Chapter Text
It’s a girl.
Ella just delivered her baby after the painful pregnancy process, and it is a girl.
An immense sense of pressure begins to suffocate me as I sit in the armchair next to my wife. Will I be good enough for my child? Will I be anything more than just a cold-hearted soldier that only cares about his wife? What if I can’t give my daughter everything she needs?
“Aaron?” Her voice is so soft, so vulnerable. Ella knows that what she did wasn’t easy, and I am so proud of her for it.
She’s my everything. Without her, I am nobody. I hadn’t felt like a genuine person until Ella decided to be with me. All I was was a monster. A cold, sick monster.
Just like my father.
The thought sends a chill down my spine that I have to force down.
“Aaron?” Ella says again and I remember that she had said my name once already.
“Yes, love?” I respond, snapping out of my trance to look at my wife.
Even an hour postpartum, she is still the most radiant human being I have ever laid eyes upon. Her dark hair cascades down her face, shining in the nauseating hospital lighting. Ella looks exhausted, but she looks relieved that the nightmare of her pregnancy is finally over.
There were many days we weren’t sure if either of them would survive.
Those days were harder than when she was unconscious during Emmaline’s reign of controlling her sister’s brain.
“What do we name her? I.. I want you to have a say.” She looks down at our baby girl.
Dark wisps of hair have already formed on the top of her head, but her eyes. They are the brightest shade of green I have ever seen. They look like mine, except hers are still full of life.
Name suggestions Ella has thrown out in the past month, or more, spiral through my brain, trying to remember which one she had the best reaction to.
Then, it hit me; Ella’s whole face had lit up when she heard the name ‘Ava Warner’. That’s it. That’s the name. Our daughter will be named Ava Warner.
“I think Ava Rose, the name you said previously, is perfect,” I say softly, offering her a warm smile I never give anyone besides her.
Her face brightens again and my heart has finally been fully filled.
Seeing Ella smile is all I have ever needed in life.
“Ava Rose it is,” is her response and she looks down at our daughter, cooing sweet nothings at her and saying her new name.
Ava Warner. The newest edition to the happy family Ella and I are trying desperately to make.
I think we’ll be alright.
****
A few hours later, a doctor walks in. She has a curly blonde haircut that goes to her shoulders and no lower. The doctor wears blue scrubs and white shoes so clean that I have to avert my eyes. A large pair of purple glasses and a cheery smile completes the look.
“Hello, parents! Have we decided on a name for your new baby girl yet?” she asks, her voice squeaking (I can tell being so cheery and happy is a workout for her).
I glance down at her nametag. It reads ‘Stephanie’ in large blue letters along with a faded sticker that she most likely stuck on there years ago and never changed it out.
“Yes. Her name is Ava Rose Warner,” Ella says proudly, looking at our daughter who is the perfect mix of us two (my eyes and her hair).
The doctor writes it down before handing me a pair of scissors. I glance up at her. People didn’t usually allow me to be anywhere near dangerous things in guarded places like a hospital, especially if they have a background check on me. All of those background checks show all of the heinous things I did as a psycho nineteen year old, trying to be the super-soldier my father—who is Paris Anderson—wanted me to be.
Thankfully, I realized how awful he is.
I blink a few times at Stephanie, changing my gaze from the scissors to her over and over.
“To cut the umbilical cord? I’m giving you a chance to help,” she says, almost laughing.
Odd. I’ve not been laughed at before. Then again, I haven’t laughed with someone before either.
I nod slowly before slowly snipping it off. Nineteen year old me would have ran off after committing mass murder, and I use the disgust in my past self as a way to keep pushing forward.
Well. This is it. Life as a father has already begun. I ignore the dizzy feeling in my head as I think of all the possibilities. Will Ava fear me? The idea alone makes me sick to my stomach.
I’m not like my father, I’m not like my father, I’m not like my father…
****
“The party has arrived!” Kenji Kishimoto announces and I can already hear nails grinding against a chalkboard.
He walks in with a hand around Nazeera Ibrahim’s waist and I quickly mask the sudden feeling of relief I get; she agreed to get back with him, now he won’t bug me anymore. This has to be Heaven.
Then Alia and Adam Kent walk in, husband and wife. They have two kids of their own, Gigi and Roman. Their food taste changes every single day and I find it increasingly more difficult to cook for their kids.
At the rear of the group is James Kent, the twenty-one year old toddler who decided to save an assassin from Ark Island, our sworn enemies. They still stand for the nightmares and tyranny my father stood for in The Reestablishment. They took the old name of the government so everyone would know what they believed was right for our dying world and for Sector 45. Rosabelle Wolff is her name, I believe. She is an absolute nightmare. On one of her first days here, she stabbed someone in the neck with a fork (James proceeded to defend her. He’s more obsessed with that girl than I am with my wife, which is near impossible. Ask Kishimoto, he’ll tell you).
“Holy shit, dude. The kid’s got your eyes exactly,” Kenji says, his eyes wide with astonishment at the resemblance in Ava and I’s green eyes.
“If you are going to continue to be so loud, Kishimoto, I will shove you into oncoming traffic.” Now, would I actually do this? No. Would I do it if Ella wasn’t around to say, “Kenji’s my best friend, you can’t”? Yes, I would.
He only grins, as if nothing can faze him, before deciding to beg Ella to let him hold Ava. She declines each plea and I realize she was giving me a chance to hold my daughter before anyone else gets a chance to touch her.
My palms get sweaty. Am I ready for this? Will I be a good father? Maybe everyone was right; I’m still too cold-hearted to be a father.
“Aaron,” Ella says softly and it snaps me out of my spiraling.
I hadn’t expected it to come naturally, but once Ava is in my arms, it feels like she is meant to be there. The silence in the room becomes deafening as I look down at my own green eyes. James isn’t breathing like a cigarette smoker and Kenji isn’t chewing loudly or talking nonstop. It is just utter silence.
I don’t like it. I want my chaos back.
“Holy.. woah, dude, you’re like.. a natural at this fathering shit,” Kenji finally says after some time.
I don’t like it. I want my silence back.
I look up at my wife and there are tears in her eyes. I’ve begun to be able to tell whether her tears are happy or not, but during her pregnancy? They were all pained tears, derived from the complications of a pregnancy that shouldn’t even be possible.
Ella’s mother, Evie Sommers, tortured her daughters in the past. She treated them like science experiments. Once all of this happened, Ella’s memory was wiped and my father gave her the name ‘Juliette Ferrars’ so she would forget her past. Ella’s sister, Emmaline, was even put into a tube full of bubbly fluid when they were done tormenting her. Her feet were webbed and her hair was long and she hardly looked human anymore. Emmaline is no longer alive, but I still remember her vividly. When I was the psycho version of myself, my father instructed me to torture both of the sisters. So? I did. I remember when my love broke up with me because of my ignorance, and Kenji had to comfort me on the floor during a panic attack.
Those were dark times. The light has hardly shone through since Ella and I’s wedding.
Ava might be our light in the darkness.
I feel a warmth spread through my chest as I look at my daughter and I can already imagine her growing old, taking her first steps, and learning how to read. I can already imagine teaching her how to tie her shoelaces and how to do division and how to match clothing together so her outfits coordinate.
Maybe I’ll be alright at this.
Maybe we will be alright.