Work Text:
“What are you doing?” Oswald asked, staring at Alice as she triumphantly beamed up at him. One foot on a chair, one firmly on the ground, she pumped her hands up excitedly.
“I’m doing the hero’s pose, of course!” She raised her imaginary sword to the air and Oswald looked down at the picture book she was imitating.
“That’s close,” he replied, not sure what else he should say. She was already firm about speaking like him, refusing to change even after he asked her to.
“I know, right?” Her smile broadened, if possible, and she tilted her head toward him. It was a new action and he considered it for a moment before realizing what she wanted. When he ruffled her hair, she almost leaped off the chair to hug him.
“Got me anything?”
“Not today,” he admitted, looking down at her. His hands hovered awkwardly over her before he gingerly wrapped them around her shoulders.
(Lacie had been this affectionate as children, all hands and tugs. He remembered their last embrace and all he could taste was regret.)
“Boo,” Alice pouted, snuggling her head deeper into his chest before letting go. “You have to play with me, then.”
“Ah.” Oswald swayed left and right. He had duties to attend and he shouldn’t be here for long. Alice looked at him expectantly and he couldn’t say no.
“Come on!” Alice tugged his hand and this, this was Lacie all over again and it was always in the small moments, the quiet moments, that he found his sister in Alice. Always for a few seconds before Alice took over again.
She was never her mother’s daughter.
Alice searched through her mess of toys and books, before pulling out the exact book she was looking for. “Let’s read this.”
“Again?” Oswald obediently sat down, leaving a space for her to sit on him. Her favourite position and she leaned back into his chest as she held the book out.
“Yes, again.”
They sat there, reading together from her favourite picture book, and he could tell the exact moment that Alyss came. Her body stiffened, withdrawing from his side, and he missed the warmth instantly. Getting up, she stood a short distance away.
“Is Jack coming?” she asked, coolly, and if he looked at her from the corner of his eye, he could see Lacie’s exact profile. It was almost like sitting near Lacie, as impossible as that was, and he struggled to breathe.
Alyss was always her mother’s daughter and if Alice was her mother’s love, Alyss was her mother’s hate.
Lacie should hate him.
“Later.”
“Then leave.” Alyss pointed to the door, her words curt and to the point, and he smiled.
He would take her hate, in whatever form it came.