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Boothill staggers into his cramped cabin and promptly faceplants into the bed - just in time for his whole body to seize up once more, bending and contorting into agonising angles. He twists and turns, the sheets beneath clawed metallic fingers tearing into it as easily as paper. Boothill had lost all semblance of time as the foreign sensation of pain continue to ripple through him, though by the time it lets up, he's certain his ship had long flown past Ibreon XII's moon by now.
At least two days.
Two full days of this pain.
Just what actual fork is going on with him?
The ringing in his ears gives way to the blaring of his system warnings - warnings of overheating, of alarmingly high blood pressure palpitations, and of something else that he simply couldn't compute due to his insides deciding to crush into itself. Boothill couldn't hold back anymore - he cries out through gritted teeth.
Okay, now that's worrying.
His metallic body had no business shifting and moving on its own accord like that. In fact, it shouldn't even be possible. As he stays still, taking stock of his body, it is clear that his innards are moving, much like how his muscles twitch after hours of horse riding, or as his stomach rolls after eating something bad. But that was when his body had been alive. Now, it just feels very wrong.
What the actual fork?!
He doesn't whimper, but he nearly does as he drags his body to lean against the headboard, recounting the eventful week he's had.
The IPC had nearly killed him. In the remote planet of Ibreon XII where he'd made a pit stop to refuel his Aurora, he'd let his guard down completely, something that he'd never even think of doing. His head would've been blown to bits right on the spot were it not for the blaring of sirens screaming in his head. Someone must've reported him - the fudging gas station owner most likely - but he'd had little time to worry about that as he makes his hasty escape from the barrage of bullets raining down on him.
It had been a wonder that his Aurora is still functioning at all. Those sons of devils had demolished her right wing, and it leaves a trail of black smoke in her wake as it zooms past the planet's atmosphere and into space.
He'd barely managed to lose them. He was lucky the planet had a ring of debris he could shroud himself in, and that IPC's ships were too large and bulky to fly around the debris where his own sleeker ship could manoeuvre between the narrow spaces. That's how the IPC ships collided and exploded.
Good riddance.
With those pests finally out of his hair, he could worry about other matters - like the bullets lodged all over his body, and the leaky mess it left behind, drenching the cockpit's floor with fuel, grease and blue-black blood. With how much of the mess were trickling out of him, he'd reckoned he'd pass out if he didnt do anything about it immediately, and so he went to work, his body feeling increasingly sluggish as he extracts each bullet from his metal plating. There weren't any internal leakages, to his relief, and neither were anything badly ruptured either.
At most he could patch himself up and set his ship towards his old maker's coordinates, where he could get himself properly looked at. Except--
“Muddle fudger!”
Boothill groans as he collapses into the floor. Sparks dance before his eyes, briefly distorting the HUD blinking an angry red in his vision. A burning sensation crests between his ribs down to his pelvis. He curls around that alarming sensation (pain, his mind supplies - that sensation is pain), wrapping his arms around his middle as if to contain it.
Did he miss something? Had his system not detected any more damage?
Am I gonna die?
Aurora… am I dying?
That name lingered in his head as he felt himself slowly shutting down from the world.
He dreams.
There were wheatfields, golden like the rays of sunlight caressing his cheeks. The sound of hooves thundering against the earth and the chirping of grasshoppers as the sun sets below the horizon.
There was a dying bonfire, and the sound of laughter echoing around him, but they were neither near nor far, somewhere just beyond his reach.
But the most prominent of it all was a baby's giggles. The warm, tiny weight of her fitting snugly against his chest, carving her shape deep within him.
In his dreams, she curls herself in the crevice she'd made, her cherubic face peacefully asleep, ready for the day she'd wake up once more in his waiting arms.
His body reboots itself two days later. Holding onto the hope that his body had miraculously repaired itself while offline, he lets out a litany of not-curses when the crushing, constricting sensation returns with a vengeance. The pain seems to grip him much longer than before, and suddenly death feels like a kinder option in comparison.
Still groggy and more exhausted than ever, he pushes himself off the floor and briefly inspects himself. He's still injured, still covered in his own disgusting fluids, and the squeezing pain continues to persist, if not situated much lower down his pelvis now.
Darn it, he really needs to find that old hag, and fast.
His hands reach for the console and blindly punches in the coordinates before curling up into a ball of pain once more.
Hurts… it hurts… his mind reels as he drags himself towards his cabin. He collapses clumsily into the bedding, taking deep breaths. At least… at least I could rest until… help arrives.
It won't be long till the doctor fixes him, and by the time she does, he'll be back in top shape in no time.
Heaven, he could even request for a stomach upgrade, because whatever is happening in this one most likely didnt agree with the gunpowder he'd ingested the other day. Or was it that malt juice back in Penacony? He'd always thought it tasted strange…
“Aeons…!”
A gush of liquid jolts him awake before he could attempt to doze off. And no, it isn't the liquid Boothill expects as he looks down at himself, his pants and bed sheets soaked through in what appears to be clear liquid - and lots of it.
“What the…” Rising to his knees, he shucks off his pants, deciding to discard his shirt as well. This… is absolutely new.
Had he pissed himself? It is a possibility, if not for the fact that he definitely doesn't have a bladder built into him.
So what in Aeon's name is happening to him now?!
As if to answer him, a new sensation takes a hold on him, radiating lower and lower down his abdomen, stealing the ranger's breath rapidly until—
“What the f— oh–!”
His stomach goes rigid. Hysterically, he clutches onto the headboard, and is suddenly overcome with the need to push.
Whatever it is his body is trying to expel, it's making its way out excruciatingly slowly. Already he could feel it breaching his opening, the soft silicone of his walls stretching to accommodate the thing.
More liquid gushes out. He stops pushing and moves to squat, bracing against the headboard and leaning his forehead against it.
Biting back a whimper, he slowly, very slowly, prods between his legs. He couldn't sense much with his unfeeling hands, but his sensors tell him what he thought was a crazy hunch at first, but now is undeniably real.
A baby.
A real, breathing, flesh-and-blood baby.
Suddenly, he feels lightheaded.
The doctor had warned him before about unprotected intercourse, that even with robotic parts he's still susceptible to all sorts of consequences. What she failed to tell him, however, was that this was one of said consequences–
–or had she? Boothill hadn't thought to remember at the time, too caught up with his shiny, new, augmented body to even care.
All it took was one reckless, albeit unforgettable fling to lead him here—covered in amniotic and other fluids, delivering a baby he hadn't known existed until this moment, all alone in a half-destroyed ship.
Oh, how fate loved to toy with him.
Keeping a hand on his baby, he begins to laugh deliriously, tears falling from his eyes as well. The laughter dissolves into sobs as he curses the heavens. He curses the heavens for dropping another kid on him, a kid he knows he doesn't deserve at all. He curses them for the hope stubbornly taking root into his cold, dead heart. He curses them for actually wanting this child, for the desperation to have them in his arms as soon as he possibly could.
Once the twisting pain returns (contractions, he now realises), Boothill bears down with it, grunting as the child descends quickly this time. What happens after that is a haze. Delirious with pain and exhaustion, all Boothill could think of is to push.
And push.
And push.
With another shudder, Boothill gasps as he feels the sudden release of pressure, and the baby sliding out of him with a resounding plop onto the mattress.
Boothill collapses onto the bed, right beside the child. His limbs feel sluggish, as if all his energy had been completely sapped from bringing the baby into the world, but he uses the last of it to turn to the thing he just birthed, grimacing at the sight that greets him.
The first thing Boothill thinks as soon as he catches his breath, peering drowsily at the wriggling mess is, “Ew.”
He may have had a baby once upon a time, but he had no idea what babies were like fresh out of the womb, no less birthing one, and nothing could have prepared him for how messy and gross the process was.
The squirming thing is… bigger than he expected. Almost the same size as his first when he'd found her. It is covered in slimy film, almost like a sac, and with careful fingers he tears through it, revealing the babe underneath. He hitches a breath when he sees a shock of red hair covering the baby's head, already thick and distinctly curly for a newborn. It… she, he realises with a gasp of awe, is chubby and pink all over, and when he looks closer at her face—
–a sob breaks from his lips.
A little butterfly-shaped birthmark peeks behind a tiny ear, and he brings a shaky hand to it - knowing without a doubt that it is the same birthmark his first daughter had on the same spot. The baby snuffles and mewls, voicing her complaints to her father with her strong lungs as Boothill traces the pale patch of skin with reverence.
“That was… difficult for you, ain't it, honey?” Boothill's voice is hoarse. He cradles the child as close to him as possible, hoping his heated body could provide the warmth she seeks. “But you found your way back to me, didn't you, Aurora?”
The child answers with a tiny yawn, her tiny fists batting against his face. Boothill kisses those little hands and feet, marvelling at the air of familiarity welling in his chest. It is the same feeling of a long lost memory revisited once more; the feeling of coming home after a long, arduous journey.
Boothill nuzzles his baby girl, uncaring for the gunk still covering her. Much like Aurora has returned, he too, has returned to where he belonged.
“A bounty from the cherry tree,” Boothill sings an old beloved tune, despite his damaged synth beacon. “A blanket full to carry in the kitchen…”
His voice wavers unintelligibly towards the end of the lullaby as his eyelids begin to droop. His system warnings blare once more, warning him of dangerously low oxygen levels, yet he pushes on, never stopping his song until his baby girl is asleep.
His body must have finally given up at some point, for he feels himself surrendering to exhaustion, succumbing to the embrace of numbness that enveloped his limbs. The coos of his daughter slowly recedes into the distance, fading echoes as he descends further into the depths of unconsciousness.
“I'm sorry… Aurora…”
A message log pops up on the screen, immediately alerting one red-haired knight piloting his ship. Lowering the rose he’d been twirling idly between his fingers, the knight hums curiously when the name of a certain ranger's ship catches his full attention.
Just the person I've been thinking about, Argenti thinks with wonder. It had been nearly a year since their last frivolous encounter, and not a day has past where the knight hadn't yearned for their paths to cross once again.
The beautiful ranger had granted him the precious gift of his frequent coordinates that fateful day, a gesture not lost on the knight. Having memorised those numbers by heart, he had fancied the idea of a reunion, perhaps even summoning the courage to ask him out properly. Yet, with each contemplation, doubt creeps in like shadows at dusk. What if he comes across as too forward? The knight is torn between the desire for connection and the fear of shattering the delicate bond they've forged.
But he needn't worry anymore, for he has finally gotten his answer. Argenti pulls up the location of Boothill's ship, feeling his heart leap as The One and Only detects it heading - no, speeding rather uncontrollably towards him.
Something seems odd.
Argenti scrutinises the ship's trajectory on the radar screen. It appears to be on autopilot, though the noticeable deviations suggest something is damaged. He recalls past encounters with similarly damaged vessels adrift in space, unable to regulate their speed. Boothill’s is undeniably no different from those ships.
Argenti wastes no time - as soon as the other vessel is within sight, he slows it down with a powerful blast of his tractor beam, and it gravitates easily towards him with no resistance met. With the other ship in tow, The One and Only lands onto the nearest planet, and Argenti rushes out as soon as it touches down, alarm bells ringing in his head as soon as he sees the poor state of the ranger's ship.
No, no, no.
He breaks into the damaged ship with a swing of his lance. Several scenarios run through his head as he steps into the hull, but nothing could have prepared him for the shocking sight of the empty cockpit, a miasma of dark liquid painting the floor and walls. With blood pounding in his ears, he follows the trail of liquid towards the ship's cabin, where the trail gets thicker.
Please be alive, Argenti begs in his head, over and over.
“Boothill?”
Panic begins to settle in his gut as he is answered with silence, and he searches through each room almost frantically, growing desperate the longer he searches for the ranger.
And then, he hears it.
It is faint at first, but as Argenti steps into a cramped room, nearly as small as a closet, the sound of muffled crying reaches his ears.
It sounds… like a baby's.
“Oh,” Argenti breathes as he finds the source.
He approaches the lump on the bed and carefully lifts the covers, unveiling a newborn baby, flailing about on damp sheets, shrieking her tiny lungs out.
And wrapped around her, passed out cold, is Boothill.
For a second Argenti stands there, processing the scene before him. However, the baby's increasingly distressed screeching pulls him out of his stupor, and immediately he snaps into action.
Argenti wraps the child in clean sheets, trying hard to ignore the fact that her red hair is an exact mirror of his own. He'll set aside that detail for later, once he has the situation at hand under control.
Once he has the baby bundled and the heater turned up, Argenti turns his attention to Boothill, who remains worryingly unresponsive when the knight tries to shake him gently awake. His eyes then rake down the cyborg's hastily bandaged body, where some parts have been soaked through with grease and blood.
What happened to you, my beloved?
Argenti couldn't do much else when it comes to the other's cyborg body. It is clear from the gashes and bullet holes that Boothill had been attacked, but as for everything else…
The Knight of Beauty shakes his head, reigning in the fury threatening to boil over. Whoever had tried to attack Boothill and a vulnerable child will suffer the force of Idrila's wrathful side, this he promises to the Aeons. But first, he will need to be patient.
After doing everything he could to control the cyborg's leakage and ensuring the other isn't in any pain, he hefts both Boothill and the child into his arms and brings them both into his own ship. The One and Only is shooting across the galaxies in no time, his precious cargo safely tucked away in the warmth of his bedchamber. As he watches the stars warp and bend from intense speed, several questions run through Argenti's head, though for now, he cares little for the answers, focusing instead on getting his beloved to safety as soon as could.
“...hill?”
“...he’s waking up!”
“... he need water?”
“... need to give them space…”
“Boothill?”
Son of a muddle fudger.
Groaning, Boothill turns to duck away from the cacophony of hushed voices, only to regret it instantly. A strange sort of pain immediately shoots down his spine, and he gasps at the sudden overload of sensation.
“Try not to move, my love. Here.”
He feels someone push him upright ever so slightly, just enough for him to sip water through an offered straw.
For a moment, Boothill wonders if he's dead. The bed below him is unimaginably soft in contrast to his own, it feels as if he is suspended in midair. The ceiling is hazy and bright, way too bright, and Boothill could only make out blurs of colour moving through his muddled vision - angels?
He definitely couldn't have survived his injuries. Not the gunshots, and certainly not the birth.
The birth.
Oh. He gave birth.
But that means–
“Aurora!”
Boothill bolts upright, ignoring the pain searing through his neurons. A pair of strong hands catches him before he could collapse back against the bed, and when Boothill blinks again, he realises it is Argenti by his side, supporting him with his own body, smiling softly down at him.
“Don't worry. She's safe. She's here.”
It takes a few seconds for Boothill to breathe normally again, and when he finally does, Argenti props him upright with some pillows before walking over to a corner of the room. He returns with a bassinet in his arms, and Boothill couldn't tear his gaze away from the sleeping babe curled inside, her red locks sticking out starkly from the cream blankets.
Oh, heaven. Oh thank the Aeons she's alright.
Argenti gently deposits the baby onto Boothill's chest, his face unreadable as he watches Boothill cradle her fiecely. It is only then, with his daughter finally in arms, that Boothill feels himself relax and take in the situation around him.
“Argenti? Where am I? And… why are ya here?”
The smile on the knight’s wavers so briefly that Boothill barely notices.
“You’re in the Astral Express. I was lucky enough to come across them, and so I brought us here.”
“You did?”
“Yes, I did,” Argenti smiles serenely. “Your ship came to me, remember?”
Boothill falls silent at that. He feels his chest constrict as he recalls punching in a set of coordinates in sheer desperation; only for it to belong not to the doctor, but to Argenti.
“Boothill?”
The knight's voice pulls him back to the present.
“Do you need to rest, friend? I could leave now, if you w–”
Boothill's hand quickly reaches out, grabbing Argenti's wrist as the knight goes to stand.
“Don't leave. Please.” The plea is quiet, almost lost in the humming of the moving train.
Boothill has no idea what has gotten into him. He must look out of his mind right now, clinging and vulnerable like a feral stray cat desperately seeking shelter and scraps of food, because Argenti is looking back down at him with a stunned look in his eyes, his pretty mouth slightly agape in unmistakable shock.
What a pitiful image he must make.
But that's the thing, isn't it? Did he not seek out Argenti, over his doctor of all people, out of instinct?
Did he not want Argenti to find him when there's nowhere else to go?
Coming to his senses, Boothill loosens his grip on Argenti's wrist. The knight closes his free hand around Boothill's in return, settling back on the chair by his bedside.
“Of course.” Argenti reassures gently. “I'll be here, however long you need.”
And in a typical knightly fashion, he brings the ranger's hand to his lips, kissing it so chastely that it tugs at Boothill's fraught emotions.
“Ya freakin’ sap.” Boothill mutters, and Argenti laughs as he covers the distance between them, this time pressing a kiss to the corner of Boothill's mouth. “Is that alright?”
Humming softly, Boothill gives it a thought before nodding. “‘s not bad.”
A weighted silence lapses over them after that. It is clear that Argenti, though respectively keeping his words to himself, has so much still to ask him, if the not-so-subtle glances between him and the baby in his arms has anything to go by.
And so, clearing his throat, Boothill breaks the silence. “I'm gonna be real with ya, Rosey. I had no idea that my ship was headed towards you. I must have keyed in your coordinates because it's the only one I thought of at the moment. Heaven, ever since our last meeting, you're all I could think about that it made me sick. And I think…” he runs a finger down his daughter's chubby cheek. “This could be why.”
The baby makes little snuffling noises, fussing about in her cocoon of blankets. Now that she's all cleaned up, Boothill could see that he made a pretty darn cute baby.
With the help of Argenti's genes , his mind unhelpfully supplies.
“She's beautiful.” Those words have never sounded more genuine coming from the knight, who is undeniably smitten with her already. Offering his own finger to the child, he gasps, thoroughly enthralled as she grips it with surprising strength. He needn't even have to wonder if she's his, the red curls adorning her head already telling him enough.
“You're all I could think of, too,” Argenti brings his attention back to Boothill. “Our fateful encounter is not enough to leave me satisfied. I've traversed through space, seen many wonderful sights, met countless beautiful faces in the pursuit of Idrila, but nothing felt quite as right as it is with you.”
“My only regret,” he continues, “is not being there for you and the child when you needed me most.”
“I would be fine even without your help,” Boothill quips half-heartedly, feeling his cheeks warming up. “I was just at the wrong place at the wrong time. Besides, I had no idea I was carrying her in the first place. What I thought was pain from my injuries turned out to be the baby tryna’ get outta me.”
“Is that so!” A mirthful laugh tumbles from the knight's lips. “Idrila truly had her wonders! A miracle child that brought us back together so unexpectedly - I shouldn't expect any less from her.”
“She's a miracle, alright.” Boothill huffs. As if aware that she's the centre of her parent's attention, the child blinks awake, peering up at them with gorgeous emerald eyes.
“Hello, my little princess ,” Argenti grins, pressing a kiss to the little fist still wrapped firmly around his finger.
The baby makes no sound, simply content with observing the man with silent curiosity.
“I will have to bestow her my greatest gratitude, ” Argenti says, earning him an imploring look from Boothill. “I wouldn't have found you in time if it weren't for her. She was screaming so loudly, as if hoping that someone would come and save you. And it worked. She led me to you.”
“Huh,” Boothill glances at his daughter.
Is he right, sweetheart? Did you save me?
Even after being a failure of a papa?
Boothill inwardly curses as his eyes burn with unshed tears. “That's Aurora for ya.”
Argenti watches the two quietly. He seems to catch on that there's more to those words than the ranger lets on, but he makes no mention of it, instead giving them a moment of privacy as he goes to leave the room, most probably to report to the Express staff of his condition.
However, no sooner has Argenti opened the door before two people are piling inside, falling face down onto the floor while one stands by the side.
“I wasn't under the impression that the Astral Express personnel were also such eavesdroppers.” Argenti chuckles, helping the two sheepish girls back onto their feet.
“Isn't my idea,” one of them, Stelle, shrugs.
March 7th turns to her, betrayed. “Hey!”
“I didn't even say your name.”
“Ladies,” Argenti cuts in before their squabbling could escalate. “There's a baby in here.”
“Our apologies for loitering outside.” Dan Heng says. “Himeko sent us to check on you, but when we arrived, you were in the middle of… well…” the man trails off, a faint blush creeping on his pale cheeks.
“It's alright, I was going to talk to you, either way.”
“Is it really alright, Argenti sir? What if the baby's sleeping?” March inquiries, despite not-so-subtly trying to peek inside the room.
“Just get in here already,” comes Boothill's impatient voice, and Argenti has to stifle a laugh as the three Trailblazers collectively jump out of their skins.
“Stop making that face, March. You're going to scare her.” Stelle grouses.
“Really?” Dan Heng leans over to inspect the child. “She just looks bored.”
“Well! At least I'm entertaining her instead of just standing around!” March punches the man's shoulder, pouting. “I'd like to see you do better, Dan Heng!”
Rolling his eyes, Dan Heng finally relents as March swaps their places, finding himself face-to-face with the wriggling newborn. The baby does look… relatively unimpressed with the world around her, opting to pass her time kicking the blankets around her loose.
“Not a thought behind those big, green eyes.” Stelle elbows March's side.
Dan Heng catches a foot that had wriggled free from its confines, tucking it back into the baby's blankets. The baby begins to kick gleefully as Dan Heng wraps her more securely, and he couldn't help the chuckle that escapes his lips.
“You're Boothill's kid alright,” Dan Heng murmurs as the kid begins to blabber her mouth off, not unlike Boothill during their time spent at Penacony. At the sound of her enthusiastic gurgling, the girls gather closely at either side of him.
“Wow, aren't you a hit,” March teases, cooing at the baby's little outbursts as Dan Heng tickles her belly.
“Alright, enough playtime, kids.” Himeko walks over to them. “The poor little sweetie needs to eat. Give her here.”
The baby continues to blabber as Himeko carries her over to Boothill. Chuckling, Boothill cradles her close to his chest and brings the teat of a milk bottle to her mouth, and almost immediately, she latches on.
“She's a little sweetheart. It gets boring here sometimes, and her presence does liven the place a bit.” Himeko sighs, watching the baby feed in Boothill's arms.
“Your lovely words are greatly appreciated.” Argenti inclines his head. The knight has moved from the chair to the bedside, an arm draped over the headboard behind Boothill. His other hand smooths gently over the baby's soft head. “Indeed, her resplendence reflects that of Idrila's beauty and sets the world alight, despite only being around for a short while.”
“Alright, that's quite enough yappin’ from you, Rosey.”
“Sorry, beloved.”
The room is warm and the pillows are soft against Boothill's back. Music flows in from down the corridor, its mellow notes slowly drowning out the lull of conversation in the room. With the comforting weight of his daughter back in his arms, and the exhaustion weighing him down,
Boothill swears he hears the distant strumming of a little wooden guitar and of familiar voices ringing with laughter.
Boothill fights to keep his eyes open, exhausted as he is. Closing them means losing the moment he has now - a moment he might not have again, like the life he had before.
When he blinks, he finds his head leaning against Argenti's sturdy shoulder.
“Rest, my love. We'll still be here when you wake up,” Argenti murmurs against his hair.
The knight’s arms wrap securely around both him and his child, supporting their weights easily, and it feels so warm that Boothill couldn't help but relax against the knight's hold.
Is this how it's like to feel safe?
Before he could drift back to sleep, the door swings open, and in walks the train's little conductor.
“I believe congratulations are in order.” Pom-Pom nods towards them, their ears flopping about.
“Many thanks, Conductor,” Argenti says on Boothill's behalf.
Pom-Pom waddles over to them and clears their throat before turning to Boothill.
“I've come to forward you a message from one Doctor Freidrich. Her message is as follows: ‘You're welcome’. End message.”
Boothill feels his brow twitch. “That old hag. She did forkin’ nothing when I'm dying out in space. What does she mean by ‘you're welcome'?!”
“Nope. She was here.” Pom-Pom points out. “You were just unconscious the whole time! She came right when Sir Argenti brought you here, and went straight down to business, replacing all your damaged parts, refilling your fuel tank, cleaning your built-in baby incubator and replacing your torn silicone–”
“Alright! I get it! I get it!”
“--before leaving right after. She's so cool!”
“And is that why no one is surprised I had a baby?!”
“Yup,” March pipes up, popping the ‘p’. Everyone else choruses their agreement.
“Dr Friedrich's actions pretty much explains all we need to know,” Himeko chuckles.
“Wubbaboo.” Boothill grumbles. “I ain't thanking that crazy hag for this humiliation.”
“But…?” prompts Argenti, who gestures to their baby with a tilt of his head, and Boothill sighs.
“But I could thank her for… Aurora. I guess.”
The baby suckles greedily against his chest, blissfully oblivious to the movements around her. Suddenly overcome with emotion, Boothill brings his daughter closer, nuzzling her hair and breathing in the soft baby scent that he missed so much.
“What a happy ending for everyone.” Pom-Pom sighs, before hitting a button and stowing away a camera into their coat pocket. “The doctor would definitely appreciate this~”
“You– did that little thing just–?! Argenti, what're you laughing for?! Get rid of that camera!”
If someone had told Boothill a week ago that he'll be in the Astral Express, with Argenti by his side, and yelling for Pom-Pom to remove the clip of him thanking his darn hag of a doctor for returning his daughter back to him via the implantation of an unknown artificial womb, then the ranger would simply laugh before threatening them of lying with a revolver to their head.
He’d told Argenti as such later after that, once the rest of the Express crew had retired to their own cabins to rest. The two lay on their sides with Aurora tucked between them, and Argenti is quiet as he listens to Boothill while patting the baby to sleep.
“You're not listening, are you?”
“Sorry,” Argenti laughs softly. “It's just… you're so incredible, I couldn't quite believe I get to have this.”
Boothill flushes. “I couldn't either.” The ranger then places a hand over Argenti's, where it rests over Aurora's little heart. “Ya think… she remembers me?”
“Are you worried she doesn't?”
Boothill shakes his head. “She's young still when she died. Doubt she'll remember anything now but… woulda' be nice if I'm not the only one rememberin’.”
“We’ll have to wait and see.” Argenti hums. “In the meantime, think about all the many new memories we'll have with her, hm?”
“Oh, for sure.”
Argenti leans in then, capturing Boothill's lips with his own, careful not to jostle the baby between them. He hums into the kiss, taking his time as if memorising the other's taste.
“I love you.” The knight whispers.
“Love you too,” Boothill murmurs back.
What Boothill does not know yet is this-
In a few months, he'd find himself pregnant again. Boothill would leave his ship for reparation and instead traverse the stars with Argenti and their baby girl by his side, honouring their vow to help those in need; and come the new year, the little family will expand with the arrival of two red-haired little boys. Argenti would teach the children the ocarina and Boothill would teach them the guitar; Argenti would raise them to appreciate the beauty of every living existence while Boothill would teach them stories of his home planet.
Many things would happen after that, like Aurora remembering her past life on her fifth birthday, gifting Boothill a drawing of their old family - complete with her grandpas, her many uncles and aunties and the horses from their field; and Boothill successfully taking down the IPC general responsible for his planet's downfall thanks to his daughter's memories.
But for now, huddled in the warm cabin, Boothill curls around his daughter and savors the solid comfort of Argenti’s embrace, relieved that he could finally find some long-needed respite.
