Who: Neil (+ a baby) What: Narrative. Where: Ella's place. When: Recently (after this.) Warnings/Rating: Awkward?
The first thought Neil had upon awakening was what the fuck.
Dreaming about home? Yeah, that made sense. Dreaming about some blonde woman who couldn't wake up and her baby? Not so much. The strangest thing was that he distinctly recalled an address and something about a key under the mat, and while he normally could have shrugged it off as nothing, there was a niggling in the back of his mind that refused to abate. Maybe it was just a dream, but maybe not; what was the harm in investigating? If there was no 53 North Boulevard, and no motherless baby, then he could continue on with his day without constantly wondering what if.
He waited a few hours, and then he hailed a cab, gave the address, and sat back in the seat to wait. The entire drive was spent mulling over the dream, the woman, and the child; he remembered her name was Beth, but he hadn't asked for her mother's name. He should have. Should've given his own name, too. But if none of it was real, then it didn't matter, did it? Except if it was, then it did. Shouldn't he be concerned with trying to wake the woman up, wherever she was? It sounded like a coma, or maybe some weird door shit, but that would be one hell of a coincidence.
Nearly twenty minutes later, it turned out that 53 North Boulevard existed. He stared long enough that the cabbie asked him, rather irritably, if he was getting out, and Neil hastily shoved a wad of bills at the man before tumbling out onto the sidewalk. Right. Key under the mat. He had no idea what he was actually expecting, but yeah, there was a key under the mat. Just like the dream lady had said.
This was either some kind of eerie coincidence, or that dream had been all too real.
Once he had the key in the lock, he turned the knob, and the quiet interior of a space much, much smaller than his Aria suite, yet significantly warmer, greeted him. The dull murmur of a television was just audible, and he barely took two steps inside before an older woman appeared around the corner, frazzled and dark-eyed, and immediately started yelling at him in Spanish once she saw him. Neil was horrible with foreign languages, but she sounded really, really pissed, and he was pretty sure he heard a word that stood for police somewhere in there. Fuck.
"Hey, no, I had the key," he protested over her steady stream, holding it out as though it was his golden ticket. "I'm here for-- Beth? The baby? Her mother sent me. It's okay. Listen, please, Beth's mother sent me."
That seemed to calm the woman down, albeit marginally, though she still glared at him suspiciously from where she stood. More Spanish, then a Miss Ella? in a heavily accented tongue, and hell, he decided to assume that was the blonde woman's name. "Yeah, Ella. Beth's mom. She sent me, because-- because something came up. She's really, really sorry, but I can look after her now." The words spewed out before he could even think about what he was doing, and Neil couldn't seem to make himself stop.
Fifteen minutes later, after more angry Spanish, more reassuring and repetition, and pulling out every bit of identification he owned to prove he wasn't a convicted felon, the woman was mollified enough to show him to Beth's nursery. Yeah, she was definitely the dream kid; people said all babies looked alike, but he'd know this one anywhere. The poor woman had obviously been watching her far beyond what was in her job description, so Neil sent her home, agreeing to meet back here tomorrow afternoon to prove that baby Beth was being taken care of or whatever, and when the sitter finally did leave, it was with his address and phone number in her pocket.
Not two minutes after the sitter left, Beth started crying.
That was when Neil realized he had no idea what the hell he was doing. God, he was such an idiot. Some woman showed up in his dream and asked him to look after her kid because she couldn't wake up, and here he was, actually doing it. Or trying to, at least. He held the baby just as he had in dreamland, like she was made of crystal, but that didn't work, and neither did his awkward attempt at rocking; if anything, the kid only cried more.
Okay. Okay. Maybe she wanted her bottle. There was stuff around here, right? He'd get her to stop crying, pack a bag, and take her back to Aria; staying in someone else's house was just too weird. "I hope your mom wakes up soon, kid, wherever she is," he told the wailing infant. Yeah, he really hoped she did.