Setting: Sunday, October 19th, 2014
Chris was utilized with Guine's approval/input.


Word Count: 4056

With Lilah successfully put to bed after a long day of play and outdoor adventure, Paris sauntered into the en suite to run the tub for a relaxing bath.

“Lilah's out,” she announced unnecessarily.

Paris took her time adjusting the faucets to bring the water to the perfect temperature. Hot, but not scalding; it might last half an hour before it settled to lukewarm. She had the nearby fireplace lit with a flick of a wall switch. The fireplace itself was nestled in a wall of stone beside the tub in lieu of a large window, like those that framed it on either side. At night, there was not much to see anyway but a black sky dotted with silver stars. The remaining lights Paris turned off, but for those above the long double vanity where Chris stood brushing his teeth in his boxers.

“That was quick,” Chris commented, pausing to spit in the sink. He wiped his mouth with a hand towel and rinsed with water from the tap.

Lightly humming in agreement, Paris twirled over and ran mischievous fingers along Chris's sides. The feather-like touches made him squirm. Paris laughed and slipped her arms around his waist, leaning around him to peer at his face in the mirror as she said, “Come take a bath with me?”

“Won't it be cramped?” Chris asked.

“The tub's plenty big enough,” Paris gently argued.

She'd yet to come upon a Gallo residence that wasn't conspicuously extravagant and expansive, and the mountain cabin was no exception. Though it did not compare to the Boston house on Beacon Street in square footage—nor their house in Destiny City, truth be told—it was nonetheless more a log mansion than it was a quaint cabin. Enough room for the entire family (and then some) should they choose to vacate the city together.

Chris sighed, but the soft expression on his face showed that he had no intention of arguing. His initial reluctance was but a formality at best. It always began that way. He gave Paris the chance to back out if she really wanted to be alone. Paris, for her part, always insisted. She wouldn't have bothered to ask otherwise.

When Chris's inevitable agreement came, Paris spun back to the tub to mix in a bit of bubble bath from a bottle labeled Pink Chiffon. The scent it gave off was fruity with floral undertones—pear, peach, berries, jasmine and apple blossoms, with a hint of vanilla and sandalwood. Not overly sweet, but soothing and romantic.

Paris stripped quickly as the tub continued to fill. Her discarded clothes were strewn out along the smooth stone floor, a bit of organized chaos in an otherwise pristine bathroom. She was then the first to slip into the water, sighing in contentment and turning the faucet off once the water had risen to an appropriate level. It covered her chest but revealed the tops of her bared shoulders.

She was patient but expectant as she waited for Chris to join her. Paris did not close her eyes and tilt her head back as she often might after a long day—and the day had been quite long; chasing after a two-year-old for hours on end was by no means an easy feat—but rolled her head to the side to watch Chris as he finished his evening routine.

“This is nice,” she observed, as she had many times since their escape from the city a few days prior. A brief stay at the Gallo's cabin in the mountains, just long enough to clear her head and process what new memories she'd gained, was exactly what she needed.

Chris smiled gently and turned off the light fixtures above the vanity. Only firelight remained, flickering cheerily and throwing shadows along the walls. Then Chris slipped into the water with her, seating himself across from her.

Their legs tangled together loosely, Paris wiggled her toes along Chris's thigh. Though the tub would surely not handle a third fully grown person, it was at least comfortable enough for two. Paris remained where she was instead of shifting around to sit closer, staring across at Chris when she would have normally drifted over for a snuggle. He smiled at her in the firelight, but his eyes looked guarded somehow. Still warm and loving, but it was as if he expected something from her which he wasn't yet sure how to respond to.

He knew her so well, it seemed. What she thought. How she reacted to things. Though she'd come to expect it over the years, it made her nervous at times—particularly now, when she thought it time to broach an important subject that was perhaps long overdue.

“We never really talked about things before we got married,” Paris began slowly. She looked into the bubbles instead of meeting Chris's eye, letting her fingers trail through the suds. Her toes brushed along Chris's thigh again, but it was more of a nervous gesture this time than it was teasing or seductive.

“Like what?” Chris asked. He sounded as if he were merely reciting a line, like he knew what Paris meant to say but intended to let her go about it her way rather than bringing his own observations to light.

“Like the future,” Paris said. She swallowed and then nervously fiddled with her hair, adjusting it into a more secure (but still quite messy) bun.

“We talked about it a little bit.”

“Yeah, but that was mostly, like... our jobs and stuff,” Paris elaborated, “and those goals've pretty much been met, haven't they? You'll keep pitching in the majors—”

“If the off season goes well,” Chris patiently intruded.

It was a silly hang up, Paris thought. With the amount of attention Chris had gained after being called up from the minors, and with how well he'd pitched over the rest of the season, it seemed quite likely he'd be spending most of his time in the majors next year. It was only a matter of where he'd be in the rotation.

“—and I'll finish out my apprenticeship and be back with the Destiny City Ballet on a more permanent basis soon enough,” Paris concluded as if she'd not been momentarily interrupted.

“That's still months away,” Chris reminded her.

“I know, but... isn't there more we should have talked about before?”

“Like what?”

“I don't know,” Paris said. It was feigned indecision. She knew what she meant to talk about as surely as Chris must have guessed what was on her mind over the last couple of days spent with Lilah.

Paris peered up at Chris with an expression that looked both cautious and hopeful as she said, “We never talked about kids before we got married.”

Chris was silent for a while. He did not move, and his overall expression did not change, but Paris thought she saw the muscles around his eyes tighten, and the line of his lips became somewhat thinner. She cleared her throat and shifted her eyes away, sinking a little further into the water until the suds covered the tops of her shoulders.

She wasn't surprised that her comment was met with silence. She'd expected as much. After all, it must seem as if it'd come out of the blue. Certainly the subject of kids wasn't one she would have normally brought up. Indeed, she wouldn't have done so at all had she not been prodded in that direction over the last week. She'd never really pictured herself as a parent, though she'd assumed kids would be an eventuality. Chris had always struck her as the type to want them. And she was okay with that.

More than okay, she thought. It wasn't a terrible idea. In fact, the more it settled in her mind, the more time she spent practicing with Lilah, the more she thought she'd like it.

But Chris seemed somewhat less certain.

Finally, when Paris thought she'd have to prod at him, Chris said, “Don't do this.”

“Do what?” she asked, though she could not pretend as if his statement confused her.

“You're upset,” Chris observed. “You're still figuring out your... dreams or your memories or whatever happened to you last weekend. And I get it, Paris, I really do. You're afraid and you're stressed out and you think you can figure things out on your own, but this isn't the way to do it.”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Paris insisted. It was a lie.

“You always do this. Something upsets and discourages you and you think you can fix it by charging full speed ahead.”

“This isn't about fixing anything.”

“Isn't it?” Chris challenged her.

“It isn't,” Paris said.

“Look at me and say that.”

Paris glanced up and met Chris's eye again. “We're just having a conversation.”

“Except this isn't something you'd bring up if you didn't already have something in mind,” Chris said.

“Is that wrong?” Paris asked.

“No,” Chris replied, “but your reasons for it are.”

“My reasons? You don't even know what I was going to say.”

“You brought up kids, Paris,” Chris pointed out.

“So?” Paris said.

“So?” Chris countered.

Paris grew silent and waited for Chris to say something else. When he didn't, she crossed her arms over her chest and turned her face to the side to stare into the fire.

“You're saying you don't want kids?” she said.

“Do you?”

“Yeah, it'd be kinda nice, don't you think?”

“Paris...” He sounded disbelieving.

“Why is that so hard to believe?” Paris argued. She was growing defensive. “What, you think because my parents divorced and my family's ******** up means I don't want a family of my own?”

“That's not what I'm saying and you know it!”

“Then what are you saying?”

“Why do you want kids?” Chris asked.

“Because...” Paris began, but hesitated with her answer. She wasn't entirely sure she knew what the answer was, and she was certain Chris knew that. “I... don't you think it's something we should have considered before getting married?”

“Probably,” Chris agreed.

“But we both want them. Or one, or... you know what I mean,” Paris said.

“Do we?”

“Don't you?”

“Yes, eventually,” Chris finally relented. “But do you?”

“Why wouldn't I?”

“This is the first time you've shown any interest.”

“I haven't really had the chance to think about it before,” Paris tried to explain, aware all the while that she was doing a very poor job of it. If anything her hesitance and evasive answers were giving Chris more fuel for his own argument, whatever that may be.

“And now you're thinking about it?” Chris prompted.

“Well, yeah.”

“Why?” Chris asked. “What made you think about it?”

“The last few days... with Lilah...”

“But what made you go to your mother and ask to take Lilah?”

Paris said nothing in response. She turned her head to look back at Chris sadly. The arms that had only recently crossed her chest suddenly looked more protective than confrontational. She didn't know how to argue her point without proving Chris's speculations correct.

But the memories still lingered. Paris didn't know why she had them, or how they'd come about, or if they were as real as they seemed, but she couldn't ignore them. They served a purpose, she was sure. It was simply up to her to determine what that purpose was.

It felt like a warning.

Don't let things turn out this way.

“It was the war, wasn't it?” Chris said. It was hardly a question, though he made sure to voice it that way.

“So what if it was?” Paris responded quietly.

“You suddenly want to have kids because of the war?”

“Yes!” she said, thought better of it, and made a hasty correction, “No! I mean, I don't know. Maybe. Is that a bad reason?”

“You want to bring a kid into this, knowing what could happen?”

“A kid wouldn't be involved in the war,” Paris said.

“But how do you expect to juggle a kid, dance, and the war?” Chris challenged.

“Are you saying I couldn't?” Paris asked.

“I'm asking if you've even considered the challenges,” Chris said.

“Of course I have!” Paris insisted. “Why wouldn't I?”

“Because you make a decision about something and you go for it,” Chris pointed out, “and sometimes you don't think that decision all the way through. Having a kid isn't like adopting a cat, Paris.”

“You think I don't know that?” Paris argued, suddenly furious.

She didn't like feeling as if she were being treated like a child. Maybe this had come out of the blue, and maybe her thoughts on the subject weren't entirely complete, but she at least knew what she'd be getting herself into it. She didn't think she was treating this like adopting a pet. She wasn't blind; she understood the responsibilities. She might not be around Lilah twenty-four seven, but she had enough experience with her to feel quite confident that she could handle it on a more permanent basis.

“Then tell me why you've suddenly got this idea in your head,” Chris said. “What reason could you have to want to have a kid when there's a war going on?”

“Because I'm tired of letting the war control my life!”

She'd shouted the words despite her intentions to discuss this rationally. A part of her knew there wasn't really anything rational about it. A part of her even agreed with Chris's observations. She was not quite so ignorant as she had been years ago when she got her start in the war. She understood the inherent dangers, as well as her responsibilities as a Senshi. Nothing, not illness or fatigue or dance or a child, would stop her from seeing to her duty. It was a part of her life she knew she would never be able to escape.

At this point, she didn't want to escape. She'd given too much of herself to the war to give up now—or ever. It was part of who she was, and she wouldn't be satisfied with her role in it until they managed to bring it to an end.

But the war wasn't the only part of her life. She didn't want it to be. Determined as she was to see it through to the end, attached as she was to Ganymede, she had no intention of losing herself to battle. She did not want her life to become the one that haunted her memories, even if it meant taking matters into her own hands and making the necessary (and perhaps premature) steps forward.

“If there wasn't a war, would you have any second thoughts about having kids?” Paris asked.

“Probably not,” Chris admitted.

“So isn't that all the more reason why we should?” she challenged. “How long would we put it off otherwise? We can't keep letting the war interfere with our lives, Chris. The war is always going to be here. We're not.”

“So you want to bring a kid into that?”

“I don't want to let the war dictate what happens to us.”

“But by using the war as an excuse, isn't that what you're doing?”

“Maybe I want a family with you,” Paris said forcefully. She looked Chris in the eye as she said it, so he'd have no room for disbelief.

“You're twenty years old, Paris,” Chris said.

“My mom was younger when she had me,” she reminded him.

“You can't base your own readiness on what other people have done. You're twenty, you're still in school, you have plenty of other responsibilities. I don't exactly have the most stable career considering the amount of traveling I have to do.”

“But we have a stable relationship,” Paris said. “We'll have been married for two years in March. We've been living together for three years. We already have each other figured out. And we're pretty damned comfortable financially. Why couldn't we make something work?”

“It's not just a question of if we could, but if we should.”

“Can't we at least talk about it?”

“Isn't that what we're doing now?” Chris returned.

“No, we're arguing,” Paris corrected him.

Said argument reached a temporary pause as they looked at one another across the bathwater. Paris had not changed her position with her arms over her chest; Chris's arms had drifted through the water to copy her at some point mid-conversation. Chris's expression was of worry and concern, not anger or annoyance. Paris's defiance and distress mingled together into a look of grim determination.

It wasn't often that they argued. In fact, their relationship was usually strangely devoid of fighting. Paris thought it was because they put so much of themselves into the war that whatever troubles they experienced out of it didn't seem worth the time necessary to execute a proper argument. They'd learned to talk things out and compromise. Some of their worst arguments to date had been over renovations to the house—silly little things they could bicker and nag at each other over to remind them that they were still normal, that they had other things to concern themselves with that didn't have anything to do with youma and the Negaverse.

Eventually Chris sighed and shook his head. The heat that had previously begun to enter his voice dissipated.

“Fine, we can talk about it,” he said. He continued to watch Paris cautiously. It was clear by the frown on his face that he didn't want her growing to expect too much too soon.

“Okay,” Paris agreed. Some of the tension in her shoulders eased, though her posture remained defensive.

“Obviously I don't have a problem with kids,” Chris continued.

“You're very good with Lilah,” Paris observed.

“So are you.”

Paris shrugged. “It's not as terrible as I'd thought it'd be when I was younger,” she said. “I actually kind of like it. I like having someone to take care of.”

And that was part of her sudden interest, she thought. She'd grown accustomed to taking care of her father. With him gone she'd put all of that attention into taking care of Chris. Now Chris spent days and weeks out of town during the baseball season, and Paris was left to adapt.

It was difficult for her to quell those instincts. It would be nice if she didn't have to. And adding more to their family wasn't weird, was it? Her reasons for bringing it up might not be completely rational, but it was at least a logical step, right?

“How would we do it?” Chris asked. His foot nudged Paris through the water like he could see her drifting off in thought and wanted to regain her attention.

“Adoption?” Paris suggested, straightening somewhat so that she was no longer so far down in the water. “Mom handles that sort of thing. I could ask her what our options would be.”

“Are there age restrictions to adopting?”

“I don't know,” Paris admitted. “Maybe. There's surrogacy,” she added.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“That's all you have to say?”

“I'd have to read up on it,” Chris said. He sighed heavily and brought a hand to his head to rub away some tension. “I'd have to read up on all of it. And you need to talk to your therapist.”

“I'm not crazy,” Paris insisted.

“Did I ever say you were?” Chris countered. “But I don't want you making any decisions unless you're sure you can handle it. I'm not even sure I'd be able to handle it. I was fine letting this conversation wait five more years.”

“I don't want to put things off if I don't have to,” Paris told him. Her voice grew quieter as she looked back into the bubbles. “I don't want to wait so long that it's no longer an option. I don't want to regret not having done it when we had the chance. I want to be able to do all the things we would have done if there wasn't any war, and this is a part of it, isn't it? And... with Lilah... I've thought... you know, it might be nice if we had that. It's not a bad thought, it is?”

She lifted her gaze again, suddenly unsure.

“No, it's not,” Chris agreed, “and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't expecting you to bring this up at some point before we went home.”

Paris nodded, then shrugged, then settled a little further in the tub again when she realized she didn't know how to respond.

“When would we do it?” Chris asked. His voice was low and hesitant.

“I don't know,” Paris admitted.

There were plenty of reasons why the answer should be “not now; maybe in a few years.”

But Paris hadn't always been the type to fall in line with what should be.

“Are you really serious about this?” Chris asked. “Just last week you wouldn't have given it any thought at all.”

Even if Paris knew that was true, it didn't make her decision any less certain.

“I am serious,” she said.

Chris's mouth remained set in a thin frown. He sighed heavily, scrubbed a hand through his hair, pressed his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose as if to ease an oncoming headache.

“Can I just... think about it for a while?” he said. “Let me read up on stuff, figure out our options. I'm not... I don't feel ready. I'm not like you, I can't just make a decision and go with it. I need time to get used to the idea.”

“That's okay,” Paris said.

“When were you thinking this would be a thing?” Chris asked again. He lowered his hand to stare across at Paris seriously, willing her to give him an honest answer that wasn't “I don't know.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to repeat it, but Chris had relented and agreed to consider the idea, so it seemed only fair for her to present him with some sort of a timetable. He was right, after all. She was notoriously decisive. Perhaps she often fell victim to bouts of uncertainty and indecision, but once her decision had been made she was the type to stick with it, and she tended to go through with it sooner rather than later. After all, if she wasn't going to change her mind, what was the point in holding off any longer than necessary?

And she was growing fond of the idea. It might not have been her first consideration when they'd gotten married, and she might not have previously thought herself the type to settle so comfortably into the arrangement, but now... she couldn't deny that she was... intrigued. She'd been the same way about marriage—she'd spent most of her life believing it wasn't right for her, had clung to her parents' divorce as proof that it could never end well, yet with Chris it seemed right.

That was often her way. She didn't realize how badly she wanted things until the idea was in her head, and then she wanted fiercely.

“Maybe... next year,” she replied. “By next Christmas.”

It was not a long period of time by any stretch of the imagination.

Fourteen months and everything would be different.

Chris leaned back and tipped his head to rest on the rim of the tub, staring up at the ceiling like he was trying to gather himself and organize his thoughts.

“Okay,” he said. “Okay, we'll work on it. Talk about it some more. See how things go.”

Paris nodded her agreement, brought her knees up to her chest, wrapped her arms around her legs, and thought herself one step closer to making her own future.