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It was a long day, like every day, and Abbacchio was more than ready to head back to her room. It was already after sundown, not too late, but late enough to be ready for bed. Dark circles weighed down her violet eyes like they always did, the heels of her boots clicked in an even rhythm down the hallway.
As she got closer to her own bedroom, she noticed something rather out of the ordinary. The door to her bedroom, she could see from this angle, was left cracked open. Abbacchio was very protective of her space, she assured the door was latched closed every time she entered or exited. Had someone else been in her room, were they in there now? Worse— was Narancia playing in her eyeliner again? She continued to the door, though she slowed her steps, approaching more quietly. She pushed the door open with a single finger, then slipped inside.
“Hey, asshole,” came her booming voice before she even had the chance to look around. A shuffling noise came from her closet, but no response. She furrowed her brow and boomed again, “I said, hey—”
“Sorry,” squeaked a small, familiar voice. She stopped in her tracks. It wasn't an intruder for sure, not even Narancia being intrusive again. Nobody she wanted to shout at for sure. Abbacchio's face immediately fell soft. She made her way over to the open closet where the voice had come from, and was greeted with the expected sight of pink hair.
Trish sat at the bottom of the closet; her wide, green eyes stared up at Abbacchio with an expression much like a lost puppy. Her large eyes and gentled features reminded Abba of an old fashioned baby doll some days. There was one thing that caught her off guard, though— Trish's small frame was being absolutely swallowed by one of Abba's t-shirts.
“Now, what do we have here, little girl?” Abbacchio's voice came much warmer this round, a rare but welcomed sight (or, sound) in contrast to her usual tough persona. Trish didn't respond, but her lip quivered, which caused Abba to draw closer. “Hey, I'm not- I'm not mad. I'm sorry I yelled.”
“'M sorry...” Trish muttered. Her eyes were trained on Abbacchio's boots now rather than her face.
“Hey...” Abbacchio's voice came softly again. She bent down and cupped Trish's face in her hand. “I'm really not mad, little one. I'm just wondering what you're doing with my clothes.”
Trish still didn't meet Abbacchio's eyes, and muttered her answer instead. Abbacchio frowned.
“What was that?”
“Comfy,” Trish answered softly. “Abba's clothes big.” She looked up with that same fearful babydoll look, like she still expected to be in trouble. “'M sorry I didn't ask, I just—” Abbacchio shook her head with a slight hint of a smile.
“Shh. You don't have to be sorry, baby. Were you getting ready for bed?” Trish nodded. “And you were getting small?” Another nod. “You can tell me when you get small, you know...”
“Looked mad,” Trish said shyly. Abba chuckled and shook her head. Her natural resting position had been known to scare a few babies in grocery stores, and to hear that it had the same effect here was strangely endearing.
“I always look mad,” she said. “You wouldn't bother me, little girl. Not with something like that.” Trish gulped. Her eyes fell to the floor once again.
“So I can wear it?”
“Yeah, you can wear it. Here,” Abba said, and reached to wrap her arms around Trish. Trish reached her arms around Abba's neck in return, and let herself be lifted from the closet. “Let's finish getting you to bed, huh?”
Abbacchio carried Trish on her hip like she weighed nothing, like she really was just a little baby. Trish let the gentle movement calm her of her earlier anxieties. She was safe in Abbacchio's arms, she wasn't in any danger or in any trouble. Abbacchio carried her little one back up the hall and to her own room.
When she set the girl down, she could see how much Trish was swimming in her old Metalica t-shirt. The black fabric hid her small frame entirely and ended at her knees, left her legs looking small and light in comparison. It was almost silly, but Trish seemed happy in it, so she wouldn't ever complain. Trish deserved to feel small, and deserved to sleep comfortably, and Abbacchio wasn't afraid to sacrifice a shirt or two to the cause. She only ever wore it to sleep herself, anyway.
Trish scurried to her bed quickly, then looked over to Abba, some sort of questioning in her eye. She looked rather cozy already, her pillows and blankets piled around her. Still, she continued staring. Abbacchio tilted her head, and Trish murmured something. The murmur only made Abbacchio squint.
“Will... will you tuck me in?” Trish asked, a little louder this time, though she still barely spoke over a whisper. Abbacchio nodded and made her way across the room in two sure strides. Trish looked up at her, a small smile finally broken through her face. Abba couldn't help but smile back at the sight, at her little baby.
She took care to fluff Trish's pillows for her before she tucked the girl into her plush comforter. The pink bedspread seemed to swallow her whole, just like the t-shirt had.Trish closed her eyes and snuggled in tighter with a hum of content. After she was sure Trish had fallen asleep, Abba leaned down to leave a gentle kiss on her little one's head.
As she turned the light out, she could hear the faintest voice call to her, “Night, Mama.”
“Goodnight, Baby." She glanced over her shoulder one more time before she closed the door behind her. The title of Mama made her chest swell and sing; but she wouldn't show it. Who was she if she'd been caught smiling in the hall?
Her heels clicked in their familiar, even rhythm back to her bed.