Children Of The Sky (The Scripts Of Neptune, Book 2)

Chapter 43

It was raining again.

It'd been doing that a lot lately.

Jack listened to the pitter-patter on the roof and windows of Mick's house as he laid awake on the couch, watching the strange, faint shadows the water cast through the glass. He laid, and he ached, exhausted, and he still could not sleep.

The new baby--a girl they'd christened Emma Bliss--kept waking up with the thunder, and more than once Jack heard Bel get up and pace and hum, then Mick, then Bel again. It became a lull, with the rain, the bittersweet sound of a newborn's sleepy wail and the tap of raindrops. It was haunting, almost. The sounds wed in the dark and echoed and sat in his ears even after Emma's wailing tapered off once again with her parents' soothing.

Dawn came later and slower and fainter than usual, with the clouds still hanging low and dropping a drizzle on the city, but he was surprised nonetheless by its appearance. Had it been so long, listening to the silence of a sleeping house and the rain? He hadn't slept a wink.

It wasn't long before Mick was up and about, yawning and barefoot as he moved around the kitchen, stirring the coals in the stove and putting more wood in it. He jumped when he turned and met Jack's weary gaze, putting a hand to his chest and chuffing a laugh.

"Dreail, Captain, you startled me. Didn't expect to see you staring at me like someone possessed," he said, voice rough with sleep. His dark eyes grew somber when Jack didn't smile; the ache grew worse. "You sleep at all, mate?"

Jack's eyes found the ceiling, then the window. "No," he said, and his voice almost broke. Reaching up, he ran a hand over his face, feeling the wetness of tears on his fingertips when he touched his tired eyes. Gods, he still ached so badly, maybe worse than last night.

"You want some tea?"

"Yeah."

The sharp sounds of dishes clanking cut through the morning quiet, and Jack sat up and hung his legs over the side of the couch when Mick brought him his tea. It was hoproot, it smelled like, sweet and gentle in aroma and taste. Jack smelled it again and eyed Mick when he caught a hint of something else.

"What'd you put in this?"

"None of your bloody business," Mick said lightly, sitting with bent legs on the floor across from Jack. His hair was unbound and wild, sticking up even when he raked his hand through it to brush it back, a halo of dark almost-curls. "Drink it or I'll make you. Probably isn't enough to do hardly anything, anyway."

Jack raised an eyebrow. Mick raised both of his. Defeated, Jack huffed and sipped at his tea.

"You sleep much?" he asked, quiet, as the heat from the tea seeped into his chest and eased the aching a little. "I heard the baby up a lot."

"Yeah, Em's a fusser," Mick said, and there was weary fondness in his voice and expression. "She likes Bel better than me, I think. Makes it hard to balance the hours."

Jack nodded and looked down into his mug, swirling it around and watching the sediment turn into a miniature hurricane in the bottom. "Can you help Crynia move in with her dad? I...I don't know if I..."

"Sure thing, mate," Mick said, and knocked a knuckle lightly against Jack's shin. "Hey."

Jack looked up as best he could from where he'd bent over his mug, face contorted, aching everywhere. There were tears in his eyes, and his hands were white around his mug.

Mick's brows drew low. "You want some lilop?" he asked, gentle, and Jack nodded.

Mick got up and returned a few minutes later with a wickedly long needle attached to a syringe drawn up with cloudy white liquid. "Arm?"