Chapter Text
Lou had ten little fingers and ten little toes. Sam counted them all with her, one by one, every day.
He sat on the floor with her and began with the pinkie toe on her right foot, as he always did. “One,” he said, his voice soft and already colored with anticipatory giggling, as his fingers gently pinched the tiny digit. Then he moved on to the next toe, and the next—two, three, four—until he got to her big toe. That one, he squeezed and wiggled and tickled.
“Five!” he declared with a big grin. Her laughter filled the room, and her pudgy legs kicked to escape the sensation.
Although she was growing now, no longer trapped in her BB pod, Lou was still so small. Not even a full year old, if he wasn’t counting the time she spent in fetal limbo. She was walking (or maybe toddling was the right word), but still clumsy; she was endlessly chatty, but hadn’t said her first word. With a child so young to care for, his days often passed like the swift, arid winds outside as he tended to her every need, though Sam felt present in each moment. Spending their days out of the UCA’s reach and away from any other prying eyes kept him grounded. It made him feel like there’d be time for them yet—time to soak in this stage of their lives without worrying about it slipping away.
Sam wanted her to stay this small, this sweet and full of an immeasurable love, forever. His baby girl. His baby, always.
“Six,” he continued with her left foot’s pinkie toe. “Seven, eight, nine… ten!”
Lou squealed and flapped her arms. It made him chuckle, but there was more to come; her little fingers were his next victims. From pinkie to thumb and then over again on the next hand, he counted one to ten. At the end came the grand finale: an onslaught of tickling. Sam was merciless, prodding her belly and her ribs. Her laugh and her largely toothless smile made his chest tight with a fondness he could never describe if he tried.
After he relented, he picked her up in his arms and held her close. Pressed a kiss to her blonde hair while she made uncoordinated grabs for his cheeks and babbled nonsense at him.
She was his entire world. For now, he was hers, too.
One day, when she could talk, she’d count her fingers and toes with him. She’d still let him tickle her at the end, and she’d try to tickle him back in retaliation, and they’d both end up breathless and giggling on the floor. Sam would teach her how to read. How to write her name. They would exist in whatever magical make-believe world her mind would concoct for as long as they could.
Then, one day, she’d tell him she’s too old for that embarrassing baby stuff. Instead of fingers and toes, she’d count down the hours until their next excursion for supplies—and dragonflies, and the clouds in the sky, and how many rocks she could skip across the river’s rushing waters. She’d become curious about other people, and she’d want to know how and why they lived the way they lived.
Someday, he’d realize much too late that he’d counted her fingers and toes for the last time.
Today, she was still his baby.
He wanted her to stay that way forever.