Wren and Selina have claws (laminette) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2012-07-16 00:02:00 |
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Entry tags: | batman, catwoman |
Who: Wren and Luke
What: Vacation (1/3)
Where: Evie's $50 Bellagio suite
When: When everything happens. Recently.
Warnings/Rating: Fluff. We solemnly apologize for logs comm spam.
The Bellagio was no Disneyland, but apparently to a four year old any sort of vacation was acceptable. Gus hadn’t been able to stop babbling about it for days to anyone who would listen; Jack, Finch, random passerbys on the street and at the park who smiled the way adults did when faced with particularly endearing children. It didn't seem to matter that said vacation consisted of staying in a suite for a few days either. The thrill of packing practically had him climbing the walls, even though the little boy's definition of packing involved throwing clothes into a suitcase at random and trying to fit both himself and Finch inside when he wore himself out. He'd been working night shifts since returning from California, staying with Gus until he fell asleep and trying to ensure he returned in the morning before the boy awakened, and Gus was all but glued to his side the remainder of the time. Neither of them mentioned anything about him leaving, but he knew the boy was probably still afraid of it happening again, and so he did his best to demonstrate that wasn't the case. Taking a few days off work to spend with him and Wren had never seemed like a better idea, and while his bosses were largely understanding, he was beginning to consider the possibility of finding a more kid-friendly means of employment. For now, though, he wasn't thinking that far ahead; he was simply focused on the next few days.
As much as he was looking forward to spending time as a family, Luke was also anxious to see Wren, considering they'd last been in the same room after Alexander's death. He couldn't quite manage to get that phone call out of his head either, and despite only having been apart for a short while he missed her like it had been years rather than days separating them. Gus had gone quiet when he'd told him Wren would be there too, which made him a little nervous, but he thought the fact that Gus kept asking if she really was coming, seeking ironclad validation, was promising. He so badly wanted this to go well, wanted Wren to feel like Gus' mother rather than an outsider, and he hoped it wouldn't all fall apart.
Just as he'd told Wren, Luke arrived at the hotel first with Gus and Finch in tow, along with what was probably an excessive amount of luggage but heightened the whole vacation experience for the little boy. The suite was much, much larger than his apartment, and Gus was in awe of the size, taking off to find 'his room' with the dog while Luke managed the suitcases and took a look around. After a bit of unpacking and raiding the minifridge, he managed to get Gus settled down in front of the TV while they waited for Wren. Cartoons were a perfect distraction, and he ended up glued to the screen while Luke tried to refrain from pacing as he watched the door. Maybe it was just an overwhelming desire to see her, or maybe it was leftover fear from Alexander; maybe it was both. Whatever it was, he found waiting agonizingly difficult.
After a sleepless night, Wren had finally given into exhaustion and dozed on the couch for most of the morning. The television program Jack had mentioned - Phineas and Ferb - played quietly as she napped, and she woke up wondering if she was ever going to get Gitchee, Gitchee Goo out of her head. She'd never had the kind of childhood that allowed for cartoons. There hadn't been a television in her house, and even toys were something she'd only yearned for from afar, staring at Brielle's dolls like they were something precious and forbidden. The fact that Gus, even with everything he'd been through, could enjoy something as silly as a show about little boys doing projects made her feel a little better about everything. She didn't want the little boy to have the kind of childhood she'd had. She wanted him to have the kind of childhood Luke had, and she could easily imagine Luke loving something as silly as the cartoon that was still playing as she woke up.
It was still only mid-morning, and Wren wanted to give Luke time to settle into the suite at the Bellagio, wanted to give him a chance to get Gus settled too. She hoped a vacation would be an adventure for the little boy, and she suspected there hadn't been many of those in his young life, but she couldn't be sure that he wouldn't take the change of location as something unsettling, and the fear ate at her as she made breakfast, soaked as long as humanly possible in a bath, and called the Bellagio five times to see if Luke had checked into the two-bedroom suite Evie had given them for fifty dollars a night.
Even after the desk informed her that, yes, Mr. Henry had checked in, Wren paced. She left a few notes for Selina on the phone, explaining that she needed a few days, which she hoped Selina would heed, and then she packed an overnight bag and took a taxi to Passages, deciding that giving Selina a few hours might make her more amenable to cooperating. It would also keep her from pacing a hole in the carpet at the empty Turnberry apartment, all while she looked at the clock and tried to figure out how much time Luke needed alone with Gus before she intruded.
By the time Wren arrived at the Bellagio, it was mid-afternoon, and she didn't have it in her to stall any longer. The hotel was beautiful, but she barely noticed. Long gone was the girl who had gawked at the lobby of Aubade like it was paradise. In her place was a woman in designer khaki shorts and a white, scoop-neck camisole that cost more than any scrap of fabric should. Her sandals were equally expensive, and her manicure and pedicure were obviously salon-issue, but she looked casual despite all that. She fidgeted with the long, blonde braid that was pulled over her shoulder as she waited for the elevator, and she wondered if it was possibly to die of nervousness as she waited for the doors to open to the floor Luke and Gus were on.
Even with all that, her step slowed as she neared the door to the room. She had a key - picked up at the front desk - but she didn't pull it out of her pocket, and she didn't use it. Instead, she knocked, as if she was visiting, and maybe she'd get over that in the next few days, assuming everything didn't go terribly. Butterflies flapped their wings madly in her belly as she waited.
Somehow, in the time before Wren’s arrival, Luke found himself sprawled out on the couch with Gus and Finch while some ridiculous cartoon blared out on the TV. That only entertained him for so long, however, and maybe they both had problems with sitting still, because it seemed like a perfectly valid idea to turn the couch into a makeshift fort which the dog kept trying to knock down, barking and thinking it all in good fun. Their latest attempt had collapsed upon them when the knock at the door came, and he almost didn’t hear the sound over Gus’ laughter. He hadn’t heard him sound like that in a while; usually he was so quiet, fingers crammed in his mouth and lips worried bloody, watching everything with wide eyes that had seen too much. Childhood should be about innocence, about being protected from the harshness of the world for as long as possible, and he hoped he could give his son what his parents had given him. Despite what had happened in his teen years, his childhood had been happy in its normality.
Finch looked towards the door, ears twitching, and Gus followed suit, his laughter dwindling when he realized there was someone there. He cast a glance at Luke, more uncertain than afraid, but Luke nudged him in encouragement and nodded. “It’s okay,” he told him quietly. “Remember what I told you? It’s just Wren. C’mon, we’ll go together, alright?” The little boy nodded, clambering to his feet and following close behind Luke as he rose from the mess of sheets and pillows and made his way to the door, where Finch was seated almost expectantly. He wondered why Wren didn’t just use her key, but then he realized she might just be too nervous to do so, and it made him hope with a pained sort of ache that this wasn’t a bad idea. Gus was half-hidden behind his leg, fingers wound tightly in the fabric of his clothes, but he figured that was probably just his own child-like version of nervousness; it had been a while, after all, and he couldn’t expect that everything would be perfect right off the bat.
He gave the boy one last reassuring smile before opening the door, and for a moment he forgot about how much was riding on this and simply looked at her. In comparison, Luke was somewhere past casual in cargo shorts, bare feet, and a plain black t-shirt, but this time the expensiveness of her clothes didn’t bother him and he could appreciate the way they looked on her without begrudging the money she had at her disposal. “Hi,” he said after a pause, unsure of how much, if any, affection to display in front of Gus, and he settled on brushing his fingers against hers before looking down at the boy in question. “Go on,” he coaxed, and Gus peered up at Wren from behind his cargo-clad leg, inching forward bit by bit before he spoke. “Hi.” It was an echo, quieter, shyer, but not fearful, not in the slightest.
Wren had no idea that her knock made anyone small nervous in the suite and, though she tried to listen for small footfalls or voices inside, she couldn't hear anything through the thick, sturdy door. Therefore, the only warning she had before the door opened was a second's worth of sound, a snick, as the lock clicked, and then the door was opening, and she was staring like a schoolgirl who didn't know what to say. Her gaze dropped to the little boy that was clinging to Luke's leg first, and she looked him over in silence for a moment, looking for signs of tears or a bloodied lip. Her gaze slip up then, and she smiled as she caught Luke's gaze, her own gaze girlish and a little shy and hidden behind lashes that were downswept as he brushed his fingers against hers. She looked back down when Luke coaxed Gus to greet her, and she understood the little boy's nervousness enough not to be hurt by his lack of immediate pleasure at seeing her. "Bonjour," she told Gus, greeting him before she looked up to greet Luke, her voice dropping to a near-whispered, "hi," before she motioned into the suite. "Can I come in?" she asked, posing the question to Gus, rather than Luke, and risking the little boy telling her no.
She noticed Finch then. The dog was dragging a sheet behind him from the couch fort, which he'd returned to after verifying there was no threat at the door, and she belatedly noticed how mussed both Luke and Gus looked. Her lips quirked into an entertained smile, and she reached out a hand and ruffled Gus' hair. The ruffle turned into a slip of fingers to the little boy's pudgy cheek, and she looked up at Luke as her fingers brushed against Gus' face. "Were you playing in a pillow fort?" she asked Luke, as if she thought that was the most adorable thing she'd ever heard of. And, maybe, it was. It made her feel less worried about everything, the fact that all her nervousness was preceded by crawling beneath sheets and pillows with an oversized dog. "I made Luke relocate entirely to the living room once when he was small," she informed Gus, her voice dropping to something conspiratorial, an almost-whisper shared secret. "We lived in front of the Christmas tree for days and days," she added, belatedly wondering if Gus had been allowed to have a Christmas tree in his short life. The thought made her eyes go damp, and she had to blink them clear of dampness before she reached out to ruffle Luke's hair in much the same way she had the little boy's.
Wren wasn't worried about how much affection to show to Luke around Gus, and she was pretty sure that it would only help for Gus to see anyone, especially them, being affectionate with each other. It might lead to questions, because Luke was right about those wide grey eyes missing nothing, but they'd deal with those questions when they came. She had to stretch a little to smooth Luke's hair as she had the little boy's, and her fingers trailed down over Luke's cheek with more intimacy than they had over Gus' cheek. She didn't add anything else; she just waited to be invited in, and her nerves showed in the way her fingers trembled slightly against Luke's cheek, and then against his jaw.
The way Wren stared wasn’t lost on him, though Gus was too young to realize what she was looking for. He simply stared back at her, wide-eyed but not tearful, following her movements even as her gaze slid upward and away. Luke was quiet, not wanting to interfere, not with this; Wren and Gus needed to work it out between themselves. It was instinct that made the little boy look up for validation when she asked if she could come in, but instead of giving his permission, he simply shrugged. “She’s asking you, kiddo,” Luke said quietly, and Gus bit his lip in response to the weight of making such a decision on his own. Gus might have spoken sooner, but he looked up when she ruffled his hair, almost surprised at the contact, which turned shy all over again when her fingers trailed over his cheeks. It was encouraging, perhaps, that he didn’t attempt to pull away, or even flinch at the touch. Luke flashed a smile that was far more genuine than anything he’d shown in a while when she asked about the pillow fort, and he nodded. “It’s a top secret spy hideout, actually,” he said with exaggerated emphasis, and Gus nodded enthusiastically. “Finch broked it, but we made it again and again,” he declared proudly, as though constructing a fort out of pillows and sheets was a heroic feat.
For some reason, the boy seemed to like stories about when Luke was little, and his eyes lit up at the mention of a Christmas tree. “I want to live in front of the Christmas tree too,” he said, the expression of something he wanted spoken much quieter than usual; he still wasn’t used to asking for anything, or admitting to wanting something at all. The ruffle to his hair made Luke wrinkle his nose, and he swatted playfully at her hand in a gesture that made Gus giggle from behind his hands. His expression became less teasing and more serious when her fingers slid through his hair and down to his cheek, and he sighed without thinking as he leaned into her touch.
Gus watched the exchange with that familiar expression of someone trying to figure out that which they were too young to understand, and after a long moment of hesitation and lip biting, the little boy reached out and tugged ever so lightly on the hem of her shirt before stepping back, behind Luke’s leg, and into the suite. “You can come in,” he said with childish certainty, expecting her to do just that.
That indecision on Gus' tiny face made her pulse race, and Wren felt like a little girl all over again, wanting something so very much that it ached, but unable to actually control it at all. She knew this was out of her hands, no matter how much she wanted Gus to feel comfortable around her. She knew, too, that it was out of Luke's hands, no matter how much he wanted to smooth this all over, to make her feel less like a visitor in the little boy's life. But, in the end, this was up to a confused little four-year old, and she was holding onto every bit of sanity she had left with both hands. She knew she couldn't let any of this upset her, but it was easier said than done, and it took a few careful blinks, ones hidden behind a smile at the mention of the re-creation of the top secret spy hideout, to keep the emotions at bay. "I'm impressed. Luke's never been very good at building top secret spy hideouts on his own," she managed, her voice steady and even.
She realized, belatedly, that she might have just caused a bedroom veto by telling Gus that they'd lived in the living room, but she couldn't bring herself to take it back or amend it, and she was still trying to think of a suitable way to fix that when Gus said she could come inside. She felt the fingers on the hem of her shirt before she heard his tiny, childish certainty, and she almost forgot to swat back at Luke's fingers, so captivated was she by the little boy tucking himself behind Luke's leg. "Merci, bebe," she managed, fingers sliding along Gus' cheek and ear for a moment. She walked past them into the suite with a deep breath and an intentional attempt to relax her shoulders that would have been evident to Luke, if not to the little boy.
She stopped in front of the pillow fort that Finch had destroyed (again) since she'd knocked on the door, and she looked over her shoulder at the door that was closing behind her. "I think you're going to need to build it again, Gus," she said, and then she nodded toward the larger bedroom. "I'm going to put my bag away," she added, feeling a little uncertain about where she fit in, precisely, and letting her gaze settle on Gus for a few very, very long seconds before turning for the room, scratching Finch's ear along the way and smiling when he barked happily. She told the dog not to destroy the fort in French, the other language a sure sign of her nervousness, and then she ducked into the bedroom and took a deep, deep breath.
The little boy may not have noticed Wren’s struggle to maintain her composure, but Luke did, and his smile was a little too bright and his laughter a touch forced when she said he’d never been very good at creating secret hideouts on his own. “Lucky for me I’ve got you,” he teased, looking down at Gus with undeniable fondness, who smiled shyly in return. While he was nervous enough to suggest that, despite his young age, he recognized the delicate nature of this situation, there was no denying the fact that he was very much pleased when Wren accepted his invitation and stepped inside. His brow furrowed for a moment before he spoke, his French accent butchered by youth and a lisp, yet somehow it served to make him sound all the more adorable. “De rien,” he responded, darting a glance at Luke, who nodded as he tried to suppress a laugh; his own French was horrendous, but Gus liked the language, and he liked to repeat common phrases over and over until they sank in.
Despite his determination to let things play out, Luke was having a hard time watching Wren’s uncertainty and not doing anything about it. He bit his lip and nodded wordlessly when she said she was going to put her bag away, unaware that the habit was something shared between the three of them, and even Gus looked somewhat forlorn, like he’d sensed what lay just beneath her calm, composed exterior. “You know, bud, we must be doing something wrong if Finch can keep breaking our fort,” he said, once she’d disappeared into the bedroom. The boy studied the wrecked mess of pillows and blankets, looked at Finch, and sighed. “Uh-huh,” he agreed. “So maybe we need some help. Maybe Wren has some ideas, huh? I bet she’d like that. Why don’t you ask her?” While Luke didn’t want to force Gus into anything, he figured nudging him in the right direction couldn’t hurt. The kid was shy, and he wouldn’t take the initiative on his own. Gus bit his lip, hesitating, but after a few moments seemed to come to a decision.
“Okay,” Gus conceded, and shuffled towards the bedroom, reaching out for Finch’s collar as the dog approached with a low whine. Luke watched apprehensively, his heart in his throat, but Gus didn’t chicken out or turn back, and he stopped just in the doorway before shoving a finger in his mouth, which made his voice muffled when he spoke. “Wanna help us build the fort, Wren?”
She knew Luke too well not to notice the smile that was too bright, and the laughter that was too forced, and she thought it wasn't a very good beginning, not really. Even Gus, she could tell, knew things were tense, and she knew it was up to her to turn that around. The French made her smile, though, because it felt like home in so many ways. And maybe she shouldn't remember those years with her maman fondly, but she had loved her mother very much, and growing up had taught her to cling to the good things, not the bad. "Your French is very good, bebe," she told the little boy, falling into the language she'd used those brief weeks he'd been living with her at Caesars, the lisp making it so very endearing, that tiny de rien, and she wanted nothing more than to wrap him up in her arms and never let him go.
From the bedroom, Wren had no idea that Luke intended to coax the little boy into requesting help. She was trying to soothe herself by humming an old lullaby her maman had been fond of, even as she set out a few things from her bag. She didn't take out much, and maybe it was a sign that she still wasn't sure this was going to turn out well. She didn't know how that worked, how something she wanted more than anything in the world could make her nervous enough that she could ruin it. But she knew she was heading in that direction, and she was determined to turn it around. He was only a four-year-old boy, after all, and they'd done fine together before she went to jail - well, once she'd gotten him to stop hiding everywhere. She had just kicked off her sandals and let her hair down when she heard the little shuffle of feet in the doorway of the bedroom, and she turned just in time to see Gus stop there, a finger shoved in his mouth and his other hand wound around Finch's collar, as if the dog was a furry security blanket.
She looked up, assuming Luke had something to do with this, and shooting him a grateful look. "Oui," she said, looking back down at those wide, grey eyes. "But I don't know how. You'll have to teach me," she said, taking a few tentative steps forward on bare feet. "I was really, really bad at them when you stayed with me. Remember?" she asked Gus, and she wondered if it was too late to fish a Valium out of her purse. But the little boy was watching her, and so she resisted the urge and walked to the open doorway, where she lightly touched his temple as she reached him. She followed him out, staying close enough to occasionally touch a pudgy cheek, his messy hair, but she didn't crowd him. She let him go ahead instead, and she leaned against Luke's side as she neared him, just for a moment, a sigh and the scent of vanilla and honey in her hair, and then she followed the little boy the remainder of the way to the couch, where she knelt on an overturned pillow on the floor, and looked from Gus to Luke, then back to Gus. "What do I do?" she asked with admirably-fake solemnity.
Gus didn’t have a full grasp of the French language, too young to know anything other than basic, simple words, but he liked the sound of it, and he hid his pride behind his hands with a bashful smile when she spoke, not needing to understand exactly what she’d said to comprehend the tone in which it had been spoken. However uncertain things were, Luke doubted that this could be ruined; it would take time to fix properly, maybe, and at first it might be difficult, but they were a family and sooner or later that reality would solidify to something that could never be destroyed. He’d had his chance to make progress with his son, and once he’d managed to get past the little boy’s walls they’d become inseparable. All Wren needed was the same chance, and he knew the same would happen for her. This time, there would be no jail or other complications to get in the way. She was his mother, after all, and he knew that no matter how much he’d loved his father, and how much Thomas had meant to him, no one had ever come close to replacing his own.
Luke flashed a quick smile, encouraged by the fact that Gus was doing so well, when normally he was heartbreakingly quiet around just about everyone, aside from himself and, more recently, Jack and Roger. The little boy backed up out of the doorway, Finch still at his side, and turned, looking up at her as they returned to the couch. “Uh-huh,” he said, “I remember. But I’ll help, and so will Luke.” His tone suggested that maybe he didn’t remember exactly, but he did remember her, and the more time that passed, the more at ease he was becoming. He was getting better with the touches too, slow progress, step by step, and he beamed up at Luke as he passed him, as though proud of the fact that he’d managed to get Wren to agree to help. That made him laugh, and he leaned into her when she rested against his side, a brief interlude before she moved away.
It was easier, he knew, for the little boy to have something to focus on. Luke circled around behind them, observing, as Gus picked up one of the pillows and held it out to her. “Build, like a house,” he told her. “Like me and Luke. Watch.” They’d developed a sort of rhythm, the two of them, using the smaller pillows for support while the larger couch cushions were stacked as pseudo-walls. Finch sniffed around and wuffed, but Gus shooed him away, brow furrowed in concentration as he worked on making the pillows stay upright. After a few moments he stopped, turning to look at her expectantly. “Now you try,” he encouraged, and Luke stifled a smile at how the four year old could, despite being so young, sound much older than his true age in certain instances.
She didn't have Luke's confidence and, admittedly, she didn't realize Gus was being more talkative than he normally was. She hadn't seen the little boy in months, not beyond that one morning after the incident that left him in the care of Iris for a week, and she didn't really understand how quiet the little boy had become in those months. She could tell that he didn't remember very much from their time at Caesars, but he'd just turned four then, and she couldn't remember very much from being four either. The fact that Gus beamed up at Luke proudly made her smile openly and warmly, without hesitation for once, and she watched him as he worked, drinking up the sight like a thirsty person too long denied water. She didn't have Luke's experience with fathers versus mothers, and she didn't really think there was any difference, but that was possibly just a result of her own upbringing. Regardless, it meant she didn't see any difference between them as caretakers to the little boy with the furrowed brow, and she was pretty sure Luke had never been quite that serious when he was small; she couldn't imagine it, anyway.
She didn't interrupt throughout the lesson, and she paid careful attention (more than she needed to, really), and helped keep Finch away from the precarious fort that was being constructed with scratches to furry ears and the scruff of his neck. When Gus encouraged her to try, she scooted forward on the carpet and tipped her head as she considered the remaining pillows, as if it was very challenging indeed. She reached for the smaller pillows first, and she could have mirrored Gus' work without trouble, but she sat back without the ever-important larger couch cushions that needed to be stacked as pseudo-walls. "Like that?" she asked the little boy, turning her attention on him with a touch to the crown of his head that was so light he likely didn't even feel it.
As she waited, she slid a hand along the carpet, manicured nails leaving lines in the plush, thick cream and she found Luke's fingers amid the pillows and blankets and tugged, wrapping her own fingers around his for a moment a second later. She tried to think of how to bring things up, how to say things without Gus noticing, and she held off for a second, waiting for further instruction on the care of pillow forts. In the meantime, she just scooted a teensy bit closer to where Luke was, using the need to block Finch from the precarious fort as an excuse for moving closer, and then she turned her entirely solemn attention back to the little boy. As she knelt there, she looked for differences, changes in Gus since she'd seen him last, and she kept surreptitiously looking from the little boy to Luke, comparing and contrasting, and finally sighing contentedly as she leaned forward and began correcting her mistake with the missing walls, but only after pressing an impromptu kiss to the little boy's cheek, which she fully expected him to brush away with the back of his hand, and then doing the same to Luke, so that Gus didn't feel singled out.
Luke couldn't help wondering if Wren stared at the boy the way she did because she couldn't believe he was really there, that he was real, that they could have actually created a separate little person. He felt those things quite often, and he'd much rather stay awake to watch Gus sleep than to get any himself, caught up in the reality that he had a son. His thoughts roamed to similar places and the life they could have, the three of them, while Gus worked, and he was only jolted out of his reverie when the little boy declared that it was Wren's turn to try. He watched with barely concealed amusement, suspecting that she was intentionally doing it wrong, and when she was finished Gus bit his lip, as though worried about how to correct her. It was adorable, really, and after a minute the boy shook his head. "S'good, but you forgot the big pillows. Those are the walls. See?" He demonstrated as much, and then looked back at her.
For his part, Luke was so caught up in the little boy that the feel of Wren's fingers around his own was unexpected, and he shot her a quick look of surprise before tugging back on them in response. He noticed the way she moved closer, though Gus didn't, but both noticed the way she looked back and forth between them. Gus seemed faintly puzzled by it, but that was soon forgotten as Wren began to fix her mistakes. Gus smiled at her, looking every bit his age, and he wrinkled his nose and brought a hand to his cheek when she kissed him. Whatever he might have said was lost when she kissed Luke's cheek as well, and he giggled instead. "She kissed you," he said, like he expected his father to share his views about girls and kissing, but Luke just grinned and turned to look at her. "Yeah, but I think she missed," he teased, his gaze lingering, while Gus looked between the two of them with wide eyes.
Even if the little boy couldn't understand just yet, he didn't think this kind of affection would scar Gus for life. It might even be good for him, seeing two people who cared about each other, as opposed to the terrible example he was certain the Johnsons had set.
Wren wasn't that far along in the realization process yet. She hadn't had enough quiet moments around Gus to have it really settle in that he was there, that he was theirs. Those weeks at Caesars had always felt like a temporary port in the storm, with jail looming and the very real possibility of never coming home again, and so she hadn't let herself believe. and she hadn't let herself think, not beyond the immediate concerns of getting Luke custody so that Gus didn't end up in foster care. Now, fear and Alexander and the fights about Brielle had taken center-stage for so very long, that she was just trying to catch up, to figure it all out. So it was awe, and dawning realization on her features, and the beginnings of more. She nodded when the boy looked back at her, and she very carefully corrected all her misplaced pillows into the proper formation under his careful instruction. "Like this?" she asked, the question in the inflection, even if the words were unfamiliar.
She met Luke's look of surprise with a warm smile, a soft laugh, and a touch to his cheek with her free hand. Gus' reaction to the kiss was expected, but his commentary wasn't, and the lingering gaze on Luke's face certainly wasn't. She laughed, and ran one fingertip along the bridge of Gus' nose affectionately. "You're too young not to like kisses," she told him, and she followed up the statement with a kiss to the little boy's nose, which she was fairly sure would be equally rebuffed. But that was okay. She hadn't seen much of Luke's parenting style, but she'd already figured out that it was about being "buds" and not about hugs and kisses. And maybe that's how fathers were, and she just didn't know. As for the Johnsons, she didn't need anyone to tell her they hadn't been affectionate. Luke's assertion that she'd missed was met with the tip of her head, a moment of consideration and a glance at the little boy with the wide eyes. In the end, she came to the same realization Luke did, even if neither of them said it aloud; it couldn't hurt for the little boy to see.
She leaned back, and she kissed the corner of Luke's mouth, and then she kissed him full on the lips, chaste, but slow and warm and undeniably intimate. She made a thoughtful sound as she pulled back, as if the situation required a lot of very, very careful thought. "Better that time?" she asked, glancing at Gus as she asked the question. If he took it badly, she supposed they could always knock down the pillow fort as a distraction. Or... She touched her fingers to Gus' cheek, and then she slid her hand to his belly and tickled gently, slowly, testing the waters.
For a moment Gus tipped his head to the side, puzzling through what she was saying, and while the French clearly didn’t translate, he understood the tone enough to nod. “Oui,” he lisped, obviously pleased that she’d caught on to the fine art of constructing pillow forts.
Wren was half right in her appraisal of their relationship; while he and Gus had made progress where hugs were concerned, they hadn’t made the leap to kisses just yet. Maybe it was the effect of his own relationship with his father, and even some lingering aftereffects of Thomas, who hadn’t been affectionate at all, but in truth it hadn’t concerned Luke all that much. With Wren, kisses seemed more natural, whereas they just didn’t seem to fit into the dynamic that he and Gus had developed. “Finch kisses me sometimes,” he told her, “but his are all wet and slobbery.” The kiss was met with a similar reaction as the kiss to his cheek had been, which made it clear that, while he was getting better with affection, kisses weren’t commonplace in his life with Luke. He covered his nose with his hands and scrunched up his eyes at her, but the muffled giggle made it less of a rebuff and more of a typical four year old reaction to kisses he wasn’t accustomed to.
Any doubts Luke might have had about the little boy seeing affection vanished when she kissed him, and while he managed to keep the kiss chaste, he couldn’t help sliding his fingers along her jaw and down, lingering on her shoulder when she pulled back. “Much better,” he agreed with a smile, belatedly glancing at Gus to see his reaction. The little boy seemed to be struggling to piece together what was happening, but no one looked upset, and they seemed happy, so it couldn’t be all that bad. He drew a breath to say something, but Wren tickled him before he could speak, and Gus wiggled away from her fingers with a squeak of surprise. He looked at her for a long moment, and Luke shifted on the mess of pillows and blankets, fearing the worst, but a moment later he broke out into a smile and moved a little closer. “Luke does that sometimes,” he admitted. “It makes me laugh.” He said it like it was some great mystery, and Luke sprawled out on his stomach beside Wren as the little boy spoke, propping his chin up on his hands. “She likes kisses and tickling, Gus. You’d better watch out,” he teased.
"Finch was very kissy when he was a puppy," Wren confessed, as if it was a very big secret, ducking her head to Gus' level. "He liked to eat Luke's shoes too," she added, which was true enough. Shoes were hard to keep safe back then, and Thomas' had been Finch's favorites. "He's still very slobbery, bebe?" she asked, knowing the answer was yes, but enamored of hearing the little boy talk, just because she could, and just because she was there, and because there was no catastrophe waiting outside, nothing waiting to whisk him away. She laughed when he covered his nose with his hand, and the giggle made her as happy as she could remember being in a very long time. Still kneeling, she rested her head on Luke's shoulder a moment, just quietly watching Gus giggle, as if it was something wonderful and strange. "He's beautiful," she added in a whisper, for Luke's ears rather than Gus,' the kiss coming just after, and her gaze holding Luke's for a few long seconds as Luke's fingers slid along her jaw.
She could see the effort to understand on the little boy's face, and she wondered at what point they should explain things to him. She didn't have any practice in this, and she had no plan and, thus far, she'd been counting on Luke to know what Gus was ready to know and when he was ready to know it. She knew there wasn't a rulebook either, no guidelines to follow; she wished there were. But none of that seemed to matter when the little boy squeaked and smiled at being tickled. Unlike Luke, she hadn't really worried he would take that badly. It was her overwhelming desire to scoop Gus up in her arms that she worried the little boy would take issue with, not tickling. "Does it?" she asked of the tickling making Gus laugh, and she shot Luke a questioning gaze as he sprawled out beside her on the floor. "Is Luke ticklish?" she asked, the question entirely directed at Gus. She laughed when Luke teased the little boy, and she ran a hand along Luke's back innocently, over his shirt, the caress an unthinking thing for a few long seconds. "Or we could just tickle you instead, Luke," she suggested, looking at Gus hopefully. "But I'd need help," she said very, very seriously. "And the pillow fort might fall down." Because this was a serious consideration before pouncing and tickling, which was obviously currently a possibility. Her fingers had found back of Luke's collar, fingertips trailing over the nape of his neck as she waited for Gus to consider his options.
Gus shook his head and tugged on one of Finch’s ears, which earned him a soft bark of protest. “Shoes aren’t food, silly,” he informed the dog, despite the fact that he’d gotten better with shoe-eating over the years. Luke ducked his head at the memory, because he knew whose shoes had been the puppy’s favorite, and even the smallest thought of him brought back that familiar ache, as fresh as it had been all those years ago. He managed to recover by the time Gus replied that oui, Finch was still slobbery. Maybe someday he’d tell his son about Thomas, but that day was still far off in the future, when Gus was older; not now, when he was too young to understand very much of anything. He nodded when Wren said that Gus was beautiful, leaning against her as their eyes locked. “I know,” he agreed in a whisper. “I think he gets it from you.”