill an entire room of your house, floor to ceiling, with all the photos you’ve taken of the grub.
When Kanaya looks up at you, there are jade-green tears swimming in her eyes. Karkat’s chirping right back at her, now, and you suddenly feel sort of left out, but it’s okay—you know they don’t mean to exclude you. This is just something they’re accustomed to doing, something they occasionally seem to forget humans can’t do, too.
“Aw, what’s with the waterworks, sis?” you tease Kanaya. “You have met this kid before, right? I didn’t hallucinate the last few months...?”
She sniffs, giving you a watery smile, and says “Well. Yes. But I clearly don’t see him often enough! He’s so much heavier than the last time I held him...”
It’s almost startling to realize oh shit, it has been a while. Time can get away from even you, as it turns out. Chasing after the bug has kept you and Karkat both busy.
“Guess it’s been a couple of weeks,” you admit. “I, uh, hadn’t realized.”
“Speaking of which,” Rose says, taking a moment to look you over, “how have you two been? Are you both getting enough rest?”
“I’ve never gotten enough rest in my entire life, I’m certainly not about to start now,” Karkat grumbles. “Your brother gets plenty, though.”
“Maybe this morning I did,” you say. “Thanks, by the way. But what about all the mornings I get bitten awake at five AM? Huh?”
“I guess we sort of take turns getting sleep,” he sighs, addressing Rose more than you. “But I was dealing with insomnia even before all this started, so...”
“Sounds rough,” Rose says. “Well. Best of luck to you both.”
“Wow, no offers to babysit? I’m hurt, Lalonde,” Karkat says.
You add, “Yeah, I thought you and Kanaya wanted to adopt a few wigglers of your own someday. You sure you don’t wanna get in some practice?”
“Quite sure,” she says crisply. “That’s...not really on the table for us just yet. Someday, perhaps, yes. But not yet.”
There’s a faraway sort of look in Kanaya’s eyes, but she just nods along and says, “Someday.”
You say, with only a slight sense of envy, “I see.”
“I just—” Rose begins, but stops herself.
You wait while she gathers her thoughts.
Haltingly, she says, “I feel that I ought to, er—get involved with raising him, in some capacity, even if it’s not babysitting. Considering I’m his...well. You know.”
You genuinely do not know. “Future...therapist?” you try.
“What? No! His aunt,” Rose laughs.
You have to wonder if Rose has talked with Roxy since your little...episode...earlier.
You just barely manage to bite down on the no you’re not that threatens to come cartwheeling out of your mouth, but it’s a close one.
There’s nothing really wrong with letting Rose take on that role if she wants to, is there? You already nominated Roxy to be his grandmother, and that doesn’t technically make any sense either. It’s like you said—the kid deserves the experience of having a real family growing up.
“Oh,” you say simply. “Right.”
Karkat takes a breath, like he wants to say something about all that, but you interrupt before he can.
“You could be his aunt, too,” you tell Kanaya. “Uh, you know. If you want.”
She looks up from the sleeping grub slowly, as if you’d roused her from a dream. “Oh. Well, I believe I understand your human family structure well enough by now...” she replies, smiling softly. “Yes, all right. I accept.”
“Cool,” you say, as casually as you can manage. Your face feels kind of warm, though, for some reason.
In your peripheral vision, Karkat is giving you sort of a strange look, his eyes narrowed, peering at you like he’s trying to figure something out. That’s dangerous, so you pretend not to notice, focusing your attention on the wiggler instead.
In Kanaya’s arms he’s a little angel, snoring softly, little spots of pink coloring his cheeks. Seeing him like this, no one would ever guess what a terror he can be when he’s awake. But you’ve got the bite marks to prove it.
Without really thinking about it, you move to put your arms around Karkat. You kiss the top of his head, between his horns, like you’ve done a hundred times before, and only then do you realize you did that in front of a whole bunch of people. Oops.
Nobody but you seems to give a shit, but try telling that to your fucked-up brain. For the next minute or so, you cling to him, hiding your face in his hair, until the acute sense of embarrassment begins to pass and you feel almost normal again.
Slowly, you become aware that he’s squeezing your hand in his. He’s so patient, sometimes—when you really need him to be. You’re grateful. You squeeze his hand in return.
“Karkat,” Kanaya is saying, “I know sometimes we aren’t in touch as often as I’d like, but..”
“It’s fine—” he tries, but Kanaya silences him with a shake of her head.
“I just want you to know that we’re here for you, for both of you—and for him,” she says, gesturing toward the baby. “All of us are. You shouldn’t hesitate to ask your friends for help when you need it, all right?”
Karkat sort of shrugs his shoulders under your arms. “I mean, thank you, but it’s not...”
“Not what?”
He sighs, exasperated. “It’s easy enough to say that we should ask for help,” he says, “but in reality, you’ve all got your own lives to worry about. It isn’t that simple.”
If you’re being honest, you’ve thought about asking for help with the baby lots of times, from Jade or Roxy or whoever, but the thought of becoming a burden to the people you love has sort of haunted you, kept you more isolated than you’d like.
“Dude, shhh,” you say. “She’s right. Let’s bother people, like, way more from now on, okay? I miss bothering people.”
Kanaya smiles, handing the grub back over to Karkat at last. “It’s not like any of the rest of us have children yet,” she reminds him. “He’s a novelty. You ought to take more advantage of that, I think.”
He’s quiet for a long moment, looking down at the sleeping wiggler in his arms, but you don’t break the silence. You wait for him to speak, fidgeting with the edges of the crab blanket to keep yourself occupied.
“Okay,” he finally says. “Thank you. I’ll...try to remember that.”
Rose tugs Kanaya away by the hand, toward the pool, and you’re left with Karkat and the baby.
You watch the rest of your friends and family until you’re reasonably sure no one is looking, then you kiss the side of his neck, hugging him closer to you. The grub’s little purring snores intensify in volume for a moment as Karkat’s grip on him tightens. You huff a soft laugh into his neck.
“Hey,” you say, swaying with both of them in your arms.
“Hey yourself,” he replies. You can’t see it from this angle, but you can hear the smile in his voice.
“Kanaya’s right, you know,” you tell him. “And also, if this kid grows up to be anything like you, we’d really be doing him a disservice by keeping him so isolated, right? He should have, like...a whole fucking community. A family, who he gets to see all the time. None of us had that, growing up, but we can give it to him now.”
“Yeah, okay,” he says. He sounds exhausted. “I kind of can’t believe you had to tell me that, though. What the fuck.”
You kiss him again, and then one more time. “Let’s go get somethin’ cold to drink,” you say. “I’m thirsty.”
He follows you into the house.