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infant_savant in wetheinvincible

NY: 52nd and Park: Marylou and Aoife

Aoife has her share of chores. They have a cleaning service, but Marylou expects her to keep her room tidy, put her own clothes away, help with the washing up. Today, as Marylou is out, and the dry-cleaning has just been delivered - by a startled young man who didn't expect to have the clothes signed for by a six year old - she's putting Marylou's things away as well as her own.

She doesn't have much - kids clothes are usually designed to be machine-washable, after all, but Marylou had seemed insistant that she needed some 'nice' things - Aoife thinks the other things she has were nice enough, but she does have to admit that cashmere just feels nicer.

So, her stuff is away, and she's just hanging Marylou's silk shirts, when she comes across one that's familiar. She flips the cuff back before she goes to put it in the closet - and frowns at a faint brownish stain on the thread. There's nothing on the fabric - it must be a different fibre.

She can't think of many things taht would stain like that - and she remembers the last time that Marylou was wearing that shirt. but, having looked at the faint mark, brows knitted, for a moment, she hangs it in the closet, shuts the door, and takes the plastic bags to put with the recycling.

So, when Marylou comes home, she finds Aoife sitting on the sofa, laptop in - surprisingly - her lap, the tv tuned to Anime Network.


"I would have thought so."

Aoife regards her again, eyes narrowed.

"Don't you mean guardian?"
She rolls her eyes with a grin.

"All in good time. Though you can't really think I'd let a bright girl go to some pathetic soccer mom who couldn't possibly give you the kind of tools you'll need for your developement..."

She runs a hand down Aoife's hair with a warm smile.

"You think I tell anyone about things like this? Of course not, sweetie."
Aoife snorts at that, rolling her eyes in response.

"Soccer mom, indeed. Are you. . ." She bites her lip. "Are you really going to keep me?"
She nods.

"I knew from the very first day what I wanted... but I didn't want to push. I wasn't about to force you to stay here till I thought you were comortable, that it was what you wanted." At least, I didn't tell you till now.

Another hand through her hair.

"But... for me, you're already my little girl."
Aoife smiles, and slips sideways a little onto the sofa, so she can worm her way into Marylou's arms - the first really spontaneous affection she's shown. Hand-holding is different - this is a proper hug.

"Just as long as," comes a voice slightly muffled by Marylou's shoulder, "I don't have to call you Mom."
She holds her little girl tight and shakes her head.

"I always hated the word too. Marylou is fine..."
"Good. Because it would make me think of my birth mother, and I already love you more than her."

Another thing about small girls - they can, on occasion, be disarmingly honest.
She nods.

"I'm glad, sweetie. So very glad."
There are snuggles.

This is perhaps odd, when the afternoon had started off with Aoife accusing Marylou of murder. Or, perhaps, it wasn't. Not really.

"Can we make gnocchi? There was a recipe on the food channel. It looked tasty."

And messy. No matter how old or how smart she got, Aoife would always want to play with her food.
She nods her head and giggles, just a little.

"Of course, Aoife. I was thinking I was in the mood for Italian."

"And we have all the ingredients." She remembers.

"Cooking is even more fun with company."
She nods and tilts her head towards the kitchen.

"Want to get started, honey? I'll be right in."
Aoife nods, finally shutting her laptop, sending it into hibernation mode, and hopping off the sofa. Time to grab ingredients. And, why would she need a cookbook when she has the recipe memorised?
She settles back on the sofa for a moment before closing her eyes, perhaps praying and perhaps just thinking, and then she's up.

"Anything else you were thinking of?"
"To eat?" She asks, looking over her shoulder from her crouch by the vegetable bin. She has Acquired Potatoes.

"Well, if we have the gnocchi with salmon and saffron, maybe? And - what would you like for pudding?"
Los Angeles: The Beach

December 2006

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