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“...I think Scott Free should be your Highfather.”
There is absolute stillness for a moment.
Scott looks down at Orion—which he never truly thinks he’s done before, because as much as Orion is big, he is also large, occupies one’s entire field of vision, and Scott tries his hardest to always exist only at the edges of a moment—and blinks. Once. twice.
The silence drags on.
Orion, dutiful as always, does not shift, does not lower his hands.
Eventually, Barda hipchecks him gently. Or, well, her hip, his shoulder, and her gently, his into a rock formation, but that’s all schematics.
It serves to break the tension, at least, and murmurs break out as Scott picks himself out of the Scott-shaped hole in the rock and back to his wife.
He brushes rock dust off his shoulder. “Tender as ever, my love,” Scott says, wincing, but reaches his hands up for Liv.
Barda blinks at him, unashamed, and shifts away. “You are filthy.”
Liv giggles at the face Scott pulls.
Scott, obligingly, takes several steps backwards and shakes himself off, studiously ignoring people’s complaints, then comes forward again and reaches for his baby. This time, Barda gives her to him, and Scott stares at her little face.
“Well,” Scott tells her. “What do you think?”
Liv, ever the eloquent orator, giggles again and reaches for his hair.
“That is true,” Scott agrees. He shifts her to one arm and takes the staff from Orion with the other. The silence returns as he hefts it and considers it. He looks up at Barda, who remains impassive. Careful not to influence his decision. But he knows how to read her. He knows what she would rather he do, and what she knows he should do.
Orion gets to his feet, the chatter resuming. “The role of—”
Scott lifts a finger to silence him, something he’s surprised works. The staff really does hold authority.
“Orion,” Scott says. “Hold my baby.”
All the chatter abruptly stops. Orion finally shifts.
“Excuse me?”
Scott shrugs a shoulder, feeling Barda go ramrod straight behind him. He flashes her a confident smile. She loosens. “I just mean,” Scott says, “that we are trading responsibilities, no? Unless you wish to shirk them entirely, because then—”
“Orion does not shirk responsibility,” Akala pipes up, looking offended. “He never has.”
“I believe you,” Scott says easily. “Well, Orion? Hold my baby.”
Orion frowns, looks up at Barda over Scott’s head. Scott doesn’t need to turn to see her expression; he knows it already—a raised eyebrow, a tilt of the head. Go on, she’s saying without saying, hold my baby.
Orion takes Liv gingerly, like he’s scared to break her with his big hands. “Hello, Liv,” he quietly says to her.
Liv quiets to examine him, reaches forward to grab at his face.
Diana speaks up, now. “I don’t see how this is…”
“You will,” Barda reassures.
Liv leans forward and licks a stripe down Orion’s cheek, and bursts into giggles when he reels away in shock.
Scott himself snorts and takes Liv back. “Good girl,” he tells her under his breath, and she beams wider with pride. Truly, she’s a genius already. It’s either Barda’s genes or all the quantum physics textbooks Shilo reads to her when he visits—a toss-up between both.
“Well,” Scott says to everyone at large, “that settles it. We can’t switch responsibilities, and Orion needs one, so.” He tosses the staff into the space in the middle of the clearing and holds Liv with both arms, turning his back to everyone to face Barda with a grin. “See, dear? I had a plan.”
Barda flicks the back of his head. “I know,” she says, but it’s all relief, “I trust you. Otherwise, I would have stopped you.”
“Wait,” Orion says.
Scott stands on his tiptoes, then floats, to press a brief kiss to her lips, whispers, “Let’s go home, Barda Free.”
“Gladly, Scott Free,” she breathes. She looks to everyone else. “Find another Highfather, or choose your old one. A New God is prone to making mistakes; it is your responsibility to stay by his side and guide him regardless. He may not be Orion the Oathmaker, but he is the Orion who has protected you all since his youth. A belief in his devotion is the least of what you owe him.”
Scott turns back to them. “What she said,” he says confidently. Orion looks slightly lost, slightly baffled, and something Scott doesn’t think he’s ever seen on him before. Fear. “You will be alright,” he adds, softening. “Call me, or visit, if you ever need anything. But I have chosen my destiny. You must choose yours.” He lifts Liv.
“Scott—”
“Liv will want to know her uncle,” is all Scott says. He gives a two-fingered salute as Mother Box charges up a boomtube above them. “See you, Orion. You are always welcome. The rest of you, not so much.”
Barda, always the kinder of them both, has her parting words be, “We will come to your aid if necessary. Find your path on your own, allow your senses to be your guide as much as your heart.”
“And for gods sake,” Scott says, seconds before the boomtube crashes down, utterly exasperated, “Stop trying to make me king. Hold an election!”