The Connection

Summary: And yet, something inside tells him that he belongs, truly, to only one of them, the one who tries so hard to be everything at once. Because even a newborn can feel the bonds that tie him to his mother and father.

A/N: This was kind of an experiment in writing from a new perspective, and hopefully some of you enjoy it.

As small and as young as he is, Connor knows nothing but simple sensations: sight, sound, touch, smell, taste. He has no words to describe these things, no understanding of them. What he does have, however, are memories that wash over him when he sleeps. They are flashes, jumbled, and he knows they're important, even if he doesn't yet know what that word means. Connor remembers being smaller, warmer, tucked inside and a part of someone else. He felt safe inside her, protected.

And then his mother is gone and he is out, in a world too big, with lights too bright, and there is something very wrong inside of him, something that hurts because for the first time in a life that's destined for too much of it, he's experienced loss. He does not understand, cannot process, he can only feel it somewhere inside and cry.

Almost immediately, however, there are others that attempt to replace her and soothe him. They are all different from each other, but they all seem to do the same things for him. They put him in warm and soft materials, make gentle sounds at him, and press the sweet liquid into his mouth when he cries for it. He likes it best when the girls hold him very close; he may have never laid eyes on his mother's face, but when they hold him tight, he feels the way he did when he was still inside her. The men don't hold him in quite the same way, though one of them tries very hard to do so, despite the fact that his body is simply too bulky and sturdy to do the job.

Whereas the girls look and feel very much the same to Connor, the men are very, very different. One never looks at him without a laugh or a smile, white teeth parting dark skin. One almost never smiles at all and instead looks at him with squinting eyes, like he's trying to understand. The third one is different yet again, both in looks and in the way he comforts Connor. This one wears many colors; he is many colors. Connor likes him best of all the men, because he is the gentlest and makes the nicest sounds with his mouth.

But it's the last man that confuses Connor most of all, the one with the body too big and hard to hold him the way he really wants to be held. He's the one Connor sees most often, the one that feeds him the most, changes his diapers the most. Sometimes, he smiles at Connor, sometimes he sighs at him, sometimes he looks so scared and holds Connor too tight. Sometimes, he makes those sounds like the colorful man; his voice is rougher, but still kind of nice to hear. And maybe it's because he tries to do everything that Connor doesn't quite know what to make of him. All the rest seem to have specific purposes - the girls who comfort, the man whose smile is pleasing, the colorful man with the pretty sounds, and the man who tries to understand.

And yet, something inside Connor tells him that he belongs, truly, to only one of them, the one who tries so hard to be everything at once. It's a powerful connection, and Connor knows he must hold onto this one. He doesn't know what this man is to him yet, but he knows he needs him more than he needs anyone else.

The more he cries, the more the man holds, comforts, watches, smiles, sings. The one thing he doesn't do, the one thing Connor most fears he will do, is leave him alone. So Connor cries to keep him nearby, and the man tries harder to calm him, makes faces that are strange while making even more unexpected sounds.

But the last face he makes is so very different, it catches Connor off guard enough to bring his crying to a stop. The man's teeth are now long and sharp, his face bumpy where it was once smooth, his eyes far brighter. Connor has no memories of a face such as this one, and yet there is something familiar and comforting about it. Something inside, something more than even physical sensation or memory, knows that this face is a face like that of his mother.

And as the man makes soft sounds while still using that face, Connor understands that this man has become what his mother once was to him, as he grew and rested inside her. More than a comforter, more than friendly faces, more than pretty sounds.

This man is his protector, his champion.

His father.