applesaucedream | Lost--reward if found

Andrew can't find his children.

He's looked all around their flat, both the parts that are in New York and the parts that are in space. He's looked in the nursery, under the sink, between the couch cushions, and in the time rotor's casing, but they're nowhere to be found and he knows it's his own fault for being a terrible mother. He wasn't surprised in the slightest when he had a natural birth that resulted in a litter of kittens, but sometime between then and now he has the vague but pervasive idea that he forgot about them, neglected them, possibly for weeks. He certainly doesn't remember caring for them, only giving birth to half a dozen balls of fluff and then letting it slip his mind that they existed. Now that he remembers, of course, he's nothing but remorse, but they're long gone. James must hate him. Their children must hate him, if they even know they had a mother who was supposed to look after them.

Eyes rimmed red, belly flat without his brood, he wanders a disjointed domestic space that can't decide which of his many homes it is, trying the same places (or are they the same places?) again and again. "Please," he begs the rooms he finds painfully devoid of kittens. "Please, please, no."

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"We'll start there, then," she says decisively, giving Andrew's hand an encouraging squeeze. "So long as we're quiet, I don't think we'll scare them off." After giving the room another dubious glance, she adds, "Lead the way?" She's fair certain she won't be able to find something as specific as the linen closet; she's not even sure where the main part of the apartment is.

Andrew does lead the way, right into a hallway suddenly lined with closet doors. He falters at the familiar unfamiliar. "Here," he says quietly, though he's terribly unsure. Is that one the pantry? His children wouldn't be in the pantry. Holding his breath, he reaches out and opens the first closet.

Daine holds her breath as Andrew opens the door. She can sense animals easily enough, and she can see wild magic on folk who have some, but she's never encountered anyone like her, before. Not with enough magic to change shape.

At first glance, the closet is empty - or empty of kittens, anyway. There are plenty of fluffy towels folded on each shelf, but that seems to be all. Then, Daine hears a faint mew from the darkness beneath the bottom shelf.

"Oh," she breathes, dropping into a crouch and holding out her hands. A little calico kitten that is not really a kitten slinks out, green eyes wide. Daine carefully picks it up, but before she can straighten, the kitten shifts in her grip in a way that is both familiar and incredibly strange. She's never actually seen herself change her shape. Now, instead of a supposed kitten, she's holding a kangaroo joey.

"Um," Daine says, carefully straightening, the joey's long legs and tail dangling down toward the floor. The joey blinks up at Andrew, then turns into a bear cub, making Daine lurch a little under the sudden increase in weight. "This is… interesting," she says, giving Andrew a sheepish look as she hoists the bear cub against her shoulder.

Andrew recognizes and does not recognize the kitten -- no, the joey -- no, the cub. He needs to be strong and be the mother he wasn't to it, but the infant is both viscerally his and undeniably alien in whatever form it takes and he doesn't know if he ever even named it. He starts to reach for it, pulls his hands back with a tremble of his lower lip, then holds his arms out again.

"I can take her," he says, deciding the bear cub is a girl (and so she is). "I'm sorry," he says to the cub as he gathers her into his arms, dampening her fur with his tears as he holds her close. Then, to the bush baby she becomes a moment later, cupped carefully in his hands, "I'm going to make it better, I promise. We'll find the others and we'll make it better."

Daine reaches up to pat Andrew's shoulder. "It's all right," she says firmly, more than a little unsettled at seeing him so upset. "Look," she adds as the bushbaby becomes a meerkat, "she's not angry with you. She'd be fussing, if she was." And it's true that infant mage seems perfectly calm, not nipping at Andrew or struggling to be put down.

See? Everything is going to be just fine. "Why don't we check more of these closets?" she suggests gently.

Andrew pets his daughter, stroking in the same direction as the fur. "She's beautiful," he says to himself as much as to Daine. He's starting to calm down a little, but he still feels uncontrollably weepy. Is he always going to be like this? Is he ever going to be able to take care of his own babies?

He nods and wipes his nose on his sleeve. Cuddling his little girl (now a little monkey clinging to his shirt) to his chest with one hand, he reaches out and opens the next door to reveal a coat closet. Peering inside, Andrew doesn't quite see the little bat hanging between the fall jackets.

"Looks like you," Daine says, her grin turning impish as she glances between him and the little meerkat. As the baby shifts into monkey shape, she turns her attention to the row of closets, doing that little mental trick that lets her see the copper flare of wild magic in the People - and in other folk who have it.

As a result, she spots the bat immediately. "There," she says, nodding up at it, "between those two jackets." She could reach for it, but she rather thinks it'd do Andrew some good if he did it himself. She doesn't get the sense that the little mage plans on running - or flying - away from him.

"He's so little," exclaims Andrew, as if that isn't because his baby happens to have chosen to become a bat. Making sure he's got a good hold on his daughter (she has amazing grip as a monkey, but Omega knows what she'll turn into next), he reaches up with his free hand, holding it below the little bat. "I've got you," he promises. "It's dad. I'm here and you can come down now."

Tentatively, the infant sniffs at his fingers and then clambers down onto his palm.

Lost--reward if found

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