AN: Excuse my language, but shit. This was not how I wanted to end this mini-series. Really, it wasn't. However, when I sat down to write it, do you want to know what the first thing that was typed on my screen was? The first two sentences that are right down there for you to read, and no matter how hard I tried to get rid of them, they wouldn't leave. So, after rewriting this five times, I give up. I give up, and this is how this still unnamed mini-series is going to end: the exact same way that it began.
Disclaimer: I do not own Wreck-It Ralph. Disney does.
Sitting as he was next to Ralph in the hospital corridor, with Vanellope tucked under his arm and Markowski pacing the hall as they waited for the news, there was only one sentence that Felix could think about.
It's gone into distress.
"It's going to be fine, Mr. Fix-It, Mr. Markowski," the nurse, the exact same nurse who had uttered those words almost three decades before, had murmured quietly, though this time she had refused to meet his gaze as she spoke, remembering the last time they had found themselves in this kind of position. "It's a quick, standard procedure," she almost whispered, the uncertainty clear within her voice as the doctor hurried past behind her, his own head bowed so that he would not have to face the man he had failed all those years ago. "An hour, maybe two, and then you'll be able to see them." There was no promise in her words this time, no reassurances that things would turn out just the way that they were supposed to, and nothing that she could do to qualm the fears of the family she had left when she went to assist the delivery.
Once again, that had been four hour beforehand, and nothing had changed except for an overwhelming silence.
There were no comforting words this time, nothing that could be said as they sat in the exact same chairs from before, staring at the exact same doors that, almost thirty years ago, his own wife had been wheeled through, false reassurances that everything would be okay ringing in his ears when obviously they would not. They were never supposed to have a child, no one who was not already programmed with a son or daughter was supposed to have one, and they had already paid dearly for wanting what they could not have.
Felix had almost killed Markowski himself when they had told him that, despite all the odds that said it should have been impossible, they were expecting. It had only been his daughter's intervention that had saved her husband's life, but every day since then he had regretted giving the space marine permission to marry his little girl.
It's gone into distress.
"Felix," Vanellope eventually spoke up softly, her face half turned so that he could not see the tears that were already making their way down her face, the waiting and the worry pushing her already frazzled nerves beyond their breaking point. It did not matter though, for he could feel them against his skin, his shirt having already become soaked through a long time ago. "Felix, what are we going to do if...if…" Both times her words trailed off into silence, unable to finish the sentence that all of them knew was on each other's minds. The conditions were far too similar for them to overlook the possibility that was staring them in the face, and although they had refused to discuss it during their many months of waiting, now, with things as they were, a decision had to be made. Just in case.
"The baby will come to live with me, and you all can come visit it when the arcade closes," Felix replied monotonously, though his dull eyes lit up as Markowski came to a halt, an argument clearly forming on the tip of his tongue. "I don't care if you are the father, boy," Felix spat, cutting off the words the soldier was about to say, "you are not raising my grandchild in Hero's Duty. The baby will come to live with me, and if you want to be a father to it you can hightail your caboose over to Fix-It Felix Jr. when the all clear is given. Do you understand me?" His eyes narrowed with those final words, a part of him hoping that the man standing before him would argue, would try to fight to keep his offspring in his own game with him just so that Felix would have a reason to punch him.
Another, smaller, part told him that he was being too harsh on his son-in-law, reminding him of the many years that Markowski had been a good friend, one of the first of Tamora's men to support their relationship wholeheartedly. It reminded him that they had all thought it impossible, and that thirty years ago he had been in the exact same position.
The rest of him could not care, for all it could register was that his little girl was behind those doors because of that rookie, and that was enough of a reason to hate him.
When, after a long, tense moment Markowski only nodded and continued his pacing, his eyes never leaving the doors he was guarding, Felix's respect for the man grew a little bit, though not by much. Just because he could see the sense in keeping a newborn out of a game where everything was on the menu did not mean that he was forgivable.
It's gone into distress.
Just as the clock rung out to tell them that fourteen hours had passed since their ordeal had begun, the nurse, the exact same nurse from before, walked out to meet them, and he knew. He knew, for in the few seconds that it took for the double doors to swing shut behind her, under the sounds of the hospital staff calling out orders, the high-pitched cry that tugged his heart toward the infant still on the other side of the doors, and Ralph, Vanellope, and Markowski's instant questions about its mother, he can hear her perfectly clearly.
Once again, he never hears the nurse's explanation, never notices as Ralph supports Markowski as he leans against the wall, and he never realizes that it is Vanellope back in his arms who's soaking his shirt from relief, for as he sinks to the ground, his legs unable to support him as his eyes fix upon the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, the only thing that he can hear is his grandchild crying and his daughter asking him if he would like to hold it.
It had been distressed, but both of them are fine.