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The people Roy Kent cares about most have always been the women in his life- his mother, his sister, his niece, assorted girlfriends, and then there was Keeley of course. He was pretty sure his list was destined to be short.
But here is one more for his list after all. Rebecca Anne Kent- Annie- is a slight weight in his arms, her dark hair peeking out from those ludicrous little caps they made for girl babies by sticking one through the other to make a bow. As if you wouldn’t know by the amount of pink everything that people vomited on you when you have a girl.
Slumped beside him is the reason Annie isn’t completely freaking him out. Her hair has darkened since she was a little thing in pigtails, but the slope of her nose still houses the same freckles and her eyes still shine as bright as they ever did. At thirteen Phoebe O'Sullivan is on the cusp of setting him a whole new set of worries, because boys are pigs. He knows. He was one.
She’s every bit as taken with his daughter as he and Keeley are, her finger firmly grasped in the newborn’s grip as Annie’s little lips smack in her sleep.
He uses the arm around Phoebe to squeeze her close, and almost doesn’t hear her sniffle.
“Oi, what’s wrong?”
“It’s okay, Uncle Roy,” is all she says.
He draws back his arm to get some distance, the baby secure in the other. “What’s okay?”
“To love her more than me.” There are tears in her eyes and he’s too fucking tired not to cry too if she doesn’t stop soon.
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
Phoebe wipes at her nose with her free hand.
“She’s your kid and I’m not.”
‘Fuck me’
Roy turns as best he can on the bloody plastic couch. “Of course you’re my kid. Who told you you aren’t?”
She's avoiding his gaze now. “Not your real kid, not really. I’m just your niece.”
“Just…” He glances up at Keeley who's coming through the toilet door, and she nods.
“Come on, love,” she cooes at the baby, taking her from his arms. “Let’s go see the nurses down the station, see if they’ve got any more freebies for us.”
They watch as Keeley puts the baby in her clear bassinet and shuffles out the door in her posh pink leopard print maternity gown.
He turns to the teen. “Just because you’re my niece doesn’t mean I love you any less, you little shit.”
Phoebe looks away, and he sighs.
“Look, I walked the floor when you were colicky, right? I wiped your arse and your nose and kissed your fucking boo-boos. I taught you how to use the toilet and how to throw a punch and how to kick a football. She might be my daughter, but it’s you who taught me now to be a dad.”
She's looking at him, wide-eyed. “Yeah? You’re not just saying that to make me feel better?”
Roy grunts. “And when the fuck have I ever done that?”
There's a dangerous look on her face now. “Well…”
“That was one time,” he says, and reddens at the memory.
Phoebe sniffles again, and he leans over the edge of the couch for the shitty hospital issued kleenex, handing her a few.
“You really think that?” she asks.
“Wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t.”
“Well then,” she says, lifting his arm and tucking her great big 13 year old self under it- when the fuck had she gotten so big?- “I guess Annie is extra lucky, ‘cause I made you a great dad.”
A few tears spill over as he pulls his first daughter closer. She passes him her unused tissue and laughs when he honks into it.
“Oh, fuck off,” he grouses, pressing a kiss to the side of her head.