Ireland is a beautiful country. But Neil couldn’t quite appreciate it. He found himself in the middle of a very unpleasant situation. No, unpleasant wasn’t the word. Nasty. That was the word he was searching for.
He was in a small town way out in the Irish countryside. He could have been anywhere. As a British ex-patriate who spoke the language, Neil had found himself a niche in France. He liked the people, he liked his practice. In fact, he missed his practice. Living at the chateau was no hardship, but he wasn’t a doctor there. He was just Maddy’s husband, Connor’s father, and Michael and Nikita’s friend.
And now he was here. A stand-in for his wife. On quasi-Section business. Oh, she claimed that it wasn’t. Exactly. But that was just the way Maddy liked to mince words. Section was involved somehow. He just knew it.
He knocked on the door of the rundown house at the end of the block. One house looked much like another in this town. None of them well-to-do. A slatternly woman dressed in a housedress came to the door. Eventually. Her name was Brenna. He’d never seen anyone who looked less like a Brenna than this woman. Old before her time, the woman looked vaguely irritable. That didn’t surprise him. He had only been in town an hour, and he felt close to agitated himself.
There was a deal involved. He was supposed to contact someone about a baby. When he had the baby firmly in his possession, then, and only then, he was authorized to pay the family involved a ridiculous amount of American money. To stay out of the picture. Forever.
Simple. Except the woman didn’t have the baby. Didn’t want to see the baby ever again. It seemed that the young mother, barely into her teens, became pregnant as the result of a rape. As distasteful as that sounded, it got worse. When she found herself pregnant, her family, being the religious zealots that they were, blamed the girl, instead of the rapist. After enduring what must have been sheer torture at the hands of her own family, the girl died shortly after giving birth. All attempts to find out what happened to her met with a stonewall.
Neil had little stomach for what followed. But he was bound to follow through on his ‘mission’, or he knew that Maddy would jeopardize her own life to come here. He was well aware that she hadn’t told him everything. She claimed that she was protecting him. What he didn’t know couldn’t get him into trouble. Neil wasn’t entirely convinced of the truth of that.
What was so important about this baby anyway? What was one more Irish baby in the grand scheme of the world? God, Maddy acted as if the baby belonged to Declan or something. Neil froze. Wondering why his mind chose that particular moment to put those particular pieces of the puzzle together in that particular way.
***
"Kita?" Michael crept into the darkened bedroom where his wife lay napping.
She pretended not to hear him. Her pregnancy made it difficult for her to handle her emotions, and she was often inexplicably moody. But she was still upset over spanking Faith. No matter how convinced she was that she did the right thing, it felt wrong in her heart. A tear trickled down the bridge of her nose.
Michael brushed it away with his hand. She gasped. She never heard him sit down on the edge of the bed. "Kita..."
"Oh, Michael..." She threw herself into his arms, and he held her, gladly. He’d been so afraid that she was going to withdraw, withhold herself from him. That was one thing he found increasingly hard to bear. The longer they were together, the more he depended on her being there. Their bond had deepened to the point where they were basically inseparable. If anything ever happened to change that, well...he couldn’t even think that way.
"My Kita..." He rocked her side to side, the slow rhythm soothing both of them.
"Hold me, just hold me, Michael. Tighter." She knew she had hurt Michael. In her effort to strike out at someone, after spanking Faith, she knew she had hurt him. For that, she was sorry. But she hoped Michael understood.
"Ssh, ssh, ssh. No more tears, doucette." He pressed a kiss to her cheek and released her. He wiped the remainder of the tears from her eyes with his fingers. His expression was dark, unreadable in the dim light.
"I’m sorry, Michael, I never meant to hurt you," she blurted out, unable to bear him thinking, even for another moment, that she would willingly inflict pain on him. Or re-open old wounds.
"I know, love," he replied tersely. It was impossible for her to tell what he was thinking now, and that frustrated her no end.
"I didn’t mean what I said. I know you couldn’t hurt Faith or Chris without hurting yourself."
Michael’s eyes closed, hiding whatever emotion briefly surfaced there.
"Michael?" Nikita sought answers, but there were none. There was a long pause.
"Kita...this isn’t about you and me. It’s about what Faith did. Or might do again."
He pulled her hands into his, staring at the way her fingers automatically interlaced with his. He brought their joined hands to his lips and kissed them. "I won’t let anyone hurt you. Not even Faith. Or Chris." He leaned over and kissed her, and she tasted salt on her lips. He was crying. She knew it. "You’re too important to me."
She made a tiny sound and reached out, trapping his face against her chest. His cheek felt so warm against her breast. "You know I feel the same way. I love you, Michael." He closed his eyes, content that peace of mind had been restored.
"In the future..." Michael said huskily, "maybe it would be better if we punished them together."
She threaded her fingers through his cinnamon-colored hair a few times before kissing the top of his head. "That sounds like a good idea," she whispered. "We’re always stronger together than we are apart."
He wanted to weep. She always understood what he meant, his bright angel.
Madeline had a bad phone connection. It sounded like Neil said that the mother was dead and the baby gone. That couldn’t be. She had reliable sources in that part of the world, and they told her that the baby was with its family. Wait, she thought. There were two families involved. The baby’s mother’s family. Which Neil had just successfully eliminated from the picture. And the baby’s father’s family.
Madeline nearly dropped the phone. She hated to bring the baby’s father’s family into this. But maybe they were already heavily invested. Someone had to be raising that baby. It was nearly a month old, by her calculations.
***
Declan walked into the chateau, his arm casually draped around his lover. He and Birkoff were chatting animatedly about the twins’ birthday plans. Birkoff wanted to throw another party. He was so enamored of his goddaughter, Faith, it was sweet.
"Sey, Faith is too young to appreciate all your efforts."
"She is not. She’s very precocious."
"Well, we’ll all enjoy the chance to get together and have a good time, just the same, so it’s not for nothing, is it?" Declan grinned at Birkoff. "Besides, in case you’d forgotten, there is another twin involved..."
"Oh, yeah, Chris. Well, Chris is so...."
"What? Dull? You want to say dull, don’t you, Sey? Just cause he isn’t as colorful as your Faith doesn’t make him dull. He’s got hidden depths, that child. Mark my words."
Birkoff’s dark eyes twinkled. "So you say. Still waiting...."
"Ack, you’re just teasing me, Sey! You know how much I love that boy!"
"Yeah..." Birkoff reached up to stroke Declan’s face. "Not nearly as much as I love you, though."
Declan grabbed onto Birkoff’s hand and kissed it. A loving look came into his warm grey eyes. "I think someone got bitten by a sweet bug this morning, y chree."
Birkoff heard someone approaching and instinctively went to withdraw his hand, but Declan held onto him. "Old habits die hard, don’t they, Sey?"
Before he could answer, Madeline was upon them. "Birkoff, could I speak to you for a moment please?"
Shit, Sey thought, for one second, he had such a strong flash of deja vu, he thought he was back at Section One, and Madeline had just commanded, "In my office."
***
When they were alone, Birkoff began to feel vaguely disquieted. Something was wrong. Very wrong. He could feel it. Every nerve in his body was screaming.
"Maddy? What is it? Is it something about Declan?" Birkoff’s ability to read people and situations had always been one of his gifts. He made an intuitive leap that might or might not make her job easier right now.
"In a manner of speaking," she said slowly.
"Jeez! I can’t stand it when you do that dance, Madeline! Don’t play games with me, not when it concerns Declan! Okay?" Birkoff didn’t know who was more surprised by his outburst. Madeline or himself.
"All right, Birkoff," she agreed.
She composed herself carefully. It was important that this be handled precisely. "You know that Neil went away?"
"Yeah, on business, you said. Not that I believed that. I mean, what kind of business, Maddy?"
"I’m getting to that." She began to pace, very slowly. "He went to Ireland, Birkoff."
She waited for Birkoff’s reaction. It wasn’t long in coming. "What’s...in... Ireland, Madeline?" If she didn’t know better, she would have thought Birkoff’s tone was distinctly chilly, even hostile.
"A baby."
The room was so silent, but it was an eerie silence. Like the kind of silence just before a bomb exploded.
"Whose...baby?" Birkoff barely managed to choke out. His eyes filled with tears, and he bit his lip, hard, to keep it from trembling.
Madeline paused, choosing her next words with great care. "It could be Declan’s..."
Tears burst from his eyes, as he dropped his head and wailed, "Why are you telling me this, Madeline?" Birkoff buried his face in his hands and sobbed uncontrollably.
"Because you’re very special to Declan. He’s going to need a lot of support, Birkoff. You’re the only one he really trusts, outside of me. You’re the only one who can get him through this."
"Does he know?" Birkoff swiped at his nose and eyes with the back of his hand.
"No. Not yet."
"Is this a...a mission baby?" He clung to the hope, however slim, that this baby was the product of a forced act of lovemaking.
"No." Her voice was so certain.
Birkoff fell apart. Madeline couldn’t bear to see such pain. She deeply regretted having to bring Birkoff into this so early, but he was the only one that Declan could depend on. He had to know.
Madeline held Birkoff, and he pressed his wet face against her shoulder. "You knew it couldn’t be a mission baby, Birkoff. Declan has been outside too long for that. Why did you even ask?"
"I wanted it to be true. It can’t be his, Maddy. It can’t. He wouldn’t do that to me."
"No, Birkoff, he wouldn’t." She held him for a few moments more.
"He wouldn’t. I know he wouldn’t. He loves me. Only me." Birkoff closed his eyes. He didn’t want to know any more.
"Birkoff...I need you to hear what I’m saying now. Are you listening?"
He pushed away from Madeline with an effort. Brushing his hair out of his eyes, he stared at her, his eyes like black pools of grief. "Yes."
"What I was going to say was...the baby could be Declan’s..." Birkoff started to cry again when he heard that, but she held a finger to his lips, effectively silencing him.
"...and yours."
Birkoff choked back a sob. "You’re buying us a baby?" He didn’t know whether to feel relieved or outraged.
Madeline sighed. This was going to be a bit more difficult than she thought.
***
Neil waited in the cold winter air, his cheeks reddened, his breath making puffs of white. This was the other family’s house. His family’s house. The father of the baby. The rapist. Neil didn’t want to go through with this interview. But he knew he had no choice. The story was starting to come together, and as awful as it sounded, it made sense.
From what he could piece together, the father was someone well known here. A terrorist of some repute. Like many Irishmen in this part of the country. The mother, on the other hand, was a sixteen-year old girl. A girl who knew him by reputation only. It wasn’t seduction. It was rape, pure and simple. It was an assertion of power over someone weaker.
Neil pondered. Why did that sound familiar to him? He shook his head, as if to clear it. The father left immediately afterward. When the girl found out she was pregnant, she told her family. Abortion was out of the question. They threatened to disown her, they all but shunned her for the duration of her pregnancy. That was why, when she finally gave birth, she gave up. On her baby. On life.
Some said she died from complications. But Neil read between the lines. The girl willed herself to die. With nothing to live for but pain and shame, she couldn’t survive. With the girl’s death, the family rejected the baby outright. Eventually, Brenna, the eldest of seven girls herself, went to the father’s family. Not for help. But to give up the baby. For good.
Unfortunately, the father’s family wanted nothing to do with raising the baby either. The baby was still here. But not for long. Neil waited impatiently. He didn’t know who the bastard was who fathered the child, and he suspected he didn’t want to know. But the baby...the baby was an innocent. Not responsible for the sins of its father or its mother.
The door abruptly opened. Neil’s mouth dropped open in shock. Standing before him was a woman who was the very image of someone he knew. Declan.
***
When Madeline finished explaining the details of the baby’s birth, Birkoff felt like crying all over again. That anyone could do something this awful to another human being was terrible enough. But that an innocent life could be lost in the balance was worse.
"Why did you think of us, Madeline? We’ve never said anything to anyone about wanting to be parents." He remembered his promise to Declan, and he admitted nothing.
"That’s true. But there is more to this story."
"Such as?"
"Such as who the father was, Birkoff," Madeline said softly. "That’s why I needed to tell you. So you can help Declan deal with this."
"Deal with what, Madeline?"
"It’s Declan’s family that doesn’t want the baby, Birkoff."
"I don’t understand."
"Declan’s brother raped Rosaleen McAllister. The first week of April." Birkoff began shaking his head, slowly, back and forth, chanting, "No, no, no..."
"The baby was born on Christmas Day, Birkoff."
"No, no, no..."
"The baby is Justin’s."
"Justin is dead!!!"
"Yes, Birkoff. But he was very much alive in Ireland in April. He went there trying to find leads on Declan. He found nothing but a very scared teenage girl. He raped her and left her pregnant." Madeline grabbed Birkoff by the shoulders and shook him.
Birkoff laughed harshly. "What did his family say when he suddenly turned up alive, Madeline? Welcome back?"
Madeline grimaced. "Apparently, they never forgave Justin for the dishonor he heaped upon their heads. Being a terrorist was the least of his sins. What he did to Declan was unforgettable...and unforgivable. Declan’s mother never really got over it." She dropped her eyes, knowing that Declan could never go back to Ireland, could never see his family again, or reassure them that his life had taken an unexpected turn for the better.
"Look, I know you don’t want to hear this, Birkoff, but the baby is innocent of all this. The baby doesn’t know it was created out of violence. Would you wish it to die, alone and afraid? And unloved?"
Unexpressed emotion caught in her throat. She was a mother herself now. Her heart cried for this child. This child rightfully belonged to people who would love it and cherish it. It was part of Declan’s family. His blood.
"Nooo..." Birkoff whispered. Feeling the push and the pull of the conflict he faced, he stood there uncertainly. This was like a dream. A baby. Born of Declan’s family. For them to raise as their own. But then...like the inevitable cloud on the horizon, there was Justin. Would Declan be able to get past that? Would he be able to see that the baby was but another innocent victim?
As if she knew, as if she read what was in his mind...and his heart..., Madeline played her trump card.
"Birkoff...the baby is barely a month old. A girl. She’s got the look of Declan, Birkoff. His hair, his eyes..."
Birkoff closed his eyes, then opened them again. They were curiously clear now. He’d come to a decision. "She’s mine, Maddy," he whispered fiercely. "Just tell me what to do."
In a flash of what could only be described as surrealistic nightmare, Neil found himself introducing himself to Declan’s mother. The woman was understandably wary of strangers, and a British stranger at her doorstep did nothing to allay her anxiety.
"I don’t need a doctor," she said, eyeing him suspiciously. "And if you’re another McAllister in disguise, you can just pack yourself up and go home right now."
"I’m not a McAllister. My name is Neil Hunter. I’m a doctor. Here to see the baby."
"What do you want with the baby?"
"I’ve come to take the baby off your hands." Neil winced at his choice of words, but the situation was undeniably awkward.
"What makes you think I’m interested in your offer?"
Neil produced a thick wad of American money and, despite the woman’s evident distrust, she clearly showed interest.
"Is that supposed to change my mind?"
"It might." Neil wasn’t entirely convinced that money was the key, however. If the woman was anything like Declan, money was not the primary factor motivating her at all. But then, Neil wondered why, if the woman was anything like Declan, she would give up all rights to a baby that was blood kin. Declan wouldn’t.
No, Declan wouldn’t. But maybe the woman wasn’t like Declan. Maybe she was more like Justin. Now there was a provocative thought. He wasn’t sure he wanted to talk to anyone resembling Justin. But it wouldn’t do to let her know that.
"I know what you must be thinking," the woman said dryly.
"You do?" Neil doubted that. Seriously.
"You’re thinking what kind of a woman gives up a poor defenseless baby? Part of her family? A grandchild, at that."
Neil made more of an effort to keep his thoughts to himself and off his face. But he couldn’t resist asking. He had to know. "Well?"
The woman sagged against the kitchen table. "I’m not the heartless bitch you might think. I love my family. Even the ones who turned on their own kin." Neil assumed she meant Justin.
"But something happened. Years ago. It nearly killed me then, and it left me, well...I’m not a well woman."
Neil regarded her with a somewhat kinder eye. "What happened?"
"You must understand. I had eight children. Three died over the years. All three sons. The girls, bless ‘em, all healthy. But they all married or moved away or both. Tis the way of things. No work here. They had to go. Tis a poor country, after all."
Neil nodded encouragingly. "Tell me about your sons...."
She turned tragic dark grey eyes on Neil. Once again, Neil was struck by how much Declan resembled his mother. But for the fact that her once red hair was now shot through with white, she was still a striking woman.
"My greatest disappointment in life." She sank down into the chair at the table, bracing her sturdy arms on the table before her.
"My eldest son, Rory, died when he was only a boy. Pneumonia. My next eldest, Justin...so intelligent, he could have gone to university. Made something of himself. Ha!" She laughed harshly. "I should have realized then what I know now."
"What’s that?"
"That it wasn’t intelligence at all. It was animal cunning," she spat viciously.
Neil blinked in surprise. Then he realized that he agreed. His surprise was only that the monster’s mother recognized him for what he was.
Despite what appeared to be years of vigilantly guarding her secrets, Declan’s mother finally unburdened herself. Maybe there was something about Neil that engendered trust. Or maybe it was just that she knew there was little time left to her, and she needed someone to know the truth. Before she met God.
She had a kind face, Declan’s mother. Like Brenna, old before her time, but also a woman of some sensitivity once. Neil wondered if that was where Declan drew his artistic temperament.
"There’s not a day goes by I don’t blame myself for what happened."
Neil wasn’t sure what she was referring to. "What happened?"
"Justin. Justin happened. I can’t fault him becoming a bloody terrorist. He had a violent streak in him, even as a boy, and he found a way to indulge it."
"But there are so many young men’s lives wasted in the pursuit of terrorism. So like I say, that’s not Justin’s worst sin in my eyes. Or God’s."
"What did he do?" Neil asked, knowing he was about to hear a very personal accounting of what happened to Declan all those years ago. He was almost afraid to hear it, but he didn’t dare stop the woman now. She was deep in the past, and though he was no psychiatrist, he could see how this was cauterizing what remaining wounds there were.
"To understand what happened...how it was truly the great tragedy of my life...you have to know about my youngest son. Declan." Neil couldn’t help himself. He felt her pain in a curiously personal way, and he reached across the table to take her hand in his. She looked stunned, perhaps that a stranger would touch her, perhaps that a stranger could even begin to understand. Staring at their hands, she found herself speechless for long moments.
"Declan was the one who was most like me, y’see. Oh, they all had the silver-grey eyes. My mother said it was probably a curse put on me and my children by the wee folk. I laughed at her. Such utter nonsense."
She raised troubled grey eyes to meet Neil’s kind blue eyes. "But now I wonder..."
"Declan was sensitive like me. I don’t mean weak, mind you, just...sensitive. He always felt things so deeply, that boy. My husband, Sean, dead these many years, was a drunk. Many are. I don’t know why it surprised me. He wasn’t a good drunk. He beat me...and Declan...Declan put himself in the way of him far too many times. On my behalf. To protect me."
"That was how he was, my Declan." Even now, it hurt. Neil could see the pain, still fresh, in her eyes.
She wiped at her eyes. "Justin." The way she spat his name was like something vile lay on her tongue. "Justin was like his father. Tough. Brutal, even. He liked to hurt people. He despised weakness."
She stopped. The echo of her last words faded away slowly before she spoke again. "He despised Declan."
She buried her face in her hands. "It was my fault!"
Neil frowned, placing a hand gently on the older woman’s arm. "It wasn’t your fault."
"What do you know about it?" she screamed. "Do you want to know what Justin did? He killed Declan! Just as sure as I’m sitting here talking to you now!"
Neil found the entire conversation disconcerting. Did she mean Declan’s Section "death" or something else? Neil found himself remembering what he said to Maddy shortly after learning about The Incident. What kind of a man beats, rapes, and humiliates his own brother?
She rocked back and forth in the threadbare chair, its thin frame creaking ominously. "It was my fault!" she sobbed. "When Sean died, Justin merely took his place. One abuser traded for another."
Neil tried to console the woman, but she was beyond heartbroken. "It was me Declan was protecting that night! Justin would have killed me, for sure, but Declan saved me!"
"Justin raged for hours after that! Until he could find a way to get even! And he did! He took my Declan away from me! For good!"
Tears streamed down the woman’s cheeks, but they simply illuminated her porcelain-like complexion. "After the rape..." she whispered the word, as if just uttering the word itself was painful. "Declan was never the same."
"And neither was I."
She smiled, and the effect was so grossly inappropriate, it hurt to watch. "I was glad when I heard he died in prison. Glad, I tell you!" She paused. "My only regret is that he took that poor sensitive boy with him!"
Neil had to wonder what the poor woman must have thought to see her attacker, Declan’s ‘murderer’, alive again last spring. "But Justin is the father of Rosaleen McAllister’s baby, right?" he asked, in a mild attempt to redirect the older woman’s thoughts.
"Aye." She sounded exhausted. Heartsick. "I don’t know how or why he escaped the punishment God dealt him, but I mean to ask God when I see Him!"
The woman cast weary eyes at Neil. "So you can see that your money means nothing at all to me, doctor. I don’t want money, I want justice. That baby didn’t ask to be brought into this world, and I’m sure as hell not turning her over to anyone willing to trade her innocence for cash."
"That’s not why I’m here. Mrs. McLaren...if I could give your son back his life, I would." Neil found a certain irony in being able to say that to anyone, but especially to Declan’s mother. "I can’t do that."
"But I can tell you that the people who want this baby will love it...and cherish it...as if it were their own." Suddenly the last piece of the puzzle clicked into place, and Neil realized that he was speaking the God’s honest truth. If this baby was meant for Declan...well, he could guarantee that the baby would be in loving hands. Protective hands. But even more than that, deserving hands.
She clasped his hand, smiling tearfully. "Thank you."
He folded the woman, who was strangely frail for her height and frame, into his embrace. "No. Thank you, Mrs. McLaren."
She drew back, sniffling. "Please...call me Mairead." The way she pronounced it, it sounded like Morr-ayd. She smiled at the British doctor, whose eyes were far too kind for him to remain a stranger for long. "You’d say Margaret."
Neil shook his head. "Mairead," he said softly, knowing he would never think of her as anything else.
Declan burst through the door, the force of his entrance nearly slamming it against the wall. "Okay, what’s such a big freaking secret you had to go and steal Sey away?"
Birkoff looked so guilty, Declan would have known there was something wrong in an instant, even without being told. Madeline shifted her weight uneasily from foot to foot. This was not going to be an easy confrontation.
"Declan, I have some news for you," Madeline began. Birkoff stopped her before she could continue. "Let me tell him, Maddy. Please."
"What? Tell me what?" Declan was torn being holding onto his anger and a growing realization that something important was being withheld. Something that was going to change his life.
"Maddy, could you give us some time alone?" Birkoff asked hesitantly, very much unwilling to offend Madeline at this stage. He wanted that baby with something akin to desperation now, but he knew his mission was clear. He had to convince Declan, or his dream would crumble away to nothing.
Madeline was not unhappy to leave the telling to Birkoff. In the first place, she had a feeling that Declan would take the news much better from his lover. In the second place, she wanted, no, she needed Declan to realize his unspoken dream. It was a veritable wellspring of unconditional love, and Declan needed that in order to heal. When it came down to that, so did Birkoff. They already had that kind of love in their lives, through each other, but having this child was important for both of them, including the precious life they were saving.
She paused at the door, looking over her shoulder at the two of them, so close and yet they could still be so much closer.
After Madeline left, Birkoff locked the door behind her. He wanted complete privacy. Declan picked up on that right away. "What? What could be so terrible that you think you have to tell me behind locked doors? I know I get a bit tense sometimes, Sey, but--"
Birkoff shushed him, placing his index finger over Declan’s lips. "Ssh, acushla." Birkoff’s use of the Gaelic endearment warned Declan that whatever announcement was forthcoming, it must be big. Bigger than big.
"This is important, Declan." Birkoff bit his lip. He was afraid when the moment came, he might cry. He wasn’t altogether sure that was a bad thing.
Birkoff stepped closer to Declan, pulling his face down for a series of soft, achingly tender kisses. Declan closed his eyes, without thinking, and responded. "Oh, Sey...I love you," he whispered.
"Y chree?" Birkoff questioned, nuzzling the base of Declan’s neck.
It was seduction. It was love. It was both.
"Aye, love?" Declan’s lips opened just a bit wider as he bit gently at his lover’s mouth.
Birkoff sighed contentedly, knowing there was never going to be another moment like this one. In all their lives.
"We’re going to have a baby," he whispered to Declan, watching his partner’s face change as the message registered.
Declan frowned, then his brow suddenly cleared. "Oh, yeah...Nikita is due in May, Sey. Are you planning her shower?"
Birkoff shook his head, the most enigmatic expression gracing his lips. "Nooo, Declan...we’re going to have a baby. Us. Our baby."
Declan’s face would have been comical if it hadn’t been for the trace of tragedy surrounding the ardent young couple recently. "Us?" he asked, puzzled.
"You’re not freaking pregnant, Sey!" Declan declared firmly. Pause. Moments later, Declan peeked at his lover cautiously through his fingers. "Are you?" The minute he said it, he started to laugh, softly at first, then loudly. "We’re gonna have a baby? How? Why?"
He started kissing the side of Birkoff’s face, his lips both warm and moist. "Tell me, Sey! I need to know all about this!"
Birkoff giggled under Declan’s puppyish assault on him. "Oh, Dec. Remember how much I love you." His smile dimmed, his laughter fading to mere echo, Birkoff kissed Declan, full on the mouth. "I love you," his fervent whisper imparted to Declan’s ear.
"Tell me about the baby, Sey. I want to know everything. Is it a boy or a girl?"
"It’s a beautiful baby girl, Dec."
"How old is she, acushla?" Declan reverently lowered his voice, as if he were in church.
Their lips met and parted, so slowly, it was hard to tell where one began, and the other left off. "She’s almost a month old. She was born on Christmas Day, Dec."
"Oh, God, Sey. That’s lovely." His hands found Birkoff’s face, his long, slender fingertips caressing his as yet unblemished skin.
"What’s her name?"
"She...She doesn’t have a name yet, Dec."
Declan pulled out of Birkoff’s embrace abruptly, his pale grey eyes shadowed with something untoward. "Wha--? She doesn’t have a name yet?"
Birkoff soothed Declan with a perseverative finger pressed to his lips. "No, love, she’s waiting for us to name her."
Declan’s face cleared just as suddenly, his eyes glinting fiercely with silvery light. "What would you like to name her, Sey?"
"I don’t know. I haven’t seen her yet. Not that it matters. She’s gotta be the most beautiful baby ever born."
"Why would you say that, Sey?" Declan said with a puzzled look.
"Cause she’s gonna be ours, Dec. Ours."
Birkoff slid his fingers into Declan’s long red hair, dislodging the thong that held it back. "She’s got red hair. Just like you."
Declan smiled, thinking that perhaps it was Fate that was bringing them and this child together. Birkoff gazed longingly into Declan’s magnificent eyes before he kissed him again. Wistfully. Choking back a tiny sob, Birkoff said, as if transfixed by Declan’s steady grey gaze, "She’s even got your eyes, Dec."
That took Declan by surprise. He looked stunned for a moment, as if he were struggling to understand something just on the edge of his comprehension. "My eyes? Like your dream, Sey?"
Birkoff nodded. "A dream come true," he confirmed.
Suddenly chilled to the bone, Declan said, "Where is this baby coming from, Sey?"
"Neil’s bringing her," Birkoff said, without quite answering the question.
"Where did Neil go, Sey?" Declan said with increasing dread.
"Ireland." Birkoff refused to lie to Declan, but he hoped that once Declan knew how right this decision would be for all of them, he would understand.
"Ireland," Declan repeated, his voice suddenly feeling as if it were coming from far, far away.
"Who’s the baby’s father, Sey?" Attempting to hang onto consciousness just a little while longer, Declan swayed fitfully, rocking on his heels.
"You are," Birkoff answered, feeling in his heart it was the truth.
Declan lowered his head to Birkoff’s shoulder and cried.