Chapter Text
“What’s this then?” Jupiter peered at him in that completely fucking irritating way he did whenever he was doing his stupid Witnessy nonsense.
“’S nothing,” he said, brushing ash and burnt material that had once been a fairly nice jumper off of him.
“A lot of nothing.”
He rolled his eyes, “One of my experiments blew up.” Internally he snickered.
Jove just raised one placid eyebrow, “Why is that funny? What are you lying about, Birdie?”
“Nothing,” he said. “Nothing that would interest you, Jove.”
“I’m sure that’s not true,” he wheedled, sticking his hands in his pockets, except for his thumbs which he whirlled around in the most annoying fashion. “I’m interested in lots of things, Birdie. Lots and lots. Now,” he narrowed his eyes at him. “Does the baby you’ve recently acquired have anything to do with the fact you’ve still smoldering?”
“Bloody Witnesses,” he grumbled. “Always sticking your noses in where you’re not wanted.”
He pouted, the freckles on his stupid face scrunching together, “Less of a Witness thing more of a me thing, Birdie dearest. Now,” he clapped his hands, almost giddy. “Baby?”
He rolled his eyes, making sure the babysitter let himself out the front door before showing her to Jove. “Meet Morrigan Crow.”
Jupiter took her into his arms, bouncing her a little, “Oh aren’t you lovely? Hello, Morrigan. What a mouthful. We’ll have to find a nickname for you, oh won’t we?”
Bertram tuned him out before he had to hear his niece be dubbed any number of terrible nicknames but he heard the buzz of M-sounds from Jupiter’s mouth anyway as the baby gurgled up at him in a way that stuck something annoyed and old in his chest. The baby liked Jove easily when she had sobbed and screamed at Bertram every day. Same as usual then.
“Who’s her mother then?”
“Meredith Darling,” he said without thinking, examining a gap between his wall and the toaster. Maybe he could invent something to go into there that could watch Morrigan while he was in the workshop? Might be an idea and ideal placement too—
“Meredith Darling?” Jupiter didn’t shriek but his voice reached a pitch unpleasant for humans to process. The baby squirmed in his arms, and there was a tense second that Bertram thought she might start screaming again, but she stilled again, staring up at nothing at all, her eyes darkened to black already.
He blinked back at his brother, “What?”
“You sly dog! You— what? You and Meredith Darling? After she went over to the Wintersea Republic? When did you have the time? Is this why she went— no timeline doesn’t add up— but you—” His mouth hung open.
Bertram blinked, “What? No. Jupiter she’s not mine. She’s— Meredith married my brother. I told you about Corvus, didn’t I?”
“Briefly,” he said, his mouth shutting, looking between him and Morrigan. Looking. “Hm, sorry about that. I assumed because— well. Because—”
“We look related?” he rolled his eyes. “No shit, Jove. We are. Just not as closely as you thought.”
“Language, Birdie,” he admonished. “Little ears.”
“She’s like… a month old. Two.”
Jupiter looked at her, “Six weeks. How do you not know how old she is? You’re her primary guardian, Bird. Anyway, no, she looks at you like– whatever.” He ignored whatever that was supposed to mean. Jupiter always got such funny ideas about family.
“I know that, Jove. I just— lost track of time. How long ago was Eventide? That’s her birthday.”
“That’s why you took her,” he said, peering at him. “She’s… that curse they said you had. They think she has it too.”
“Yes,” he said, shrugging. “I went there to see Meredith. She was dead, and— my mother asked me to take Morrigan. Told me that Corvus was… being Corvus, but worse, really, since Meredith was dead, he blamed her.”
His whole face clouded over. It always amazed Bertram that, for a Witness, Jupiter always broadcast his emotions as far as possible. Or maybe that was why. Since he could read everyone so clearly, he had never learned or wanted to shut himself off. “She’s an infant.”
“Corvus is Corvus and the Republic is the Republic,” he said. “The lives of Cursed Children are hell, trust me. Anything goes wrong in your vicinity? Your fault. I spent my free time as a child being spat on and writing apology letters because I frowned and it started raining and some old biddy dropped her shopping. Could you imagine? Your whole life.”
“I couldn’t,” he said quietly. Then, “You went to talk to Meredith?”
“I thought I could get her to come back,” he said, touching his philtrum, expecting blood to touch his fingers any second now. “They did something stupid with her labour so she wouldn’t have a Eventide child, I think. Parochial bastards.”
“And now you have the baby,” Jove passed her to him. Bertram cradled her without thinking about it. Her hair was only just growing now, fluffy and black at the top of her scalp. She looked at him, eyes narrowed.
“And now I have a baby,” he sighed. Morrigan Crow. His brother’s child. He’d had her for five weeks now. Five and a half. You were supposed to love babies, weren’t you? Supposed to love your family. Bertram had never loved Corvus. Had never even liked him. He didn’t know how to feel about this little girl, not yet. But his mother loved her, and he loved his mother.
“And she— she sets you on fire?”
“Seems so,” he said. “Only happened a couple of times, but I’ve had to fireproof her cradle already.”
“Candidate for Unit 919, what do you think?” he smiled at him sideways.
“Horrific,” he said. “What year are they starting on now anyhow? 907?”
“908 I think,” he said. “It’s not so bad.”
“You would say that, wouldn’t you?”
“Mog for Unit 919, Jack for Unit 917. It’s perfect,” he smiled down at her.
“I don’t even know her knack,” he said. “Dunno if the Elders would go for firebreathing on its own.” Maybe he could teach her how to weld though. She could take to that. Also, no, we aren’t calling her Mog.”
He frowned, “You aren’t. Anyway, that’s not all. I wasn’t sure if you knew and weren’t telling me.”
“What?”
“I mean fair enough, it’s hard to tell, and you hated my theories about so-called Cursed Children and, well— she’s a wundersmith.”
“What?”