She Would Have Loved Him If She Could Have Ever Met Him, And He Would Have Loved Her.

she would have loved him if she could have ever met him, and he would have loved her.

I know that, had she lived, this little squirt would have been glued to her side. she probably knew Paz, even distantly, due to them both being pilots. she might have even known the kid as a tiny little infant.

and then the war is over and... no one wants him. no one wants to take care of him. it's seen as a chore. but she can't help, even if she never considered herself to be a motherly type, not with the cards she had previously been dealt, but to go see the little thing in whatever makeshift nursery they she set up for him. to place her finger in his little hand and feel him squeeze it with all his tiny might.

she doesn't have to be his mom, she tells herself, just his fun tia, or maybe his badass big sister.

she sings to him little Spanish lullabies she remembers from her own childhood, and dances with him in the nursery when she manages to scrape up some old audio files. calls him by the middle name he was given, cause Javier had a better ring than Miles (she wonders who decided on that. can't decide wish irks her more). seeing that boy smile every time she entered the room, arms reaching for her, it makes her day.

as he gets bigger, starting to walk, holding her hand, then running, running away, her heart briefly fluttering with melancholy, before he runs right back into her arms. he starts to speak, and tries his best to say her name, with all his might, before giving up and calling her di-di.

he follows her around. she puts little braids and beads and feathers in her hair. he clings to her legs. she takes him flying.

he inherits her fire. Quaritch can't be found in his face or his eyes. all anyone can see is Trudy.

she'd raise hell for her baby. brother. boy. son.