Rhymes With Maybe

Packhouse

The word was Baby.

Andrei was being adorable, squeeing and laughing at everything the young wolf did, from making faces to tickling to playing with his feet. He even ate all his food, without a complaint. Brock didn’t see why he complained at all, the gourmet things they mushed into those little bottles. Everything was just fine.

That is, until his mother left.

Suddenly nothing Brock could do was right. The child was as stubborn, if not more so, than both his parents combined, and he refused to do anything even remotely helpful.

This was how Brock was found crouched in front of his high chair, cheerios in his hair and his eyes locked with the child’s. Low cooing sounds could be heard occasionally, but which of them it was coming from could not be fathomed.

The opening of the door caused Brock to blink, causing a victorious squeal from Andrei and a rain of cheerios to Brock’s face. Next came the child’s laughter, though Brock’s face had fallen into an elaborate pout.

“Look what you’ve done, Volchonka.”

The two of them were hard to look at. The baby with him seemed to point towards everything that she had given up, didn't have, and even with that just looking at him like that. Whenever she looked at him as he was now, all she saw was the past. Like that he looked so...

Her's. He looked like hers.

When he had first comeback, all those months ago, she was older, he was older - they were both different, and she could agree that the past was the past. Now however, that wasn't the case - the past was right in front of her. Telling her all that she couldn't have. Eighteen... Eighteen would have been just about their best years, before she was too preoccupied with the future and whether she was in his. Eighteen had been perfect.

It hurt to look at that perfect.

But he had asked. She couldn't deny him anything - not after everything she already had - if he asked, she'd come, and she had.

It felt like she stood there in the doorway for a lifetime going over what might have been, what wasn't going to be, but in actuality it couldn't have been for a few moment until Brock blinked and blamed her for it.

"You're losing your touch Pentu. Can't go blaming it all on me, that's just childish." A soft smile played on her lips as she moved closer to the two boys that already occupied the room. She greeted one with a nod, and gave the other one a quick soft tickle causing a giggle from the baby. "He's a sweet boy; I don't know if I ever told you congratulations."

Her gaze which she meant to be normal couldn't stop lingering on him, eventually she shook her head, picking up one of the fallen cheerios, "Sorry, its just... I'm older than you - I've never been older than you... obviously."

"Andrei is an evil mastermind, using you like that. It's the only reason he won." The man-turned-teen narrowed his eyes at the baby, though the child's giggle caused a half grin to creep onto his face. Something undefinable flashed behind his eyes as he watched his Volchonka with his son, and in all honesty, Andrei seemed most taken with her.

He laughed at her words, a boyish grin taking over his features, even as he shook the cheerios out of his hair. "You've always been more mature, though. you've got that." He leaned closer to the baby, making a kissy face that Andrei waved a tiny fisted hand at. Dodging, Brock pressed a kiss to the child's forehead, pulling another half-giggly cry from Andrei.

"I totally called you for a reason, by the way, Volchonka. I just... don't remember why..." He frowned slightly, trying to figure out what it was. "My memory hasn't been the best lately. Almost as bad as it was back then."

She rolled her eyes at the man - just the same, always the same. You'd think she'd get use to him being the same but she didn't. Some days she could get passed it, remember Eli and everything she was gaining instead of losing, and other days... it wasn't so easy.

"I don't know if I was that mature," she mused as she couldn't stop focusing on the cereal scattering the chair, the floor, and the lone one still stuck in Brock's hair. Reaching over she plucked that one way first before it drove her any more insane, and proceeded the methodically pick up the rest of them, "I acted less like a child, but I don't think it I was really that mature. I don't really think it was a good thing either... not being a child..." she frowned at the last of the cheerios she was holding before shaking her head and walking over to the waste bin, dropping them inside.

Frowning at her hands for a moment, she then felt the deep rooted need to go over to the sink and wash them. It was a recent compulsion she wasn't entirely happy with cropping up. Kallie had felt like she had been managing all her odd little 'quirks' quite well for a number of years, and now all of a sudden not only was she not managing the old ones (the fact that she hadn't been able to ignore the cheerios for more than a few minutes proof of that) but she was gaining new ones. With her fist clenched she thought she might actually be able to resist it, but the cycling voices in her head telling her that she needed control, and needed this to keep control got so loud that there was nothing left to do but follow the order.

As she turned on the tap - making sure it was warm not cold water - she glanced over her shoulder at the boy, "Well that would be because you are eighteen, body, mind... I imagine you're brain's gone back to the stage it was then - in development. Brains aren't done developing until your mid twenties you know," she moved to the soap, her lips moving as she counted under her breath, one, two, three. There had to be three squirts of soap, "Was it to do with Andrei?" she paused in her talking to count the seconds in her head, lather, wash, "I can't imagine that you'd need me for much else."