Title: Solace
Author: Kalimyre
Pairing: Gil/Greg
Rating: PG-13
Warning: mpreg
SERIES: 1) Wish
Note: Inspired by discussion on the Grissompregnant comm. Olawnsky's Syndrome was originally created by Knightmusic in her story In Search of a Reason. It's used here with her permission; thanks! Thanks also to Elmyraemilie for the great beta and head patting; she rocks like a giant rocking thing.
Summary: In the same universe as Wish, but can be read alone. Mpreg, only not anymore. Mbaby, perhaps. In which Gil discovers babies do not play by the book.

***

Greg woke to the sound of a faint, high wail, barely audible through the thick walls of the bedroom. He sat up, looked to his left, and sighed when he saw he was alone in the bed. Gil's side was cool, the sheets and blankets rumpled as they often were these days. Ever since the baby had been born, Gil had become an astonishingly light sleeper, rousing at the slightest snuffle from their daughter.

Yawning, Greg stood, stretched, and rubbed his eyes. It was dark out; beyond that, he had no idea what time it was. Their schedules revolved around Claire now, and whenever she fell asleep became bedtime for the whole house. Greg wasn't looking forward to the end of his paternity leave--although there were times, usually when Claire was at her fussiest, that he felt a certain guilty longing for the relative quiet and order of the lab. Still, it would be hard to leave her behind, and he worried for Gil, who was already drifting around the house like a zombie, stoned on exhaustion and hovering around Claire as if she might disappear if he looked away.

In the living room, the wailing was louder, and he followed the sounds out to the back porch, where Gil paced, a squirming bundle of blankets in his arms. He stared vaguely off into the dark as he strode back and forth, one hand patting Claire's back absently, his eyes at half mast.

"Hey," Greg said, wincing as Claire gave a particularly loud howl.

Gil continued pacing for several seconds, and then seemed to register Greg's presence. He gave a slow blink, and nodded, but said nothing.

"Need some help?" Greg asked, reaching for their daughter. Gil evaded him, sidestepping in a way that Greg couldn't even feel upset about, because it was so instinctive.

"I've got her." Gil turned to rifle through the already worn baby book, lying open on the little patio table. "The book said fresh air might calm her down."

Greg nodded and watched him pace a bit longer. Claire was obviously tired, her head limp on Gil's shoulder, but she continued to cry, thumping her feet listlessly against Gil's chest. Eventually, Greg said, "I don't think she's going for it."

"I've tried everything else," Gil replied, thumbing through the book again. "I fed her, changed her, swaddled her, and checked to see if her clothes were bothering her skin. We walked, rocked, talked, and read a story. I even sang to her."

Greg's eyebrows shot up, and he couldn't suppress a smile. "You sang?"

"Briefly," Gil muttered, looking discomfited. "Well... I hummed. A little."

"Did she like it?"

"No." Gil sighed and shifted her to his other shoulder. "I think she cried louder, actually."

"Eh, everybody's a critic," Greg said. "Hey, why don't you take a break? Let me try."

"I'm fine," Gil replied, and went back to pacing. He bounced a little with each step, rubbing Claire's back in the same rhythm, but she kept crying.

Greg found himself smiling at her, despite the red, puffy face and high pitched shrieks. It was scary, sometimes, looking at her and trying to grapple with just how crazy he was about her. He hadn't thought it possible to be so smitten, not even in the early, dizzying days of his relationship with Gil. Even now, flailing and cranky and keeping him awake, he wanted to kiss her and examine every inch of her skin, to marvel at every tiny feature.

And he would, except that Gil wouldn't let her go long enough for Greg to really soak her in.

"Gil, come on, you need a break," Greg tried, reaching for her again.

"The book says walking with her should work better for me," Gil countered. "Because she got used to the way I walk while she was inside."

Greg sighed and planted himself directly in Gil's path, forcing him to stop. "Please," he said, stroking his fingertips over the fine down on Claire's head. "I want to try. Hey, what could happen? It's not like she's going to cry any harder."

"You'd be surprised," Gil muttered, but he handed her over, frowning anxiously as her wails sharpened for a moment.

Greg laid her in the crook of his elbow and rocked her back and forth a little. Gil stood beside him, visibly twitching every time Claire paused for breath and yelled again.

"She doesn't like that," Gil said. "I told you we did rocking already. I did everything the book lists, but she didn't like any of it."

Greg went back into the house, loosening the thick wrapping of blankets around her. Gil trailed after him, frowning when Greg sat on the couch and propped her against his chest.

"She doesn't like sitting. Walking usually works better."

"I'm just trying something," Greg said, taking a deep breath. He put his hand on Claire's chest, feeling the flutter of her heartbeat under his palm, fast and light. She'd been crying so long she was breathless, her chest hitching in little hiccupy sobs. "Easy, now," he murmured to her, measuring his breaths so each was slow and even. "You're okay, just calm down. Shhhh... breathe, honey, breathe."

Gil hesitated, and then sat down beside him, reaching for Claire but pausing with his hands over her, unsure. "That's not in the book."

"When was the last time you slept?" Greg asked, giving Gil a sidelong look.

"I sleep," Gil said, petulance creeping into his voice. "I do."

"You do not. I live here too, remember? I can see what's right in front of me, and Gil, you're out on your feet. You're supposed to be recovering from the cesarean, remember? Rest, lying down whenever you can, minimal stress--that's what the doctor said."

"I'm not stressed," Gil snapped. Greg raised an eyebrow and waited. Gil sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Okay, fine," he muttered. "Maybe I'm a little worn out. We have a newborn, Greg. Being tired is to be expected."

"Tired, yes, but you're running yourself into the ground." Greg ran his knuckles lightly over Claire's chest, pleased that she was growing quiet, lolling in his arms. "You've really got to learn to let go."

"Let go?" Gil echoed incredulously. "She's only two weeks old and you want me to let go?"

"Not permanently," Greg said, unable to suppress a smile at Gil's wounded tone. "Just step back a little, let me help you. I love her too, you know."

Gil was quiet for a long moment, looking down at their daughter, limp and drowsy in Greg's lap. She blinked up at them--she had Greg's eyes, wide and brown, framed with thick lashes. "I know," he said eventually. "You're good with her."

"So are you." Greg shifted, leaning so his side pressed against Gil. "It just drives you nuts that she doesn't react the way the book says she's supposed to."

"The walking should have worked," Gil said, scowling out at the back porch. "I think their research was flawed."

"Hmm." Greg smiled, gently circling his fingertips over Claire's belly, warm and pudgy and peeking from beneath her shirt.

"There's no consistency," Gil murmured, slumping a bit against the couch cushions. "Things that work one day don't work the next. I've tried charting it, but it never adds up. She completely defies the scientific method."

"Shhh," Greg whispered. "She's sleeping."

Gil frowned down at her, but could only hold the expression for a few seconds before his face softened, and he sighed, trailing a fingertip over the back of one tiny, curled hand. "So contrary," he said. "She gets that from you."

"Right, because you're always sweetness and light," Greg replied, nudging Gil with his shoulder.

Gil gave a vaguely argumentative grunt and rested his head on Greg's shoulder, nuzzling his neck a little. "You smell nice," he murmured sleepily.

"That's because I step away from Claire long enough to shower," Greg pointed out, but Gil didn't respond. Greg felt Gil's breathing change to a long, familiar rhythm, his body heavy and lax beside him, and he smiled. "'Bout time," he whispered.

In his lap, Claire wriggled slightly, and gave a small, complaining snuff. "Hush," Greg said, stroking her until she settled. "Daddy's sleeping."

~~~

Fin.

***