Fanfic - Cabal - Part 4
Title: Human Nature to Miscalculate
Rating: PG-13 for fade-to-black sexual content in the first part.
Characters/Pairings: Cabal/Leonie in the beginning (increasingly less as the story progresses)
Summary: Cabal was not a man who fancied mistakes, in himself or others. However, it must be acknowledged that in some mistakes required a lapse in judgment on two sides, rather than one, where the placement of blame is a waste of good time and justifications.
Notes: Takes place after Johannes Cabal the Detective.
Part IV - In Which Cabal Meets his Daughter
Leonie didn’t recognize him as she was wheeled down the sterile hospital hallways. She waved the nurse away as she came to a stop near the nursery observation glass. There was a man in a white coat and scrubs standing there, taking quick notes on a clipboard.
Leonie almost passed him over as she stared at her daughter.
“White really doesn’t become you,” she commented, her voice a little too tired, a little raspy. “It makes you look even paler.”
“So I was told when I impersonated the Pope in Spain,” he replied, still pretending to be very focused on the clipboard in his hands. He didn’t like hospitals, and it felt traitorous to disguise himself as one - he had an easier time if he pretended he was secretly mocking them. “I also look maniacal in red, by the way.”
“I’m too tired to ask…”
“I thought nothing could kill the spirit of banter in you, Ms. Barrow.”
She pressed her head against the glass, smudging it lightly. “Something about pushing an entire human being out of me did the trick.” Her human being. Their human being. Good god there was something seriously wrong with that notion, and they both felt it.
They were quiet for a long time, staring at the little burrito-bundles of blue and pink.
Leonie looked at Cabal, he was still staring at the nursery with an intensity she’d only seen him apply to a puzzle. She looked back at the nursery, to Cabal again.
“She looks more like a fetal pig at this stage then a human being,” he commented.
Leonie shot a fierce look at him, but he lacked the sardonic lilt that bespoke real insult. She tried to wrap her mind around whether or not that was supposed to be a compliment. Settling on the more likely observation. “It’ll take her a while to fluff up.” Leonie got a little dizzy again. If she were any less tired, the situation would just be too awkward. She’d accidentally made a baby - a person - with a ruthless, if intelligent, sociopath that had once stolen her soul. And he was standing in the hospital with her. “You’re actually in the room? I assume you’re not just a side effect of the pain medication?”
“I’m here.” It wasn’t said in a particularly warm way, not implying that he was there for her emotionally and his presence was strictly factional. “I wanted to confirm.”
“That the child was yours?”
“I didn’t want to tell you I was coming just in case this was a trap.”
She clucked, trying to ignore the statement. While there was a part of her that still very much wanted to see him behind bars, it didn’t seem right after asking him there. It was kind of rude to think she would. “Well tell me, are your doubts settled?”
“I’ll have to wait until she’s older for more certainty.”
“But?”
“Her eyes are my color. And her blood type is B. You’re type O, so her father must have contributed a B.” His expression was unreadable again. “It’s very likely.”
The polar shift hit him right then. He wondered what sick celestial scheme had been devised for him to have a child with Leonie Barrow of all people. On a good day, he was only mildly irritated by her, on a bad day, he pondered homicide. They were polar opposites, unalike in every way, except maybe a sharp grasp of the English language, and they were incompatible as people. His brilliant scheme to get her out of his life was his biggest miscalculation. In fact, this was directly contrary to that.
Logical. Leonie hadn’t expected immediate fatherly pride. It probably would have concerned her.
He reached into the pocket of the lab coat and retrieved a slip of paper.
Leonie took it and considered the numbers. “What’s this?”
“The access numbers to a joint account.” He told her how much was in there.
After a moment, she attempted to shove it back into his hand. “No, thank you.”
He looked confused and affronted all at once. “You can’t be serious.”
“You made that money---“
“Honestly,” he said the word insistently.
“---from an evil carnival.”
“Evil is a subjective term. Even by your definition, it was only evil part of the time, less than ten percent. Most people had a fine time parting with their disposable income instead of their souls. It was capitalism at its finest.”
She narrowed her eyes. “How can I accept that money knowing where it came from?”
“Because it isn’t for you, it’s for her.” He motioned towards the infant sleeping, squirming in pink dreams a few feet away from them.
Pinching the bridge of her nose, Leonie mumbled something born of exhaustion. “You frustrate me like no one else.” She bit her lip. “So, I suppose this means you’ll be staying around?”
“No,” he answered simply. “Not in the strictest sense of the term.”
She frowned. “Either you’re here or you’re not---“
“That isn’t going to be the case,” he said it like it was already a fact. “I’ll stop by when I can. I won’t tell you when or for how long; she will know my face.” He ground his teeth together at the look on her face. “Don’t give me that. Staying with you full time is not possible with my research. And you don’t want those two worlds to mesh any more than I do. You know I’m not going to change and I know you aren’t. Imagine a shotgun wedding and me getting a job at the local grocer. We’d kill each other in a week. I’m only being pragmatic.”
“There’s another option,” she said through gritted teeth.
“I’m not turning myself in to the police. That’s not an alternative and if you even imply it again, I’m leaving.”
She rounded on him. “Don’t pretend like you’re doing us such a god. damn. favor by just ‘stopping in’.”
He hissed, “Lower your voice. And no, I’m not deluding myself. It’s ignoble. But I do keep peace of mind in that the time I’m away is devoted towards creating a better world.” For everyone, really, not the child specifically - but for everyone. He omitted that.
Leonie shook her head. “You…I don’t want to fight now. I won’t praise you for cowardice, but I won’t report you for visiting her.”
He had to restrain from snapping and reminding her that so-called cowardice had kept him alive long enough to reproduce. “Just take the money.”
After a moment’s contemplation, Leonie said, “On one condition.”
Cabal crossed his arms in preparation for belligerence. “And what would that be?”
Leonie tapped on the glass to get the attention of a honey-skinned nurse. She grinned brightly, grabbed up the pink bundle, and brought her outside. Leonie took the child, face red, dry, squished, and surprised all at once, cradled it to her chest for a moment. She looked at the child with an expression of unconditional admiration and kindness, which, directed towards anybody else, Cabal probably would have been sickened by.
Then Leonie looked at him.
He paled. “No.”
“It’s just like holding a pigskin.”
He looked ready to bolt for the door. “No.”
“Don’t be silly. You were comfortable enough reuniting with your humanity long enough to help make her, you might as well say hi.”
“I…I…” he staggered for the right words. He’d never held an infant before. Not that he could tell Leonie that, but he’d never planned what to do in such a situation. At her unscrupulous gaze, he realized that his only options were to hold the child, admit to her that he was terrified, or flee the country in shame. As the seconds ticked on, the third option looked more and more appealing.
Leonie rolled her eyes and shoved the child into his arms, putting him into a situation where he either had to accept the parcel or risk dropping her. It was a risky move on her part, but she knew from experience that he operated better in social situations when he didn’t have time to think about it.
He held the child uncomfortably- one arm was a little too low. It took a moment for him to figure out what was wrong and adjust accordingly. Cabal stared at her like she was the world’s smallest ticking bomb, which the slightest fumble could lead to the destruction of the entire city. The child squiggled a little, but settled down into her father’s arms with nothing more than a little displeased chortle. Although he hadn’t quite settled on his feelings about her, he did know that dropping the baby would be bad.
“She’s crying.”
“She’s not crying, she’s just a little fussy,” Leonie said forcefully, “you’ll know crying.”
They stood there for a few moments; Cabal feeling more like an idiot than he ever had in his life.
Leonie was smiling, vile tricksteress that she was. “So, what do you want to name her?”
“It’s up to you,” he replied noncommittally.
“You mean you haven’t thought about it in the least?”
No. No he hadn’t. He looked at the child, shrugged his shoulders (carefully) and spewed out the first name that came to mind. “Abigail.”
Smiling, Leonie listened carefully. “That’s a fine name, what made you think of it?”
“It was the first name that came to mind.”
She smirked. “You don’t change, do you?”
“Glacially,” he replied, and then looked down the hallways. Detective Barrow could be sighted at a vending machine on the other side. He looked older and walked with a tired little limp- it was definitely him, though. Cabal didn’t feel like having that conversation. “I have to go.”
She didn’t seem pleased, but she lifted her arms to accept the child.
He did hesitate for a moment in handing her back, his eyes lingering a little too long on her face, studying, analyzing before relinquishing her to her mother.
He turned to leave, stopped, and looked back and Leonie. “Take care,” he said clinically, as if he had to instead of wanted to, and then left.
He stopped briefly for a therapeutic visit to the morgue to collect fresh brain matter. He was feeling celebratory enough to tell one of the cadavers that he was a new father. He wrote the silliness off as a result of the fumes from disinfectant and the slight, uncomfortable daze he was still in.
Rating: PG-13 for fade-to-black sexual content in the first part.
Characters/Pairings: Cabal/Leonie in the beginning (increasingly less as the story progresses)
Summary: Cabal was not a man who fancied mistakes, in himself or others. However, it must be acknowledged that in some mistakes required a lapse in judgment on two sides, rather than one, where the placement of blame is a waste of good time and justifications.
Notes: Takes place after Johannes Cabal the Detective.
Part IV - In Which Cabal Meets his Daughter
Leonie didn’t recognize him as she was wheeled down the sterile hospital hallways. She waved the nurse away as she came to a stop near the nursery observation glass. There was a man in a white coat and scrubs standing there, taking quick notes on a clipboard.
Leonie almost passed him over as she stared at her daughter.
“White really doesn’t become you,” she commented, her voice a little too tired, a little raspy. “It makes you look even paler.”
“So I was told when I impersonated the Pope in Spain,” he replied, still pretending to be very focused on the clipboard in his hands. He didn’t like hospitals, and it felt traitorous to disguise himself as one - he had an easier time if he pretended he was secretly mocking them. “I also look maniacal in red, by the way.”
“I’m too tired to ask…”
“I thought nothing could kill the spirit of banter in you, Ms. Barrow.”
She pressed her head against the glass, smudging it lightly. “Something about pushing an entire human being out of me did the trick.” Her human being. Their human being. Good god there was something seriously wrong with that notion, and they both felt it.
They were quiet for a long time, staring at the little burrito-bundles of blue and pink.
Leonie looked at Cabal, he was still staring at the nursery with an intensity she’d only seen him apply to a puzzle. She looked back at the nursery, to Cabal again.
“She looks more like a fetal pig at this stage then a human being,” he commented.
Leonie shot a fierce look at him, but he lacked the sardonic lilt that bespoke real insult. She tried to wrap her mind around whether or not that was supposed to be a compliment. Settling on the more likely observation. “It’ll take her a while to fluff up.” Leonie got a little dizzy again. If she were any less tired, the situation would just be too awkward. She’d accidentally made a baby - a person - with a ruthless, if intelligent, sociopath that had once stolen her soul. And he was standing in the hospital with her. “You’re actually in the room? I assume you’re not just a side effect of the pain medication?”
“I’m here.” It wasn’t said in a particularly warm way, not implying that he was there for her emotionally and his presence was strictly factional. “I wanted to confirm.”
“That the child was yours?”
“I didn’t want to tell you I was coming just in case this was a trap.”
She clucked, trying to ignore the statement. While there was a part of her that still very much wanted to see him behind bars, it didn’t seem right after asking him there. It was kind of rude to think she would. “Well tell me, are your doubts settled?”
“I’ll have to wait until she’s older for more certainty.”
“But?”
“Her eyes are my color. And her blood type is B. You’re type O, so her father must have contributed a B.” His expression was unreadable again. “It’s very likely.”
The polar shift hit him right then. He wondered what sick celestial scheme had been devised for him to have a child with Leonie Barrow of all people. On a good day, he was only mildly irritated by her, on a bad day, he pondered homicide. They were polar opposites, unalike in every way, except maybe a sharp grasp of the English language, and they were incompatible as people. His brilliant scheme to get her out of his life was his biggest miscalculation. In fact, this was directly contrary to that.
Logical. Leonie hadn’t expected immediate fatherly pride. It probably would have concerned her.
He reached into the pocket of the lab coat and retrieved a slip of paper.
Leonie took it and considered the numbers. “What’s this?”
“The access numbers to a joint account.” He told her how much was in there.
After a moment, she attempted to shove it back into his hand. “No, thank you.”
He looked confused and affronted all at once. “You can’t be serious.”
“You made that money---“
“Honestly,” he said the word insistently.
“---from an evil carnival.”
“Evil is a subjective term. Even by your definition, it was only evil part of the time, less than ten percent. Most people had a fine time parting with their disposable income instead of their souls. It was capitalism at its finest.”
She narrowed her eyes. “How can I accept that money knowing where it came from?”
“Because it isn’t for you, it’s for her.” He motioned towards the infant sleeping, squirming in pink dreams a few feet away from them.
Pinching the bridge of her nose, Leonie mumbled something born of exhaustion. “You frustrate me like no one else.” She bit her lip. “So, I suppose this means you’ll be staying around?”
“No,” he answered simply. “Not in the strictest sense of the term.”
She frowned. “Either you’re here or you’re not---“
“That isn’t going to be the case,” he said it like it was already a fact. “I’ll stop by when I can. I won’t tell you when or for how long; she will know my face.” He ground his teeth together at the look on her face. “Don’t give me that. Staying with you full time is not possible with my research. And you don’t want those two worlds to mesh any more than I do. You know I’m not going to change and I know you aren’t. Imagine a shotgun wedding and me getting a job at the local grocer. We’d kill each other in a week. I’m only being pragmatic.”
“There’s another option,” she said through gritted teeth.
“I’m not turning myself in to the police. That’s not an alternative and if you even imply it again, I’m leaving.”
She rounded on him. “Don’t pretend like you’re doing us such a god. damn. favor by just ‘stopping in’.”
He hissed, “Lower your voice. And no, I’m not deluding myself. It’s ignoble. But I do keep peace of mind in that the time I’m away is devoted towards creating a better world.” For everyone, really, not the child specifically - but for everyone. He omitted that.
Leonie shook her head. “You…I don’t want to fight now. I won’t praise you for cowardice, but I won’t report you for visiting her.”
He had to restrain from snapping and reminding her that so-called cowardice had kept him alive long enough to reproduce. “Just take the money.”
After a moment’s contemplation, Leonie said, “On one condition.”
Cabal crossed his arms in preparation for belligerence. “And what would that be?”
Leonie tapped on the glass to get the attention of a honey-skinned nurse. She grinned brightly, grabbed up the pink bundle, and brought her outside. Leonie took the child, face red, dry, squished, and surprised all at once, cradled it to her chest for a moment. She looked at the child with an expression of unconditional admiration and kindness, which, directed towards anybody else, Cabal probably would have been sickened by.
Then Leonie looked at him.
He paled. “No.”
“It’s just like holding a pigskin.”
He looked ready to bolt for the door. “No.”
“Don’t be silly. You were comfortable enough reuniting with your humanity long enough to help make her, you might as well say hi.”
“I…I…” he staggered for the right words. He’d never held an infant before. Not that he could tell Leonie that, but he’d never planned what to do in such a situation. At her unscrupulous gaze, he realized that his only options were to hold the child, admit to her that he was terrified, or flee the country in shame. As the seconds ticked on, the third option looked more and more appealing.
Leonie rolled her eyes and shoved the child into his arms, putting him into a situation where he either had to accept the parcel or risk dropping her. It was a risky move on her part, but she knew from experience that he operated better in social situations when he didn’t have time to think about it.
He held the child uncomfortably- one arm was a little too low. It took a moment for him to figure out what was wrong and adjust accordingly. Cabal stared at her like she was the world’s smallest ticking bomb, which the slightest fumble could lead to the destruction of the entire city. The child squiggled a little, but settled down into her father’s arms with nothing more than a little displeased chortle. Although he hadn’t quite settled on his feelings about her, he did know that dropping the baby would be bad.
“She’s crying.”
“She’s not crying, she’s just a little fussy,” Leonie said forcefully, “you’ll know crying.”
They stood there for a few moments; Cabal feeling more like an idiot than he ever had in his life.
Leonie was smiling, vile tricksteress that she was. “So, what do you want to name her?”
“It’s up to you,” he replied noncommittally.
“You mean you haven’t thought about it in the least?”
No. No he hadn’t. He looked at the child, shrugged his shoulders (carefully) and spewed out the first name that came to mind. “Abigail.”
Smiling, Leonie listened carefully. “That’s a fine name, what made you think of it?”
“It was the first name that came to mind.”
She smirked. “You don’t change, do you?”
“Glacially,” he replied, and then looked down the hallways. Detective Barrow could be sighted at a vending machine on the other side. He looked older and walked with a tired little limp- it was definitely him, though. Cabal didn’t feel like having that conversation. “I have to go.”
She didn’t seem pleased, but she lifted her arms to accept the child.
He did hesitate for a moment in handing her back, his eyes lingering a little too long on her face, studying, analyzing before relinquishing her to her mother.
He turned to leave, stopped, and looked back and Leonie. “Take care,” he said clinically, as if he had to instead of wanted to, and then left.
He stopped briefly for a therapeutic visit to the morgue to collect fresh brain matter. He was feeling celebratory enough to tell one of the cadavers that he was a new father. He wrote the silliness off as a result of the fumes from disinfectant and the slight, uncomfortable daze he was still in.