Security

[intheheart]

Title: Security
Rating: PG.
Summary: Andy had been subdued ever since they told him about the baby.
Date: April 2023
Notes: Ivy refers to the events of Daddy's Little Girl once or twice.


Andy had been subdued since they'd told him about the baby.

Ivy had put it down at first to typical sibling rivalry. She remembered vividly her own displeasure upon finding out that Summer was imminent, and although she wouldn't trade her baby sister for anything, it had taken several months before she'd accepted the inevitable, let alone been pleased about it.

And hell, she'd been the bitchiest kid imaginable about it, too. Andy just got very, very quiet. She could live with quiet.

But it didn't go away. That was the thing. Andy had been quiet like this at the beginning, when he'd first come to live with them, but he'd gotten over that in a matter of months and been his bouncy, bright, bubbly self. That was, until Gina had told him he was going to have a little sister.

Ivy was worried enough by the quiet, especially when it extended into four and even five months. But then she discovered that he'd been caching stuff. Little things, on the sly-- his favorite book, a few toy soldiers, an especially warm and fluffy sweater-- in places he could easily get to them, just in case.

It was that implied "just in case" that broke Ivy's heart. Her poor little baby, what was going on in his head?

So she cleared her schedule, and picked her chance.

"I'll get Andy today," she told Gina, as they picked up after breakfast while their son got his school things together.

Gina frowned. "Are you sure?" she asked. "Your work isn't nearly as understanding about unexpected absences."

"I've got nothing this afternoon," Ivy said, and gave her a meaningful glance. "And they owe me a day off anyway. I was thinking I could take him to the park."

The frown cleared from Gina's brows, and she nodded-- she'd been worried too. "He'll like that," she said, simply. "Don't bother about dinner. I'll get pizza on the way home."

Ivy grinned. "No anchovies. Andy hates anchovies."

"Andy doesn't mind anchovies at all," Gina retorted, her own smile bright as the sunlight. "You hate anchovies and are using our poor helpless son for your fiendish ends."

"If having no anchovies on my pizza is fiendish, I don't wanna be..." Ivy paused. "What's the opposite of fiendish, anyway?"

"Late for school," Gina said, and swatted at her with a towel. "Go."

So they'd gone, Andy still very quiet. He got even more quiet when he saw her waiting for him after his kindergarten class let out-- his eyes went huge and round, and he hunched his head in on his shoulders.

Ivy privately resolved that whoever had put that expression on her son's face was going to die.

"Hey, kiddo," she said, and grinned at him, leaning in for a hug. Andy accepted it, but stayed stiff in her arms like a little plank of wood. "Want to go to the park?"

He nodded, and took her hand, a little dark shadow walking at her side, silent the eight blocks to the park. Her stomach sank, but she stayed quiet too; the first move in this, she thought, should come from Andy. Hell, she had no idea what "this" was, so it had to come from Andy.

And it did, as they climbed a gentle rise that passed for a hill in New York City. "When do I have to go back?" Andy asked, sounding utterly miserable.

Ivy stopped in her tracks so abruptly that he actually went on a pace or two without her, and only stopped when the tug on his hand told him she hadn't gone anywhere. "What?" she blurted. "Andy, what are you talking about?"

He tugged on his hand and extracted it from hers, burying both hands in his pants pockets after. "Back to foster care," he said. "I'm not stupid."

No, and Ivy would never say so, but he was being ridiculous and she very nearly said that. "You're not going back," she said, instead, and knelt down to get on his level. "You're our son, Andy. We adopted you. That means you stay with us forever and you don't ever go back."

"But you don't need me anymore," Andy said. His hands went further into his pockets, and his shoulders came up, turtlelike. "When the baby comes you won't need me, so I thought..."

What the hell was she supposed to say to that? "We'll always need you," she said. "You're our son, Andy."

"But not really," Andy said, sounding miserable. "She'll be your baby. I'm not your baby. Once you have your own, why will you need me?"

"That's ridiculous," Ivy said, and cursed the words as soon as they were out of her mouth, as Andy shrank just a little more. "Not that you feel that way, sweetie," she added, hastily. "Just the idea that we wouldn't need you anymore."

"But..." he began, then hunched a little further in on himself and started to shuffle up the hill again. "Never mind."

"No," she said, and reached out, touched his shoulder gently. "Not never mind. Andy, we love you. You're our baby. I'm your mom, and I always will be. That's what adopting you means. You're ours, forever."

"It's not the same," Andy said. He still wouldn't look at her.

She tilted her head. She'd used her father's words, earlier, almost verbatim, and that had given her a thought. "So... are you saying my father doesn't love me?"

That got her son's attention; he looked up and frowned at her. "'Course he does," he said.

"Exactly," Ivy said, and sat back on her heels.

He frowned again, this time, looking puzzled. "I don't get it."

She raised her eyebrows, genuinely surprised. "You mean I never told you? I'm adopted."

"No way," Andy said, his own eyes going wide. "No way, you look just like Grandma!"

"That," Ivy said, "is because I'm Grandma's biological child, but not Grandpa's. Didn't I tell you this story? My birth father ran off when I was a baby. My mother married Grandpa when I was five years old, and he adopted me not long after that."

Andy wrinkled his nose. "You're just saying that to make me feel better."

"Am not," Ivy said. "Cross my heart. I'll show you my adoption papers when we get home, if you want."

He seemed to be thinking now, hard. "And Grandpa still..." He hesitated, but Ivy had a pretty good idea where he'd been going.

"Yes," she said. "Grandpa still loved me when Aunt Summer was born. He loved me before that, too, just as much as he loved Uncle Aaron. And I'm his daughter, just like you're my son. Nothing will ever, ever change that."

Andy had straightened now, not entirely, but enough. "Really and truly?"

Ivy smiled at that, hearing her own five-year-old voice ask the same thing. "Really and truly."

He still didn't look as if he really believed her, not one hundred percent, but at least he looked thoughtful, now, instead of just lost. "Okay," he said, then, still a little suspicious, "I get to keep my room, right?"

"Sure," Ivy said. "Honestly, kiddo, not much is going to change for you. Mama and I are going to be really tired and cranky for a while, and we might not have a lot of attention for you at first, but it's our job to take care of you and your sister, not yours. All you have to do is be the best big brother you can be, and speak up if you feel like we're being mean."

She hesitated, then thought that a little warning might not go amiss, and might even make him trust her more. Andy had never been one for sugarcoating. "Although I have to warn you, having a newborn in the house is going to suck. They cry and cry all night and they never sleep when you want them to."

"Ew!" He made a face.

"But they're worth it too," she added. "You'll see. She'll be the most awesome little sister ever. Except for me, of course."

Andy giggled at that. "Nuh-uh," he said. "Uncle Aaron says you're a terrible little sister."

"Uncle Aaron is a filthy liar," Ivy said. "You feeling a little better now, kiddo?"

He considered it, and finally nodded. "Yeah," he said, then lowered his head again and looked up at her through his extravagant lashes. "But I think some ice cream would make me feel even better."

That made her grin, irresistibly. "That's right, milk it for all it's worth. You are so my kid. Let's get some ice cream."

Andy beamed.