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The sweet scent of buttercream and baby powder wafted through the cabin in a cloud. Soft and soothing despite the danger that permeated the ship's every fiber.
Little giggles bounced off the plush carpeting. Prince Woble sprawled on her back, all gums and grins. She kicked her feet in the air, reaching for the toys suspended above her. The bells hanging on the toy chimed softly, jostled by her flailing. Queen Oito doted on the infant, tickling her belly while the nurse stood nearby arranging clean linens.
Kurapika took a deep breath, his shoulders rising with it, eyes closing. He felt his lungs expand, and his body relax just a bit. A moment of reprieve, the briefest pause. A chance to let go of the tension of his job, if only for a breath. For all the opulence and grandeur around them, this simple moment transcended everything, filling the space with something pure and good. A little sliver of peace in a sea of chaos. The purest bond of all - the love between a mother and her child.
Oito looked up at him then, hazel eyes shining with a mother's joy. "Kurapika," she said, gently rolling Woble onto her belly and tapping the baby's back. "She's doing so well. Your suggestion to use a mirror to help keep her on her tummy was brilliant."
Kurapika bowed his head, his hands clasped behind his back. "I'm glad," he said.
"Please, why don't you sit? Come see for yourself. You've been on your feet all day." Oito patted the floor beside her.
It was a simple request. And on the surface, Kurapika knew no guile or ulterior motive lurked behind it. Just a mother proud of her child's accomplishments.
Still, he hesitated fractionally. Because some part of him (that hateful, ruined voice in his psyche) whispered that he would only sully this purity by being part of it. Not worthy of such joy. Not worthy of this kind of simple kindness. But he obliged, stiffly.
Woble rolled onto her side, gurgling happily. She grabbed the quilt covering the floor, squeezing it between her tiny fingers. Oito hummed a little Kakin melody, and Kurapika felt his breathing slow as he basked in the serenity of it all.
So this was what normal felt like.
It was almost painful, really, to be surrounded by something so sweet and innocent when everything else was so tainted with malice and death.
Woble smiled, a toothless grin that lit up the whole room. Her giggles sounded like wind chimes. She kicked her little legs out, catching Oito's shawl with one foot. The queen laughed as bright as the rays of sunshine beyond the blackened hull of the ship - warm, rich, and unhindered as a spring afternoon - then leaned over, planting a soft kiss against the round pinkness of Woble's cheek.
"Look here. She's copying you."
Kurapika tilted his head in curiosity, watching Woble roll from her side onto her belly. The baby lifted her head and looked at him. Woble's dark eyes followed the movement of Kurapika's bowed head, lowering her chin back to the carpet with a muffled little thump.
"Do it again," Oito said. "See what she does."
He did, and the baby's eyes followed the motion. She smiled, cooing, and flopped down again, mimicking his gesture.
"Time spent on her tummy helps build strength in her neck and shoulders. It also helps with motor skills," Kurapika explained. "The mirror is supposed to stimulate her."
"Honestly, I think she prefers looking at you instead." Oito beamed. "This is the most excited I've seen her."
Woble's little eyes crinkled up as she smiled. Kurapika's own lips curved in response. He couldn't help it. He was surprised by how easily a smile came.
Tiny fingers flailed. Searching, reaching for him, luring him closer. Curiosity in Woble's eyes, wondering and unafraid as she beckoned him without words. Something fragile deep inside Kurapika's chest broke, and he returned the gesture, curling his finger around the baby's.
A little hand. A little warmth. And a heart that felt just a little calmer than it had only a moment ago.
This was an offer Kurapika couldn't resist. A chance to feel something besides cold. Something besides the icy rage and grief and pain that haunted him day and night. He knew he didn't deserve it, but he would take it anyway.
Because there was a child who needed him. And he would not fail another child, not ever.