cat’s in the cradle / closed
Tiberius hadn’t been nervous when the owl pecked on his window; though the hour was unreasonable, even by his alarm’s standards, he had pushed back the glass and read the letter calmly before shrugging on his robes, stuffing his briefcase with files, and heading for the fireplace.
He hadn’t been nervous as he’d sat in the St. Mungo’s tea shop alone, sipping cup after cup of warm chai as he poured over paperwork. File after file, report after report, Tiberius sat calmly, occasionally staring out the window for a few prolonged moments before returning his attention to his work. But never, not once, had Tiberius been anything but calm.
At least, until now.
As Tiberius stood outside the nursery -- his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his robes and his thoughts anywhere but on the dinner he’d ditched nearly an hour ago -- his heart beat like a mad drummer in his chest. For months, his situation had gotten less and less surreal, but reality had never struck him quite like this. The vision of a screaming infant that haunted his dreams was nothing compared to the serene angel lying in the bassinet just behind the windows. A human, in miniature, with features almost identical to his own. Nerves, terror, pride--- they all danced beneath the surface of his skin, raising goose pimples and hair all along his alarms and the back of his neck.
“Would you like to hold her, Mr. McLaggen?”
Terror eclipsed the other two emotions, paralytic at first until Tiberius found the strength to nod. “Yes. Please.”
But as the tiny girl -- his daughter -- fit snugly into his arms, the weight of responsibility didn’t feel so much like a terror any longer. Pride returned in tenfold as he stared down into her face, more beautiful than any sight he ever could have imagined. The worries and frustrations faded for a few simple moments as Tiberius rocked his child in his arms, mouth split wide in a permanent smile. For months, it had felt like Charlotte’s pregnancy wast he beginning of the end. Anything he had lost in the past nine months seemed irrelevant; what he had gained had made up for it more than twice over. The travel, the opportunities, the romance--- he would give it all up gladly again and again for the sweet, pure child he had helped the world to gain.
This was the beginning of something; but it was most definitely not the end.
