It's a ficlet about Micaiah (well mostly about her brother, but it will affect her greatly), but feel free to turn it into an RP if you wish.
At three in the morning, two nights after the events at the Diamond, Enrique was woken by persistent knocking on the front door of the apartment he shared with his sister. Knowing that he would be the only one to hear it, he got out of his bed and quickly pulled on a pair of pants over his briefs, not bothering with a shirt. The knocking grew louder, getting on his nerves a little.
“Alright! I’m coming!” he yelled in his thick, Spanish accent. He knew his sister wouldn’t hear it. If she wasn’t still at the garage, she would be sat at the kitchen table, head down and only sleeping because she had collapsed from exhaustion. She slept like a log.
He pulled the front door with such aggression, that it crashed into the wall when he let go of the handle. Silently cursing himself for his clumsiness, he opened his mouth to speak.
“Listen buddy, I don’t know what you want but it’s three am and I kind of need to sleep...” he suddenly registered who the person stood in the doorway was; Delilah, his ex-girlfriend. Six whole months, and she seemed to have stayed exactly the same: the same blond hair; same blue eyes; same thick lips. She was identical to the girl that he had fallen in love with in almost every way, but not quite the same.
“What do you want?” he spat the words from his mouth like he would acid. Enrique still hurt inside from where she had torn herself. The eyes that looked at him weren’t those of his angel, but the eyes of that devil woman that had taken her place.
“I’ve not come back for you if that’s what you think. I believe that this is yours, I have no use for it.” She thrust the bundle of cloth into his arms, turning and walking away as he brushed the layers of cloth away. Her heels clicked against the floor, and she could be heard making her way down the stairs. His hand touched flesh beneath the thin cotton sheets.
Shutting the door behind him, he sat down at the kitchen table, where a sleeping Micaiah had flopped face-down, in a kind of shot. A tiny hand shot up from out of the cloth, skin a colour somewhere in between his own golden hue and Delilah’s creamy pigment. He was in a state that could possibly be compared to shell shock. How could she possibly have such disregard for her own flesh and blood? She had birthed the baby for God’s sake!
That reminded him. Taking the baby out of the cloth, he let the rag that might once have been white slip to the floor. The baby was dressed in a pair of blue pyjamas and white socks. He noticed that a piece of white paper had fallen out onto the kitchen table. Placing him (he assumed that the baby was male) on his lap, he carefully unfolded it.
Born October 15th 1942 at 12.20PM approx.
Weight at birth 7lb 3ounces
I’ll let you name him.
His child had been born a week ago. Now the boy was silent, eyes fixed on the tip of a screwdriver resting on the table. Shiny and attractive to a small child, he knew the way it worked. There was milk in the fridge if the baby got hungry, but he was worried. He didn’t have any diapers. What if he needed changing?
Lifting his son up to his eye level, he saw the faintest traces of dirty blond hair, somewhere in between Delilah’s white blond and his own brown. He had to say that the boy looked different to both his mother and father, but his eyes were indisputable. They matched Enrique’s own, rich brown eyes. While Micaiah and Ismael both had green eyes, Ciro and Enrique had shared chocolate brown ones. Instantly, he knew what the boy’s name was to be.
“Ciro.” It was traditional for a Spanish person to have two Christian names. He would have named the child after his father, but when the man knew he was dying, he had insisted that no child was to be named after him because I wouldn’t wish a name like mine on anybody. He remembered a childhood friend, a man he hadn’t seen since he had left Spain. “Elias.” Of course, he would always call the child Elias because Ciro was painful for Micaiah to remember, but Ciro would certainly be the boy’s first name.
He stumbled back into his bedroom, carrying the baby. He carefully placed the child in the centre of his bed, so that it wouldn’t roll off in its sleep, but then realised he couldn’t sleep in his bed in case he rolled on the boy. Sighing, he went back into the kitchen and sat down. Pressing his face against the table, he wondered what he was going to do with baby Elias. Within ten minutes, he was fast asleep opposite his sister.
In the morning, he was woken by the boy crying. Fetching him from the bedroom, he glanced at the clock and realised that it was already 7AM. Micaiah would be at the garage by now, so he would have to take the baby to the garage to show Micaiah. He poured a little of the milk into a cup, which he helped his son drink from, careful not to spill anything. He knew that, really, he should be giving him milk made from baby formula, but cow’s milk was all he could manage for the moment.
Putting on his coat, he took the boy in his arms and shut the door behind him. In the street, he tucked Elias inside his coat to keep him warm, receiving some strange looks from the people that passed by.
Arriving at the garage, he took up his position at the till, taking off his coat and calling for Micaiah. Instantly, she rushed to greet him, welder’s mask flipped up so that she could see better.
“What you want Enrique? I’m kind of busy, got to get this job finished within the hour!” still, she came to see him. Noticing the infant on the counter, she immediately knew what it meant. “Delilah came back, didn’t she? This is the kid?” A small nod from Enrique, who held Elias out for her. She took the boy in her arms.
“What did you call him?” she already knew the answer, but it would be a comfort to hear it from her brother’s mouth.
“Ciro Elias, but always call him Elias. I know it hurts.” She nodded, that same knowing feeling coming back. Looking into the boy’s eyes, she saw both of her elder brothers, but more so Ciro. The boy curled his tiny, wrinkled hands around one of her fingers, despite the thick, workman’s gloves. She smiled as she thought of the elder Ciro, the first time since his death too. It was as if the vigil she had kept since his death had suddenly been broken by looking into the babe’s eyes. She was awake.
“Ciro would be proud; I am proud; you should be proud.” Looking down at the boy once more, she could see his tiny mouth curve into a smile. It couldn’t be a true smile at his age, but still a smile. Thinking of her elder brother, she knew that he was watching. The little things give you away, brother.
Handing the child back to her brother, she spoke again.
“You go buy whatever you need for him. When I’m done with this job, I’ll shut up shop for today. I’ll be busy making a crib.” Enrique nodded, pulling his coat on and taking Elias under it again. For the first time since the Legion had disbanded, Micaiah set to work with a smile on her face.