First Steps

The cabin was quiet.

Well, quiet was one hell of a strong term, with Ellen screaming at the top of her lungs and Daniel sobbing hysterically while he fixed their bottles, but at least it wasn't cars and trucks and fire engines and neighbors and stuff.

Hush now, you two. Daddy's hurrying. Ellie, you're not starving. Danny-boy, breathe. The bottles are coming.

God, he was tired. Ginnie had offered to abort one, when they'd found out two were coming, but he'd wanted his babies, had paid her all his inheritance to carry them, wouldn't give them up.

Still, he should have saved enough back for a nanny.

Peter put the nipples on the bottles and went over to the sofa where they were carrying on, fat little legs kicking furious, hands reaching for him. Screams stopping at the sight of the food.

Beasts.

Spoiled beasts.

Beautiful, sweet, spoiled beasts.

He laughed, relaxing, enjoying the sudden silence, the look of pleasure in those pretty china blue eyes.

See, there? Daddy promised not to make you two starve.

The trees cast huge shadows over the little yard, into the huge bay window and the sky looked fabulous -- violets and pinks and blues. God, it was beautiful here. Oh, sweets. I want to let you grow up somewhere like this. Somewhere green and alive and not concrete. Somewhere you can go outside.

Peter had been up in the mountains for three weeks, searching for something, someplace he and the babies could afford. His place in the city was tiny.

Falling apart.

Expensive.

Not suitable for babies.

He chuckled at himself, picking Ellie up to burp because she always ate faster. Burke and Allan and the guys wouldn't recognize him now -- his hair was scraggly, he had on old jeans and a diaper on his shoulder and he smelled like baby powder and...

God, he loved them.

More than fucking, more than parties, more than the city. Hell, more than writing, and that was saying something.

Allan had stopped by before they'd headed out, all concerned eyes and frowning and 'are you sure about this weird baby thing, man'. They'd shared some hard words, harsh ones -- Allan called him a sell-out, a breeder, he'd told Allan that, at some point, life had to be about more than fucking someone, over or otherwise.

The fight had gotten louder and uglier and then Ellen started fussing, sweet little love so aware, so sensitive, and he'd been derailed, turning his back on his former fuckbuddy, gone to get his daughter and his son.

His family.

Ellie burped about the time Daniel started wriggling and he switched them, putting Danny over his knees.

Yeah, he needed to find somewhere for them, somewhere warm and safe. Somewhere where his sweets would remember making snowmen and picking flowers and playing.

He needed that for them and damn it, he'd find it.

Come on, Danny. Burp and we'll all lay down together and rest.

Ellen kicked, setting the music off on her little mobile, her happy laugh filling the cabin.