Daughter on his Doorstep (HC #2)

4: Sleepless Clue Town

Vincent jerked awake in the early hours, one hand rising to his face in an attempt to squeeze the exhaustion from his eyes. Disorientated, he tried to remember where he was. He was sitting, clearing not in his bedroom, but the dim light cascading through the window failed to reveal the bookshelves or desk of his university quarters. His gaze settled on a rocking horse.

Ah.

Very slowly, Vincent looked down at the infant still cradled in his arms, and was relieved to find her undisturbed. Her little lips quivered in her sleep, pursing and un-pursing as she dreamt, but she showed no sign of waking. Vincent couldn't help but raise a sceptical brow at her innocent expression: it had been a long night.

Whilst he had not been technically incorrect – he could indeed care for a sleeping baby – it was the child's waking hours that had proven... difficult. And frequent. Every couple of hours, she would split the air with shrieks of complaint that promptly brought either Aunt Jemima or Matilda to her side. Nappies were changed or breasts attached in alternation, but she would not settle for either woman, and would not be placed in the cot that a servant had dusted off and made up for her. She would only quiet when returned to Vincent.

Perhaps he ought to have been flattered, but his only thought was that the babe had made a very poor selection indeed.

As he pulled his focus away from the previous night, Vincent considered what had woken him. The chair he sat in was far from comfortable, but after such an interrupted night he didn't think that alone would be enough to stir him. He checked the child again – this time watching her chest rise and fall a few times as a precaution – before turning his attention to the room in search of what had disturbed him.

With his gaze raised, he found it instantly.

Leaning in the doorway, one ankle crossed over the other and his arms folded across his chest, was Thomas Thorne. His clothes were the same as the previous evening, though limited only to his trousers and shirt, and his hair was ruffled and standing up on one side.

He had clearly slept.

Vincent frowned.

Thomas met his gaze and quirked an eyebrow, moving slowly into the room. "I wasn't sure if I'd find you in one piece this morning."

Though his voice was pitched conversationally, it seemed to echo around the room, reverberating in Vincent's ears until he winced. His frown darted down to the child, who only twisted in her sleep, cuddling closer to his warmth, and then back to Thomas.

The man raised his hands in surrender. "Apologies." He was closer to a whisper now.

Vincent felt some of the tension drain out of his shoulders, and he relaxed back into the chair he occupied even as Thomas moved into the room and loomed over him. Perhaps it was exhaustion, but he was less disturbed by the man than he usually was.

"She seems content."

Vincent nodded.

"Such sweet innocence."

He couldn't help the snort.

Thomas leant away, one hand gripping the back of Vincent's chair, and he gazed down in surprise. "You don't think she's innocent?"

Vincent felt the wry smile on his face, but he couldn't figure out how to put the feeling into words. His free hand raked hair out of his face, and he shrugged. "Perhaps legally."

It was Thomas' turn to snort, and he stepped back, hooking a stool with one foot and dragging it towards him. When he took a seat – comically squatting on furniture designed for children – he set his elbows on his knees and watched the little girl.