If the inspiration (and serotonin) hits, would you like to write more about Echo and his lil chillens? Or Ba'vodu Omega? Only if that helps you feel better!
Buir Echo? It would be my pleasure.
Uhhh well it’s not quite what you asked for this just came to me lol it’s a lil bit sad so warnings for talk of infertility and trauma. The precursor to Buir Echo. 🙃
Echo and his partner were swayed by the preconceived notion that they couldn’t have kids. So they never tried. It was uncharted territory and there was no interest in reconnaissance. Echo was tired.
There was too much at stake. To Echo. A man who’s very life was procured through stakes and gambles.
They never tried, and Echo was at peace with never knowing. Never seeking out more than his trauma had to offer. When presented with the opportunity, the former ARC always thought it best to just leave well enough alone. It was a golden rule and it had served him well through his turbulence.
It took a long time for them, for Echo, to overcome his trepidations and actually try. Try to reach out for more. Try to convince himself that he deserved it. After Lola Sayu, Echo had to come to terms with what “more” is.
Much of Echo’s short but demanding life had been bathed in defeat, and chances, wins and losses that all blurred together; it was all he’d ever known. He didn’t want any more. Didn’t want to know. He couldn’t bear it. Couldn’t bear the thought that he was perpetually broken. For a long time, he let his fear consume him.
Like Crosshair, Echo wasn’t in any rush to start a family. He needed time to transition. He needed time. He liked slowly easing into a routine, just he and his S/O, and finding solace there without the added strain. It was a complicated pendulum of emotions that Crosshair, his vod, understood well. They’d spent more than one night drowning in their musings through a commandeered bottle of spirits, much to their wives’ chagrin.
Besides, Echo was designated Funcle. Who could ever ask for more?
But then his S/O told him they were expecting, out of the blue when the tempest in his mind had ebbed to a dull pandering, and suddenly it became so very real to Echo. He was terrified and elated. Mostly terrified.
Echo was riddled with anxiety throughout the entire pregnancy. It was in his nature to assess every possible disadvantage and work quickly to abate it; it was his duty. With the pregnancy, the surprising dispensation of fatherhood, he suddenly felt out of his element, he had no control, just like when he was on Skako Minor, and he’s dying all over again.
Even still: he kept much of it locked away like a good ARC, like a good soldier, and paraded his level-headedness until the very end.
When he held little Emily in his arms, prosthetic limb cradled soundly underneath her tiny back, his flesh hand reverently stroking her face, Echo let the tears fall, unguarded, overcome with emotion and the sudden feelings of normalcy that he hasn’t felt since Fives.
Echo lifts his head to the sky, choking out a laugh and for once, it’s not bitter. Just sweet.
“Oh Fives… I wish you could see this…”
