Hush little baby....
Jake wouldn't stop crying, and Tommy didn't know what to do.
He'd fed his baby, rocked him, shook the rattle. He'd changed his diaper. Held him. Put him down. Made funny faces. Tried to sing a lullaby.
Everything he'd learned how to do in the scant month or so he'd been the caretaker of this tiny little life, he tried. All of them failed.
They'd left the hostel where they'd been staying upon first arrival at World's End, and now had their own small apartment. So there wasn't even anyone there he could ask-- especially at this time of night. At least no one would be yelling at the baby for crying - that'd been a problem in close quarters.
"You can't help crying, can you Jake? You don't know how to say words yet. You can't tell me what's wrong."
The baby snuffled and fussed, as Tommy walked the floor with him in arms.
"I wish you could though. That'd make this a lot easier if you could say hey --- hey Da---"
It occurred to him that he didn't know whether or not Jake should call him Dad. What if he wasn't really Jake's father? The ex-wife had refused to get paternity testing done so it was anyone's guess. Sometimes Tommy lay in bed with Jake beside him, studying his features, trying to see himself in them. But he was bad at facial recognition. He supposed he could get the test done here in World's End, now that the baby was in his custody. But part of him was scared of the answer. What if Jake wasn't his baby? What then?
He'd still love the boy. Still take care of him. But he'd be scared all the time that Jake would know somehow. That he'd grow up and demand to know his REAL father, and say Tommy hadn't been good enough. That he'd remember somehow times like these when Tommy hadn't the slightest clue what to do.
He frowned as he felt the baby's forehead. Jake felt warm. He might have a fever. "Shit," he said, then corrected himself, because one shouldn't swear in front of babies. "Shoot. We got to get you some of that baby medicine, I bet." He'd seen it at the local pharmacy when he'd picked up the diaper rash cream, but he hadn't thought to get a bottle then because Jake hadn't been sick then. But he'd remembered looking at the box, which said fever relief.
"That's what we'll do," he said, and tucked Jake into his carrier. He put tiny socks on his boy's feet, and tucked his blanket around him before strapping him in. "We'll walk over to the pharmacy and get you that tonight, and then tomorrow we'll call the doctor to get you looked at. Deal?"
The baby snuffled in response, which was good enough for 'yes', Tommy figured. He locked up the house and carried Jake out into the night to walk downtown for the medicine he needed.
He'd fed his baby, rocked him, shook the rattle. He'd changed his diaper. Held him. Put him down. Made funny faces. Tried to sing a lullaby.
Everything he'd learned how to do in the scant month or so he'd been the caretaker of this tiny little life, he tried. All of them failed.
They'd left the hostel where they'd been staying upon first arrival at World's End, and now had their own small apartment. So there wasn't even anyone there he could ask-- especially at this time of night. At least no one would be yelling at the baby for crying - that'd been a problem in close quarters.
"You can't help crying, can you Jake? You don't know how to say words yet. You can't tell me what's wrong."
The baby snuffled and fussed, as Tommy walked the floor with him in arms.
"I wish you could though. That'd make this a lot easier if you could say hey --- hey Da---"
It occurred to him that he didn't know whether or not Jake should call him Dad. What if he wasn't really Jake's father? The ex-wife had refused to get paternity testing done so it was anyone's guess. Sometimes Tommy lay in bed with Jake beside him, studying his features, trying to see himself in them. But he was bad at facial recognition. He supposed he could get the test done here in World's End, now that the baby was in his custody. But part of him was scared of the answer. What if Jake wasn't his baby? What then?
He'd still love the boy. Still take care of him. But he'd be scared all the time that Jake would know somehow. That he'd grow up and demand to know his REAL father, and say Tommy hadn't been good enough. That he'd remember somehow times like these when Tommy hadn't the slightest clue what to do.
He frowned as he felt the baby's forehead. Jake felt warm. He might have a fever. "Shit," he said, then corrected himself, because one shouldn't swear in front of babies. "Shoot. We got to get you some of that baby medicine, I bet." He'd seen it at the local pharmacy when he'd picked up the diaper rash cream, but he hadn't thought to get a bottle then because Jake hadn't been sick then. But he'd remembered looking at the box, which said fever relief.
"That's what we'll do," he said, and tucked Jake into his carrier. He put tiny socks on his boy's feet, and tucked his blanket around him before strapping him in. "We'll walk over to the pharmacy and get you that tonight, and then tomorrow we'll call the doctor to get you looked at. Deal?"
The baby snuffled in response, which was good enough for 'yes', Tommy figured. He locked up the house and carried Jake out into the night to walk downtown for the medicine he needed.