Reconnaissance

I smile wide at him, and he breathes out. I really, really missed him. "You technically did. Need help with Noah?"

I look at the four-year-old little boy asleep across my bed, and it's jarring how completely and suddenly my two worlds have collided.

"No, I got him," he answers, reaching up to run a hand over his hair but dropping it to face me. "But uh, before we go, I just wanted to uh, hold you, if you'd let me."

I blink. "Hold me?"

"No, like, give you a hug! Nothing weird, I don't know why I said it like that." He does run his hands through his hair now, worriedly, and it makes me want to soothe away his doubts in any way I can.

But I mentally shake off that urge and walk over to him, half-laughing, holding out my open arms. "Yes, Micah. What's wrong?"

He completely envelopes me, laying his chin at my shoulder and sighing into my ear. The quick flip my stomach does makes my breath quicken a little, but I ignore it.

"The day we left you at the agency," he begins, stroking my back. "You were pregnant, and alone with your first child, the son of a man you weren't sure you'd see again, weren't sure you wanted to see again. When I got out of interrogations, finally got to you, I couldn't say the things I wanted to say, or give you more than the slightest of hugs, and only to confirm what I thought I saw."

I'm beginning to melt in his arms with each pass his hand makes up and down my back, in this room where both children are sleeping. Thankfully he pulls away, shoving his hands in his pockets and giving me a crooked grin. I smile as unaffectedly as I can, shaken. "Feel better?"

His eyes are full of new light, and a bit of heat. He picks up Noah, who never wakes up but wraps an arm around his father's neck. "Much better. And I'll see you tomorrow."

I follow him out the door, turning off the light in my room. "Tomorrow?"

"Your sisters invited me over for lunch."

"Oh." I step around them, opening the front door.

"Right. I'll be there at 3, with Noah. Naomi said to bring Jonah's overnight bag."

I furrow my eyebrows. "Naomi said that?"

"Yeah." He turns to me in the doorframe, Noah breathing deeply in his arms, and the temptation to lean over and just peck him lightly on the cheek is a nagging force in the back of my brain. But the whole point, I think, is not to rush back into the relationship I was so sure was a delusion.

"Well. We'll deal with tomorrow when it comes, then." I lean my head against the opposite side of the open door, and he watches me for a moment before walking down the hall, down the stairs, and back to wherever it is he's staying the night.

. . .

"Huh." Priscilla, stalking into the dining room, slows to stand at the head of the dining room table and looks across at Micah, one hand fisted at her hip and the other curled around the back of the chair next to her. "I imagined more of a rugged pirate type."

"Am I not the rugged pirate type?" He sits complacently with his hands in his lap under the table, shoulders straight and tense.

Maya snorts from her spot at the table and Naomi smiles next to me, keeping me company and avoiding the scathing looks Prissy is dealing out in the dining room.

I'm breastfeeding Jonah on the couch, able to see, but the tiniest bit set apart from the main event. We hear drive-by giggles as the kids and Noah race down the stairs and out the front door.

"Stay out!" Iris yells, bounding down the steps after them. "Is he bound and gagged yet, Priss?"

Micah smiles politely now, holding his naked wrists up from under the table and shrugging. "Still waiting."

Priscilla slides into a chair. "You kicked my sister in the chest."

Iris calls from the kitchen, turning off the screaming kettle. "He also shot her."

"Twice," Naomi whispers next to me.

Maya twiddles her thumbs and stares at Micah, shrugging and nodding.

"I'm aware of that. I'm aware of the motive behind the shots. But why did you kick her? That's what bruised her ribs, if I'm to understand. And it was unnecessary, by your standards."

Micah cringes, head down.

"Look at me, Rennfield," Priscilla commands.

My sisters lose their amusement, and the room seems bigger and emptier. "That was also to down her. I was too close to use the.... gun," he says, briefly running a hand through his spiralling hair. "Although it turns out I was too close to use it for the second shot, so... But I wanted the agents who came after to find her unconscious."

"Right." Priscilla is cool and calm in her seat, but Maya gets up from the table to stand with Iris in the kitchen. I'm the slightest bit worried for Micah. Jonah pushes at my breast and I transfer him over to the other, hissing as he latches on. I need to buy more lanolin. Or rather, I need two extra breasts so I can give these a break.

"I... believe it or not, it wasn't my intention to do more than that. I know recon agents don't get nearly enough training, and once I realized how bad I hurt her, I did everything I could to help."

"By kidnapping her and holding her for two years," Iris presses, strolling smoothly into the dining room to sit next to Priscilla. "And of course, impregnating her."

The table is silent. Iris is mad, something I haven't seen in a few years and sort of missed.

Naomi turns her whole body around to watch the conversation, and the children's laughter and screams trail in from the front yard.

"No."

"Then why didn't you bring her back? Right after the agency stopped looking, when she was well enough to travel? You really wanted to fix what you did but you let a family suffer, let her question her state of mind while catering to your every whim, all because of a foolish path you choose to take?"

"More than that," Priscilla adds, the bad cop to Iris' brawlic one, "you dragged Noah into it as well. You're a wonderful father," she inserts when Micah sputters in protest. "We all know it, see it. But that decision? The worst. Why didn't you stop after you had him?"

I can only see his profile now, but I know his eyes have a slight teary sheen, and he's dying to comb through his hair again. Jonah's mouth unlatches from my nipple with a soft pop, and I lay him down in between my breasts, over my heartbeat.

"I did all of it for him, in the beginning." His voice carries the slightest strain. "I knew on some level, while I was designing.... what I was designing, that the UNA was going to use it in some demented way. And I just thought, it's not my problem, you know? But when my- when Noah came, I realized I didn't want him to live in a world where his father was a bad guy. That's not the memory I wanted to leave behind. It's not what I should leave behind, for anybody's children, but I only thought to enforce it when it applied to me. So."

Iris sucks her teeth before sipping her tea.

Micah nods at her. "Right. So, three bases left out of nine, and suddenly I'm bringing him on all these dangerous missions, with shady places and people. But a lower-level agent falls into my lap, with a family history of revolutionary actions against the UNA, and I have to bring her back to recuperate anyway, and probably keep her quiet so they don't find out about my son. So why not ask her to care for him?"

I pat Jonah's back, and he burps in his sleep. "Everything else that happened- I know. I know I had the power there, and the wider perspective, and I'm constantly asking for forgiveness for it. I'll never stop asking, and I don't expect it from her, from any of you. Please believe me when I say that I intend to spend my days making things as right as I can."

"The balls on him!?" Naomi whispers in my ear. "J, what are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking he can hear you, Nao," I say in a regular voice. "We're right behind him."

Micah rubs a hand over his face, staring back at Priscilla and Iris. Maya walks in from the kitchen, glaring at him as she crosses to sit with me and Naomi in the living room.

Priscilla sighs, long and loud, and looks over at Iris. "Well?"

You'd think Iris was second-in-command in the hierarchy, looking at their day-to-day dynamic. But crisis situations always reveal her to have the last say.

She looks beyond the dining room table, past Micah, straight to me, now, and reads my face for something undetectable to me or anybody else, probably. "Alright."

Everyone breathes out, and Micah wrings both hands through his hair, slumping down in the hard-backed chair. Naomi pats my leg and strolls into the kitchen to look for something to eat. Priscilla yells out the open window at a few of the kids.

"J."

"Maya?"

"You gonna be alright?" She scoots closer to me and gestures for Jonah, who I lift off of me and place into her arms.

"Probably. I'm back, aren't I?"

She stands over me and licks her lips, a worried habit of hers. "What if he asks you to move away with him? Back overseas?"

"We're not even together, My."

She purses her lips, clear distaste on her face, and goes upstairs with Jonah, probably to lay him down in the crib in Priscilla's nursery. I refasten my nursing bra and pull my shirt down before folding up the receiving blanket, feeling gray eyes soldering through me while everyone else swarms around the house. I was almost hoping they'd reject him so I wouldn't have to ask myself all the hard questions, but I know at the end of the day it's not up to them. I stand and face him, waving for him to follow me outside and meet the children.

. . .

"I didn't know kids still played manhunt," Micah wheezes, scuffed and sticky from hiding under a sappy pine tree behind the barn. He's folded into a low wicker chair, Noah in his lap playing with a daisy chain that Iris' son made for him. The white petals are already grimy with dirt, and the stems are wrinkled and slipping apart.

"A kid's first instinct in any open space is to hunt others for sport," I smile. "Classic juvenile behavior."

He sighs. "I'm glad we came out here today. I've never heard Noah speak so much, not to other kids."

I shrug in the chair next to them, hold my hands out for Noah, and begin carefully picking the twigs and leaves out of his hair.

"Bring him around more often and he'll never shut up," I promise, too late realizing what I'm suggesting but unwilling to retract the statement.

Micah sits forward, watching Prissy's oldest run like a woman ablaze from her little sisters. "Am I allowed? I really meant what I said, but if you don't want me here, I understand."

I glance over at him, thinking that I should comb through his hair after I finish with his son. "Micah, you're family," I say gravely. "As long as I accept you here as my son's father, you and Noah are family. Bring Noah around enough, and the kids will probably lay claim to him without you even in the picture."

I laugh a bit, but Micah looks a little overwhelmed. I finish the two ram braids I've been coraling Noah's hair into and place him back on his own two feet, crowning him with the daisy chain I rescued from his hands. He turns to his father.

"Baba, I'm handsome?"

Micah grins and squeezes his son's face, laughing as he squeals. "Yes, you're very very handsome, bubba."

Noah almost leaps off the porch to the nearest pile of kids, around five to ten years old and making more daisy chains. "I'm very very handsome!" we hear him scream.

I figure I should ask the question that's been nagging at me since I opened my door to them. "Micah. Are you both safe here?"

He looks to me, but I can't read his expression in the fading light.

"I know you said you were gonna be here a while, but the last time you left, you were, you know. Pretty much running for your lives."

He nods, watching his son barrel around the yard. "There's always going to be some resentment from the higher ups, but they can't touch me now. The International Council doesn't just drop its agents or their families after two months."

I turn to him. "They recruited you?"

He smiles. "Kind of like a really big promotion, same line of work. And I get to stay here, report to the local headquarters."

"That's amazing!" I reach out on impulse and freeze up a little, but continue my trajectory to pat the back of his hand. It's cool and sticky with tree sap, and his eyes crinkle at the corners.

Right after darkness falls I watch Micah pile Noah, burnt out and fussy, into the car with a bandaged, banged-up knee and his hair halfway undone. I should buy rubber bands for next time. Micah turns to me and gathers me into a polite side hug, which I'm grateful for, as I see some of the kids peering through the window, trying to see out into the darkness from a lit-up house.

Micah closes the door on Noah, who's already falling asleep, and climbs into the car. "Next time."

. . .

Two weeks later, another knock at my door.

"So. It occurred to me I didn't have your number, and I could just, you know, get it myself with a couple clicks, but I figured I'm not a rogue agent anymore so I should follow societal rules and just come again at the same time as our last visit and hope you opened the door," Micah explains in one breath.

He's wearing a faded graphic t-shirt that stretches just right over his surprisingly bulky shoulders, and I possibly stand and stare a little too long after he finishes speaking.

"Oh. Oh! Yeah. Come on in, I just finished changing the baby; sit down, get comfortable and we can exchange information. Where's Noah?"

Micah follows me in, holding a bag of baby clothes and two bottles of wine.

"Um, funny enough, he's with your sister Priscilla, and her kids. She invited me back, but kind of kicked me out right after I got there?" Sounds like Prissy. "She gave me clothes she thought might fit Jonah now. And I know it's real controversial, but the Internet says a glass of wine now and then isn't bad for breastfeeding, and I wanted to bring something for you both, so I stopped by the store on my way here," he calls out.

I reappear from the back of the apartment with Jonah's fat little fingers grabbing and stretching out the neckline of my t-shirt. Micah has set the wine down on the table and is leaned up against the counter.

"Ha, do you feel the love yet? Here Jo, go to Baba," I announce to Jonah, spreading a receiving blanket across Micah's shoulder and passing him off. Jonah squints up at his father, and Micah laughs.

"Your aunties already warned you to keep an eye on me, little man? In case I make off with your mom again?"

I laugh and carry the baby clothes to my room, hanging them on the back of my door to sort through later. I can hope that we get a month's wear out of them, but the way he's growing, I might as well invest in a sewing machine and fabrics.

I whirl around and come face-to-face with my baby and my baby's father, one staring into space and the other looking down at me.

"GEEZ, Mike, my heart! Announce your arrival next time or something, with fanfare."

I chuckle, but Micah leans over, hovers for a breath, and lightly presses his lips against mine, watching my eyes. His arms are wrapped around Jonah between us, who's burbling a few sounds and sitting quietly while his father empties my head of thoughts.

I missed his mouth: warm and sure on mine, but never still. He darts his tongue quickly across the seam of my lips, requesting entry, and I feel my body hum awake. He murmurs in agreement to the quiet sound I make in my throat, tracing the hot point of his tongue even slower along my lips, cajoling and convincing. I part my lips a hair's width and feel his breath across my tongue.

He begins to lose himself in the movement, eyes shuttering closed, and I know I'm close behind, so I pull away.

He straightens back up and smiles sheepishly, bouncing Jonah in his arms again. "I should ask next time, sorry."

I try to think of the reason why he should be apologizing, but the only thing floating around in my head is that little promise of heat and pleasure he offered me. I could almost swear he's a devil stealing my breath away when he kisses me, but then he pulls back and smiles so sweetly.

"It's fine, we're good," I soothe, a hand coming up to rest on my hip and the other palming the back of my head. Nerves. "Come on out, watch a movie until Prissy's had enough of the kids and calls you back. I assume you got her number," I call slyly over my shoulder, and he laughs behind me.

. . .

"You've only ever seen me as a father, I think," Micah says in the middle of a drama that neither of us are watching. I've spread out a thick mat, blanket, and a few bright toys on the living room carpet for Jonah, and we watch him wriggle and gaze at the world around him. He won't be crawling for a few months, but he'll be used to the routine by then.

I raise an eyebrow. "If I did, we wouldn't have a little boy doing Tummy Time on the floor right now."

He laughs and turns towards me on the couch, head propped up in his hand. "You know what I mean, the only times you saw me without Micah were when I was working, or when he was sleeping. Or when we were... making more kids, I guess." I nod and shrug, and he leans forward with a bit of awareness in his eyes that sets off an alarm in mine.

I try to reason it out. "I mean, a lot of the time that's who people become. Just a mother or father. And when the kids grow up, go away, they become someone again." That's what I'd planned to do, actually. Raise my boy and get myself back after.

"Neither of us had to do that though. Still don't." He reaches out a hand, plays with a few of my braids that fall over my shoulder. Jonah kicks his legs next to us, ruffling up the blanket. "You know I didn't just come back for Jonah and his mom."

I can't even muster up a dry chuckle, but I answer with amusement in my voice. "Was it the thirty-seven brothers, sisters, nieces and nephews?"

"I came back for my son and my woman," he corrects, fingers letting my hair fall.

All I know how to do is fight or embrace the call to action in his eyes; I can't seem to sift through the deluge of emotions he always brings. "How's that going for you?" I mumble stupidly.

"Janelle." He makes the slightest of movements, shifting on the couch, and I feel the air become a bit more restrictive, with his thigh sliding against mine. "Janelle," he repeats, understanding in his eyes. "Are you scared?"

I turn my head, instead watching Jonah struggle to lift his head and chest off the blanket. "Not.... exactly. Maybe more cautious? I shouldn't be falling back into this this easily. I'm trying to think it through this time around, but uh," I feel my face burn a little. "I only ever have it all figured out until you touch me."

And suddenly heat combusts in my stomach as he grabs my face with a firm hand and spills his tongue into my mouth, swallowing the loud gasp I let escape and the moan that comes moments after, when he's kneading his fingers at the give of my waist.

The touch is so familiar, the scene the same as what we shared in that first house. Heat growing under his hand, under his lips, dosing my blood until he pulls away to breathe.

"You can't just say stuff like that," he pants, hovering over my mouth. Wet lips trail down to my throat, and I massage my fingers at the back of his head as he sucks sweetly.

I let a hand slip down to the center of his chest and he grunts before snatching himself away from me. I'm startled. "What?"

He grimaces. "I know the baby's chaperoning, but I said I'd ask next time." He settles down a safe distance from me, and I regain control over my breathing. "And you're not the only one who stops thinking."

I nod, and press my fingers at the wet spot on my throat. "Did you leave any marks?"

He looks over, face full of helpless lust. "Want me to make sure?"

I grin. "The last thing we need is any of my sisters knowing my business. Although I'm fairly sure it's too late for that, they've probably already been watching my neck for marks."