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Maybe he should be grateful.
Wolfwood shifts on the bathroom floor, tile biting into his back, and inhales through his nose. Meryl's bathroom smells like cleaner and raspberry shampoo. And bile, now. He tried not to miss the bowl but some vomit still splashed onto the seat of the toilet and he's yet to clean it off.
Maybe he should be grateful. He didn't even think he could carry a child. Was pretty sure the Eye made sure he couldn't, actually. But miracles happen in strange ways.
“Be nicer to me,” he rasps, rubbing at his stomach gently. “I quit smoking for you.”
In response, his gut turns painfully and he almost has to sit up and puke again. Instead, he manages to stave it off with a vile tasting burp.
“Wish Vash was here,” he sighs miserably, rolling onto his side on the floor. Facing the toilet just in case. “I'd puke on him for this.”
He hears the front door open, Meryl’s keys jingling as she enters. The clatter of her taking off her shoes at the door. He waits until the last second to move his head so that when she opens the bathroom door it doesn't hit him.
“Hey,” she says, leaning over to look at him.
Wolfwood looks back up at her and forces a smile. It's mostly teeth.
“How was work?”
Meryl sighs and sits down on the floor next to his head. After a little shifting she gets him to put his head in her lap and starts combing her fingers through his hair.
“Oh you know,” she replies quietly. “Desk duty is boring. But I'm not ready to go back out on an assignment.”
And she can't leave him here like this. Wolfwood might be doing better about eating 3 square meals and drinking water with the baby but he's still a fucking mess. Something he's reminded of as the gentle scratch of her nails on his scalp starts to make his eyes sting. She's so nice to him. It's not fair.
“How’re you holding up?”
Wolfwood makes a noncommittal noise. Shifts and clutches at his stomach. At least right now he doesn't feel like puking anymore.
“Looking forward to the phase where they're stepping on my bladder, weirdly enough,” he offers with a snort. “At least then I don't have to lay on the floor.”
“Sitting is usually more comfortable,” Meryl agrees, twirling one of the cowlicks in his hair around her finger.
“Not anymore, I keep getting this stabbing pain when I shift wrong.”
Above him, Meryl makes a face. It's the face that says she wants to tell him to go to a doctor. But she won't, because he won't. No matter how much of a pain she is about how he should.
Instead, she sighs faintly and keeps playing with his hair. “You look it up in the books?”
“Mmhuh,” he murmurs back.
“Baby going to be okay?”
“Yeah,” he says, shifting so he can lean his cheek against her thigh and look down the hall for a moment. “And my pelvis will probably fix itself after I have them. Eventually.”
“Well, at least there's that,” Meryl sighs again.
Eventually she gets him to bed, tucked under his arm like she could support him while he half wobbles down the hall with her. He doesn't usually sleep in her bed but Meryl’s been more and more insistent lately. Something about him needing to be comfortable.
“Had dinner yet?” she asks, sitting down on the edge of the bed while Wolfwood curls up in a ball on the other side.
He sighs. “No. Not hungry.”
Meryl flops down in bed facing him and pokes her finger against his nose. “Not a good answer. You’re eating for two. I bet they're hungry.”
“They shouldn't have made me puke, then,” Wolfwood counters with a huff.
“I can order take out,” Meryl offers, rubbing his jawline while he hums in consideration. “I've got a coupon for that place you like.”
Oh he doesn't deserve her one bit.
He still hesitates when she invites him to share her bed for the night but the old routine of you have to take care of yourself for the baby gets him every time. So he curls up on one side, facing Meryl, and watches her go through her nightly routine of skincare and reading. It's strangely therapeutic at this point and he's almost nodded off when she rolls onto her side to join him.
She smells like jasmine lotion. Before the flora on Ship 3, jasmine was an abstract concept that only came in the form of scented oils the Plants made sometimes for cosmetic production. Now, it barely holds a candle to the real thing he got to smell, the whole room covered in green.
“Sleep,” she tells him, putting hand gently over his eyes. “Baby needs their rest.”
Wolfwood snorts at her. “They'll be kicking me all night, I'm sure.”
Meryl moves her hand away and starts to ruffle her fingers through his hair soothingly. It works every time…
“You need your rest too,” she hums, watching Wolfwood's eyes flutter closed.
Maybe he does. Best to take care of himself if he's a body made for 2 now.
In the morning, Wolfwood wakes up alone. Light is filtering past the curtains and he knows Meryl’s left for work. He knows that's all that's happened. She wouldn't abandon him.
But his chest still hurts when he sits up and finds her spot next to him empty.
She's all he has. He can't go anywhere else. If the Eye knew about this little life they'd do terrible, unspeakable things. To him and to it. He won't let that happen. He can't go to the orphanage, he can never go home now especially knowing he can't bring Livio home with him. And he doesn't even know if Vash is alive, or where to look, just that he hopes and hopes one day he'll be able to let his kid meet their other dad.
He rubs at his face and sighs. His eyes sting and his palm comes away wet when he tries to wipe the sleep from his eyes.
“Stop crying,” he mumbles, scolding himself as he throws his legs over the side of the bed. “Stop it.”
Meryl won't even be gone that long. He slept in enough that she's been out a good 3 hours already. He doesn't have to wait long.
But now he's thought about Vash and about Livio and everything else that makes his chest ache and before he can even get through brushing his teeth he's dripping tears everywhere he goes.
Pacing helps–or at least it's helped in the past when he's needed some sort of outlet to still his nerves. But now every wrong step twinges in his pelvis and Wolfwood can only do a few rounds of the kitchen, picking up things and rubbing his sleeve against his face, before he has to stop. But sitting only makes it harder to not think about the ache in his chest.
This is Vash’s baby. Their baby. Whether or not they made it on purpose. And he can't help but wonder if they'll ever get to meet him. Vash is dead–maybe not. He doesn't know, just knows his ear to the ground isn't hearing too well without going back to the Eye.
And thinking about the Eye spikes his heart. If they knew about this baby–if Conrad or Legato knew about him carrying Vash's kid –Wolfwood shakes his head to try and banish the thought. It barely helps, a sob rattling his chest. They can't know. He can't go back. They’d take this baby from him. They'd poke and prod and hurt them trying to learn more and he can't think about the horrors that could happen if Legato wanted to use this against him. He can't fight Legato…
“Focus, breathe,” Wolfwood whispers to himself, working his fingers in and out of knots in his lap. Cracking his knuckles till his fingers hurt. “Stress is bad…”
He forces himself to get up and limp to the kitchen. Meryl’s apartment has such a tiny little kitchen but it's the nicest one he's ever been in. He puts the kettle on and goes rummaging through her tea cabinet. He finds the tin Meryl got him; rooibos and raspberry leaf. Sidesteps once and opens the next cabinet over to grab a mug–it's a little pink and white polkadot one. He likes it. Claims, when Meryl teases him, that it just has a good shape. But it's the same pink as the odd worm nymphs he sees sometimes. He tells himself the mug is lucky too.
He drinks his tea at the counter, too much sugar and a dash of cinnamon, because it's easier to stand still and not hurt his hips more than to limp back over to the couch. By the time he's finished the cup he's managed to stop crying, face warm and eyes stinging but breathing at least evened out. He should eat lunch. Meryl made sure there were leftovers.
He eats in the living room, ambient sounds of a news report in the background. He knows he should pay more attention to the news but he just can't focus on problems with the city’s water production Plant when he's still figuring out how to have a baby without going to a hospital.
Meryl went down the checklist for everything before. Do you have an ID? Not one any local government would acknowledge. Is that your legal name? What's your birth date? How old are you? As far as I know. I'm not… sure. And 16? 17? You're that young ? Last I checked.
It didn't yield many results in the end. He still won't go to the doctor, won't let them see the little life growing in him, so they hit a stalemate.
After he eats, Wolfwood lays down. He's not sure what else to do. He's too anxious to actually rest but he can't pace with his fucked up hips or do any real work so he might as well rest. As he does, he glances down at his stomach.
It's been growing faster than he expected. Faster than he thought it was supposed to. He's never been pregnant or even around someone who was but he's pretty sure it shouldn't be showing this much only a few months along. That's weird, isn't it? But nothing about this situation is kind enough to be normal for him…
“I forgive you,” he tells them, half joking, as he pets his stomach. “Giving me so much hell already.”
He's just glad they seem to be growing well. He's just glad that despite everything maybe his body can still provide a proper spot for them to flourish. Maybe it's a good sign for the rest of his parenting experience.
“I might not be the best at this, but I'm trying,” he says, to them and the ceiling.
He's not even sure what he's doing. Just talking to them. Just talking through everything in his own head, trapped there.
“Just… don't grow up and hate me,” Wolfwood mumbles, one hand on his stomach. “Kids do that, right?”
He can't imagine how. All Wolfwood can remember was dreaming about having parents. Someone to take care of him, take away the burdens on his shoulders and scare off the monsters he knows are real now. What a privilege to be able to smart mouth a parent as a teen. He hopes this one gets all that and more.
Shifting a little, he tucks one of the throw pillows behind his head. Tries to get comfortable before sighing again and rubbing his hip.
“I'm not perfect,” he admits. “Pretty bad, actually. But I’m trying, y'know? I really am…”
He doesn't want his kid to think he's a monster. Not like he thinks of himself. If he can be selfish for one moment that's his wish. Just that.
“Just give me a chance,” he says, quieter. “Don't hate me when you're older.”
He knows he can't prevent it if they do. They'll be their own person. He can only hope they have a kinder life than he did. He can only hope they have a kinder life than Vash did.
He can only hope they're as kind as Vash was to him. Maybe they can forgive him too. Maybe if they can forgive him, Vash can again.