19-May-2003
Title: Tears on My Heart 1/?
Rating: R
Warnings: Het, cursing, lime
Pairings: 1xH
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Notes: I love kids. (grin) And this was edited from when I'd previously posted it... somewhere on the web. Oo It's now only from Hilde's POV and in shorter parts.
The slap-pat of bare feet on the tile behind her was all the warning she hadbefore small arms flung themselves around her middle and a face, sticky with peanut butter and jelly, pressed into the small of her back. Fighting to keep her balance, she drew the back of her wrist across her forehead and placed the brush, wet with brilliant, blue paint on the drip pan next to her. If the one attached to her waist had his way, they would both be covered in the paint that was meant for the dresser she intended to put in his room.
"Mama! I made somethin'! Wanna see?"
Because her legs were beginning to ache from kneeling for so long, she reached behind her and tumbled her son into her lap, falling back as they went. He looked up at her with impish blue eyes constantly filled with mischief and light. The center of her being: every gooey inch of him.
"What have you got then?" She asked, answering his radiant, sunny smile with one of her own. Like his father, he could charm the moons.
Looking exceedingly pleased with himself, he snuggled closer and opened his hands.
It was a smooth, rounded pebble, colored with a marker to resemble what she thought was some sort of insect.
"Wow. You did a great job, Seth. What's his name?"
Pushing his bottom lip out in a near perfect imitation of a pout, he corrected, "It's a she. A lady bug. Like your pin, mama. You have to name her, because she's yours."
Thoroughly delighted and as touched as if he had given her diamonds, she scooted them across the patio so that her back rested against the house. Fashioning her expression into one of intense concentration, she tried, "How about Brumhilda?"
As if he had been tickled, her son giggled, scrunching his nose up in disgust. "Ew, no mama. That's not right. It has to be a pretty name."
She feigned shock. "But Brumhilda is a pretty name."
"Nuh uh. Relena's a pretty name." It came out as 'Ree-wee-nah'.
Wise to her son's crush, she teased, "You're just saying that because she brought you that shiny, red fire truck last time she visited us."
"No, mama," he amended, with all the solemn wisdom of his five years, "she's pretty. She smells like flowers too. I smelled'em when she hugged me."
With a faint sigh, hardly audible to a boy caught up in his own child-like dreams, she knew that, in her cut-off shorts, sweat-soaked tank-top, and shaggy hair that needed cut so badly it kept falling in her eyes, she looked like a street urchin compared to Relena. Despite being grateful for both the Vice Foreign Minister's friendship and confidence over the years, had Relena shown up right now in one of her lovely, pressed suits, looking as cool as a spring flower despite the intense summer heat, she might have been
tempted to throw the paint-brush at her to mar the perfection.
"So, you want me to name the ladybug Relena?"
"You gotta pick." He fumbled with the snaps on his short overalls, which, much like his face, was covered in the lunch he'd been eating in the kitchen while she painted.
"Relena it is. Now, after we wash your face, we'll go upstairs and put it on my dresser, okay?"
Bounding up, his attention having been secured elsewhere now that his surprise was over, he pointed to the half-painted furniture resting on old newspapers. "Is that my new dresser, mama?"
"Yes," she answered, grimacing when she pressed her fingers to her aching back and they came away as sticky as her son's face.
"Blue's a good color. It's a boy's color."
Amused, she stood. "Oh? Who told you that?"
"Gavin Kelsey." He had a habit of calling his kindergarten classmates by their first and last names.
"I see. Well, big boy, there are a lot more colors than blue." She reached for his hand, walking him into the kitchen.
His earnest, cherub face, framed by evenly cut brown hair that always caught blonde highlights in the sun, peered up at her as she wet a washcloth. "I know. I like green. Do you think green is a boy's color?"
Working at washing his face and hands while he squirmed, she replied, "I think it's a good color. It's the color of grass, and trees."
"And some bugs!" He hollered, as she wiped the cloth under his nose.
"And some bugs," she agreed.
Rinsing the cloth out, she had to smile. He was a handful, but he was her handful. The boundless energy he possessed always seemed just out of her reach, and there were some days when she wanted to shut herself in her room and scream. This was their learning experience. She was a first time mother, he was a first time kid. As far as most of her mistakes went, he was very forgiving and tolerant. Her days of loving him always outweighed her days of wishing her life was her own.
"Mama," he was examining his overalls. "Do I gotta change?"
This bore some consideration. He was dirty, but if she changed him, he was only likely to get dirty again and create more laundry. Sometimes, wanting to keep him neat couldn't overcome the hassle it created to do so. It only served to make them both irritated, and in need of a nap. There were battles she was learning were better to lose.
"No. We've cleaned your hands and face up, so that's good enough. You want to play outside some more anyway, don't you?"
"In the Sprinkler!"
"You'll need your swimming trunks for those."
"Okay! I'll go get them on and you put the Sprinkler on the hose."
She set the rock ladybug next to the sink while he scrambled up the stairs. He was good with delegating tasks, but if he had his way, she would be the one cleaning his room.
"No running in the house," she called after him absently.
The pounding slowed until he reached his room, where the sharp slam of a door echoed. Modesty and autonomy were becoming important for him now. He still needed help with his bathing, but he refused to let her pick out his clothing or aid him while he dressed.
She sighed a little. He was growing up too quickly. Something which, she knew, was the common complaint of most all parents. Maybe in the future, it would actually be something she appreciated...
The Sprinkler was in the garage off the kitchen, so she went through the door and rooted through the boxes. One fell from the shelf, landing on the cement, and pictures scattered. She picked one up, smiling. It was Duo, dressed as the Grim Reaper for Halloween. He had always been so into that holiday...
"Mama! Where's the Sprinkler?"
Jerking out of her thoughts, she bent at the waist and gathered the pictures. Seth was so quick about everything, but she strongly suspected he had thrown his clothing on the floor.
"Seth Davis, is your clothing on the floor?" She asked, finally locating the Sprinkler behind a box of maternity clothing.
"Umm... just a sec!"
"Just as I thought," she murmured to herself, tracing her route through the kitchen.
The backyard was small, but it was fenced in, and unlike many places in the colonies, it had terra. She wanted Seth to grow up as normally as possible. Normally, happily, and loved. It helped that she could run the salvage yard and mechanic shop from here. The house was directly behind the main office, and while they certainly weren't well off, they got along fine with her managing the business and managing the money.
Panting, along with the thump of heels alerted her to her son's arrival.
"I told you not to run in the house," she admonished, turning the hose on so that the Sprinkler made a small, cold arch.
"Sorry, mama," he tried, looking sheepish.
Her heart sighed, and the stern expression fled from her face. Even at five, he was charismatic. By the time he reached the dating age, she was going to have to fend him from the girls. Or, possibly, put up with all the girls he brought home.
"Whoa," she reminded herself, as panic set in, "don't get so far ahead."
As he laughed, screamed, and hurled himself through the water ("Look, mama! Watch me, mama! I can jump high, huh, mama?"), she went back to her painting, enjoying her son make a spectacle of himself. Shyness was one trait he didn't possess. He held long conversations with perfect strangers, and often gave impromptu singing performances in the grocery store. His teacher told her that it was difficult to get him to sit still. He even bounced up and down in his seat at his desk...
"If I only had half that energy..." she lamented, casting a glance at the dresser drawers drying in the yard on various pieces of their own paper. So far, they were safe from Seth.
End Part 1
(:./jen/tears1)
