Forms Of Faith
By Missy


TITLE: Forms of Faith
PART: One of One
RATING: PG
PAIRING(s): Could really be anyone, but I think you know which pairing it is ;-)
DISTRIBUTION: To LW, Kai, Myself and FG so far; any other archives are welcome to ask, but disclaimers must be included, my email left intact. send a URL, and provide full disclaimers as well as credit me fully. Please inform me if you are going to submit my work to any sort of search engine. Please do not submit my work to a search engine that picks out random sets of words and uses them as key words, such as "Google"

Please contact me in order for this story to be placed on an archive, or if you want know of a friend who would enjoy my works, please email me their address and I will mail them the stories, expressly for the purpose of link trading. MiSTiers are welcomed! Please do inform me that you'd like to do the MiSTing, however, and send me a copy of the finished product. I'd also love to archive any MiSTings that are made of my work!
CATEGORY: monologue
FEEDBACK: PLEASE?!
SETTING IN TIMELINE: Alter-cannon, circa California era.
SPOILLER/SUMMARY: Laverne's had a baby, and she thinks it looks like her pop..
NOTES: An antithesis to "Wonderful"

****

The child, he told her, looked like a wrinkled loaf of bread.

She squints down at the tiny face and wonders if he'll grow out of it. After all, he sort of looks like her Pop. He had stunning eyes and her husband's skintone, but if you just pasted a mustache under the kid's nose...

Most days she still couldn't quite believe it; he was hers? To keep? Her anxiety had taken wing at an early date, and one afternoon he had found her hovering over the crib, holding a mirror under the lips of their child.

No horns, though, thankfully. When she had been pregnant, Squiggy had taken them to a showing of Rosemary's Baby. Only movie she had ever left. Squiggy had sworn up and down that he thought it was some sort of light comedy, but even her husband had been mad at him for a good week afterward.

But the baby had been born beneath her eyes; living, breathing. He was fine.

She? Well, for the most part, she was fine. Sometimes, she felt a bit blue, but today felt lovely on her skin. She lies her red-painted toes on the windowsill and drapes the fragile form across her chest.

He sleeps better this way, to her husband's disconcertion. One day, the baby would lie alone, in a crib. But right now he needed his mommy and daddy.

She keeps an eye on the street below, looking for that familiar head and orange jumpsuit. When she sees it, a smile spreads across her lips. His feet are a pounding cadence up the stairs and to the apartment.

"Vernie!" His lips brush hers. "I had a helluva day!"

"Did ya?"

"Yup; I ran over my supervisor's foot..." Rushing into the kitchen; instantly, he's off making dinner. She listens intently.

It was a risk, moving to Brooklyn alone. But here they were, and, to their surprise, she loved it. And loving him.

"Want me to take him?"

She nodded, and he carefully carried the bundle to the window. Looking out on the sunlit streets, she understood something her father had told her once.

Anything was possible.

















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