Chapter Text
River pushes the door to Spider’s flat closed behind him.
His gaze settles quickly once he enters the living room; not on Spider, no, but on the couch.
He stops dead in his tracks.
“Um, what’s that?”
Spider, sitting one knee over the other in his armchair, book in hand, reading glasses reluctantly perched on his face, doesn’t look up. “What’s what?”
River blinks at him, then looks back at the couch.
“ That !” He points. Spider glances up over the rim of his glasses.
“Oh, that.” He looks back down. “What it looks like.”
River feels like he’s in an episode of The Twilight Zone.
“Okay…” He takes a deep breath, trying to be even more reasonable than he already feels he’s been. While he’s fighting for the words, Spider speaks again.
“Just ignore it. God knows I am.” He scoffs and turns to the next page.
River is at a loss.
“Can I ask why? How? Or more importantly who? ”
Spider makes an annoyed sound and looks up at him, folding the book in his lap.
“Did you not just hear me? Ig-nor-ing !” He breaks up the last word as if diction was the reason for River’s confusion. Spider goes to flip the book back open but River steps forward and takes it from his hand, tossing it on the floor.
“Stop it!” He says, voice almost shrill. He grabs Spider’s chin and angles it to look at him rather than the discarded book. His expression is annoyed, and, unlike River’s, unconcerned.
River speaks slow,
“Please, just fucking tell me–” He implores. “Why is there a fucking baby on your couch?”
He looks over to where the baby is sitting. It’s upright, though by the wrinkled smallness of its body River knows it’s only because it’s slightly wedged between the couch cushions– propped up..
It looks back.
***
Earlier
Spider is about to pour himself some coffee when the doorbell rings.
He's expecting River later, but he figures he's now early and has lost his keys ( Again, he sighs).
Though, it’s not River when he opens the door.
“Oh, what do you want.” It’s not so much a question as it is the rudest greeting he knows. Michelle, his sister, responds in turn.
“God, I forgot how annoying your voice is.”
Charming. He glares at her, the motion narrowing his field of vision and yet framing something in her arms.
“What is that ?” He makes a disgusted noise at the creature Michelle carries.
She rolls her eyes and pushes her way past him. “Oh fuck off. It's a baby, obviously.”
“What– don’t bring it inside!” He turns and faces her.
“Listen dickhead. I got tickets to this festival TWO years ago and I will be there. So here’s all the stuff you’ll need–” She dumps a black bag onto the floor.
“Are you out of your mind?” His voice goes up quite a few octaves. “I’m not watching it!”
“Well I literally couldn’t find anyone else. Believe me, you’re the last person I’d ask.”
James glares at her. “So why the fuck are you doing it?”
“Well I can’t very well leave it on the street now can I?” She rolls her eyes.
“How is that any of my business?”
“Well it is now. There should be enough supplies here till I get back. If you have any questions– google them.”
Michelle shoves the baby into his arms before he can get away. To his horror, she actually starts to leave.
“Michelle!” He hisses, trying not to think about what he’s holding and more on how soon he can not be holding it. “Michelle you fucking whore get back here!”
But she's blowing him a kiss and running out the door. He follows her into the hall but between the thing in his arms and the way Michelle is legging it, he gives up.
Fuck.
With her gone, his focus is drawn back to the creature in his arms. It's unsettlingly warm, though he figures that’s because it is, somehow, alive. It makes a noise and it's all he can do not to drop it on the floor of the hallway.
He holds it away from him as he hurries back into his living room. Where the fuck do I put it? He’d rather it not go on the furniture, but putting it on the floor seems terribly indecorous. He approaches his couch and tries to sit it up against the cushions. It folds in on itself like a shrimp. He grimaces.
Next he tries to situate it in the crevice between cushions, its little body stuck in the crease. This works, and with a relieved sigh he’s able to remove his touch from it.
It looks up at him. He looks back and shivers, then goes to wash his hands.
***
“What’s its name?” River asks, approaching the baby.
James pouts, upset that he is being forced to face his problems. He crosses his arms.
“Something terrible, probably. Mother like that.”
River shoots him a look, right. He’s probably not the one to be discussing mothers and poor name choices with.
River crouches down by the couch and tentatively holds out his finger to the baby, it just watches with large wide eyes. When it makes no move to grab at him, he speaks.
“Did you feed it?”
It takes a moment for Spider to realize he’s still talking to him, and that, obviously, the baby can’t answer.
“No? I put it down and then forgot about it.” In hindsight (or any sight for that matter) this was probably irresponsible. Though he doesn’t want this acknowledged, and of course River acknowledges it.
“ James! ” River turns his head and gives him a look. Spider glares, but before he can reply with a Don’t ‘james!’ me , the consequences of River’s raised voice occurs.
The baby, startled, begins to cry.
River looks back at it while Spider covers his ears with his hands.
“Riverrrrr!” He whines. “Look what you’ve done!”
River curses. “Keep your pants on.” He reaches out and picks up the baby under its arms, it’s both heavier and lighter than he expected.
River holds the baby against him and bobs a bit. He looks over to Spider who seems to be on the brink of hysterics.
“What is your problem?!”
“My problem is my crazy sister dropped a baby–that I’m hoping is her’s by the way– off with me and fucked off to god knows where for fuck knows how long!”
“And?” River asks (not that there needs to be more reasons).
“And I hate babies! I don’t know what they want and they’re too small!”
River looks at him, not trying to hide the little bit of glee he gets from the realization that: “You’re scared!”
James is offended. “I am not scared! I’m disgusted! They’re not even done cooking, they just lie there and cry and look ugly. It’s tragic.” He turns away, wringing his hands in such a dramatic way only he could manage.
River tries patting the baby on the back to get it to stop crying, this is unsuccessful. He thinks, “It’s probably just hungry. Did she leave a bag or anything?”
Right, the bag! James is still not thrilled about doing the bidding of this small devil, but the shrieking is highly persuasive.
He goes over to the bag Michelle dumped on the floor and zips it open. Inside, among other things, is a tin of formula and an empty bottle. He grabs them and hurries over to the kitchen. He squints at the instructions on the side.
Fucking Michelle. It’s just like her to do something like this. She was always careless and messy. Though he supposes that dropping a young child off with someone completely unqualified is a bit more escalated than leaving the hamster in the barbie car and then going to a sleepover.
Hopefully this won’t end the same way.
He makes the bottle and hurries back to the living room where River is frowning at the squalling lump. Before he hands it off he rifles through the bag again and finds a burping cloth. It’s clean, but he still holds it between just his index finger and thumb as he delivers it and the bottle to River.
River repositions the baby into the crook of his arm and takes the bottle in his free hand. Like plugging a leak, the shrieking stops.
They both breathe a sigh of relief, though of different kinds, for different reasons.
River settles down in one of the armchairs; James watches him, standing, unsettled.
Seeing River hold the baby turns something fresh and rancid in his stomach. But it's not the general disgust he felt when holding it himself, it's something deeper, more frightening. He thinks about the way River had picked it up, how he knew how to calm it down and carry it, how his first instinct wasn’t to shove it into the couch cushions and hope the situation resolved itself. He stands in the doorway and looks at how natural he is with it, how it fits.
T heres a little voice in his head, quiet yet niggling, the snake in the garden.
James ducks back down to the bag to look for whatever else Michelle had left in the way of provisions. He gets as far as the nappies before he excuses himself to the other room, under the guise of ‘a spare towel or sheets or something. An excuse they both know is fake, an excuse River permits, a permission Spider takes greedily like fresh air.
He ducks behind his bedroom door, not closing it– no– that would be too… whatever, and sits on the edge of his bed.
River should be doing that. He should get to have that.
Something churns in his stomach.
Do you not want it? Or do you think you can’t have it?
And he doesn’t want it, but he wants his reaction to be..less.
How do you reconcile with something written off so long ago? And how do you know what you really want?
Sometimes it's easier not having a choice.
***
River knows he’s not ok, so he’s not going to ask.
He washes his hands again before coming into the bedroom, the whole thing was irrational in a way he didn’t understand. He realises that this is likely deeper than just disgust. There is a rationale, he’s just unaware of what it is. James is still up, propped against some pillows and a book untouched in his lap. River watches him tense up, like he’s expecting the conversation to happen now.
River sits on the edge of the bed.
“It’s a boy, by the way.”
James looks at him curiously before it dawns on him what River means. He grimaces,
“Sorry about that.”
River shrugs, he really doesn't mind it. He of course has no experience with babies, but in terms of challenges he’s had to face, this is definitely a cuter one.
“I get it.” He says, purposefully vague. He doesn’t get it, get it; but he gets that this is past Spider’s limits.
James fidgets with the bedsheet, looking down. “I just… I can’t.”
River reaches over and places a hand on James’s leg.
“I know. Really, it’s fine. I like the little bugger.” River says the last part to reassure him, but notices something pull in his face instead. It’s quickly overwritten with a small forced smile, and Spider looks up at him.
“I like it more when it’s asleep.” He makes a gesture, something that alludes to the quiet that has befallen the flat.
River can't argue with that.
–
A little while after, he takes his leave from James’s room with some spare sheets for the couch– aka his bed for the night.
He checks the baby again, it– he– is still sound asleep. River fusses with the makeshift bed he’s made for him before turning to his own accommodations. His phone is lighting up– no doubt Louisa responding to the photo he’d sent. He picks it up when he gets comfortable, looking at her ‘wtf??’ text and smiling to himself. A fair reply to your friend sending a selfie with an infant.
Before he puts his phone down he texts James, smiling at the novel sound of it dinging in the other room.
[SMS- 23:14]
River: 😴😴:)
Spider: Is the couch ok?
River: bit cold… 😏
Spider: Idiot.
Spider: Goodnight.
Spider: 🛏️🪢
River: ?? bondage??
Spider: I was trying to do “sleep tight.” You’ve ruined it of course. Debased mind.
River chuckles softly, sending a final ‘night’ before clicking off his phone.
***
James wakes up early, as he always does, before the sun.
River’s asleep on the couch; the baby nearby in a makeshift blanket valley on one of the armchairs, which has been pulled within reach. It’s still, and for a horrible second James thinks that maybe it's dead.
He hurries over to it, but finds it’s only sleeping.
He tries not to think about the mechanisms that had just made his heart race, the ones that are telling him, now that he knows it's fine, to get away.
But he looks at it for a moment longer, considering it the way one might an alien creature. For surely something this…helpless is an other-worldy creation. A creature indeed.
“Poor thing.” He whispers.
Its small hand is resting palm-up and it’s comical how small the fingers are. He reaches down and places his index finger on its palm, though before he can withdraw the baby, still asleep, grabs his finger. He instantly recoils, as much as he’s able to with his finger stuck, and tries to rend his hand from its frightening grip.
The grip relaxes quickly, though not before James has considered a 127 Hours type situation to free himself of the wretched creature.
Holding his finger protectively, he turns to the other wretched creature in the room– River. He’s disconcerted to feel all his nice emotions rush back to him when looking at the sleeping man. His mouth is open, and one arm is hanging off of the couch onto the floor.
Idiot .
He smiles, then goes into the kitchen to make his morning tea.
~~~~
TBC