Day One Thousand One Hundred And Forty-One

Dear Diary,

Y'know, I never really understood, not deep in my bones, what old heads meant when they said it was good to work with professionals.

I mean, I'd seen that kind of thing in books and movies, and I always laughed, because they were usually talking about assassins or soldiers or some other kind of person you don't normally associate with 'professionalism'. Okay, the typical 'professional' image I think of is a dude in slacks and an Oxford shirt, possibly one wearing a whole assed suit. Somebody white collar, in the old school sense of working in an office rather than working with their hands.

Which is a stupid thing to say, really. 'works with their hands'. Like, dafuq else does somebody work with? I mean, I guess singers mostly work with their voices, and somebody who does the really brutal kind of hard labor where you're basically a bipedal pack mule works with their back, but hands are the way most Human Adjacent beings interact with the world. I mean, I guess Kraken don't work with their hands, but that's because they don't have any. They still seem to work with their appendages. Limbs. Arms and tentacles, but my point remains.

Fuck, even a lot of the folks who do most of their work inside their own brains still use their hands to convey that to others, whether with a pen, a typewriter, or a keyboard.

I guess the saying started with the old school kind of Greek Philosopher, the ones who didn't so much write shit down on the regular as sit there talking to their apprentices and arguing with their peers. I'm not sure there's any real modern equivalent of that though. I mean, shit, I guess the teachers at the Academy are sort of like that, but even there Doc Roberts does Alchemy, and as far as I know he's not telekinetic. Doc DeLeon works the Infirmary, so even if being a lawyer here and now doesn't require any writing whatsoever, which given the existence of Law and Custom books, I can't say that's likely, he still works with his hands.

Okay, I guess in the same vein as singers, back in the day I watched some streamers who never seemed to do anything but talk. So they weren't working with their hands. I mean, some of the others used their hands a lot, but that was a different kind of streaming.

Of course, there's also the modern fuckin' nobility. For all that a lot of me loathes the man, Lenny Lancaster is still better than any billionaire from back in the day, if only because when his home was threatened, he put on some armor, picked up a spear, and stepped up to fight. Mostly by leading, sure, but somebody's gotta be in charge in big projects like wars, or shit goes sideways fast.

So yeah, as a kid I thought 'professional' had to do with what you wore. I guess at some point over the last three years I've matured enough, learned enough, and digested enough of my life experience to realize that professional isn't how you look, it's what you do. Specifically how you relate to shit that's in your job description. More specifically, it means making sure the job is done, even or maybe especially when shit goes sideways and you really want to go home and canoodle with the spouse.

The response of the Captains to Saffron's comment about Monday sorta blew me away. No protest, no histrionics, no real complaints. Just an exchange of glances, a bit of a shrug from John, a grunt and nod from Red, and Anne said, "well then, if you lot don't mind, I'm going to go over the contract we have with the crew. I know we may have some reconciliation changes to make, but if all the crews need to review are the changes, it will make things go smoother on Tyrsday."

With that, everybody said their farewells and we stepped home.

I'd worked with Marie to make a bunch of stuff that travelled well. Sandwiches, savory pies meant to be eaten cold, some raw fruit and veg we thought the kids could eat whole after we'd rinsed it off during prep. Some flatbread, which doesn't go stale fast because it functionally starts that way. While Marie took care of getting the kids cleaned up, which wasn't that hard since they'd spent the day at school, and ready to go, which took a little longer for the same reason, I gathered everything into picnic baskets.

Right before we left, Marie brought the Docs back from Phileo. "What's up, Docs?"

Doc G smiled, but Doc Z said, "Steven can't resist the lure of your Kitchen."

I laughed and nodded to Marie. "Her Kitchen, not mine."

"I was talking to her, though?"

Yeah, that man has a sense of humor. Can definitely see why Smooth As went for him. Honestly, between Doc G being so smooth and made of Rizz, and Doc Z being able to get a laugh out of a stone, I'm really not sure who wooed who, but that would have been fun to watch.

We all hopped over to Mom and Dad's place, where the kids started out by piling onto Dad's bed to gang glomp him. Even Aisling looked kinda wistful, and when I cleared my throat, caught her eye, and nodded, she brightened up and charged over. I think she wound up glomped onto his calf, standing on his foot. Okay, trying to glomp his calf, which was kinda like me trying to glomp Mr. Driver. Just not enough Aisling arm, too much Dad calf.

Cute as heck, though.

After a dinner of still warm sandwiches, we all snuggled in around Dad's bed, which at this point had nearly as many pillows and blankets around it as our old Academy Suite did after we'd baby-proofed it in an attempt to impede Menace's self-destruction.

I didn't think much about what we'd be talking about today. Probably best that I didn't, because after after Marie brought the Docs over, and the kids had Doc Z arbitrate for a few minor kid things regarding rooms and toys and, apparently, chores, everybody went quiet, and every gaze in the room eventually drifted over to me.

Okay, I didn't notice at first, because I was still a little gobsmacked by the fact that the kids had set up a chore rota to make sure somebody was providing some level of daily enrichment for their Nightmares and Dragons, as well as going around making sure the other Homestead kids were okay, plus helping out with the never ending stream of stuff that needed to be done around the Homestead. I mean, I knew Lindsey was helping out with the livestock, but from the little I picked up, each of our girls... Our kids had picked some general group of Homestead women and decided to lurk nearby, helping out when another set of hands was needed, and listen in to make sure nothing was going wrong that they, or more likely one of the Mom Collective, could step in and fix somehow.

Of course, by the time I fully processed that, everybody was staring at me.

"What's up?"

Saffron sighed and stepped over to me. "Even the children have noticed, love."

I slumped. "I thought I'd kept it pretty well hid."

She shook her head. "No, love. You've tried. We've all noticed you trying. You've not descended into one of your black moods, you've not lashed out, but you've clearly been bothered by something."

I closed my eyes. Took a deep breath. Should I tell them?

Now would be the best time, love. At my maybe sharp look, she sighed. They are surrounded by loved ones, not to mention a professional Healer of Souls and another professional Healer of Children.

I sighed. "Yeah. Yeah, I... I haven't been the same since Tuesday."

Everybody went quiet. The kids didn't know yet, and all the ladies had been there. I wasn't sure about Mom and Dad.

I saw, Daughter.

Eventually Doc G asked, "how so, Tabitha?"

I nodded my thanks. "I've been... I dunno, everything's bland. Tasteless. Literally. I mean, I don't think I'm depressed, because I can still move myself around and get shit done. I'm not fatigued, not like I'd normally be. But... I'm just..."

I trailed off, and eventually Doc G prompted, "just what?"

"I can't seem to get really excited about anything. Or nervous. Or worked up in any way. I'm just going through the motions."

"You still love us?" asked Isnomi.

I scooped her up into a hug immediately, doing the same to the rest of the kids with my tentacles. "Absolutely, Menace. I don't think..." I found myself choking back a sob. "I don't think anything could ever change that."

"Are you certain?" Doc G asked. Any other time, any other person, I might have gotten pissed, but somehow I knew he'd noticed that choked back sob.

"Yeah. Yeah, I just... I think the whole reason I... I hurt myself? Not, like, self-harm, but I hurt myself doing something to protect you guys. You kids especially. Because I love you."

Tears streamed down my face, but I smiled at the kids. Ria, solemn and serious as she was wont to be, nodded and hugged me. "We love you too, Mama."

Yeah, I wept at that, hugging them all gently to me. A quiet crooning filled the room, a sound that... It didn't make me sadder, but it was like it had lanced the emotions I'd bottled up like a boil. I wept openly, finally realizing that Aisling was the one crooning. I brought her in close, as close as I'd held Menace since I picked her up, and murmured, "are you okay?"

She laid one tiny hand on my face. "Are you?"

I nodded. Then shook my head as a chuckle forced its way out. "No."

I cried as our kids held me and comforted me. I cried for moments, for minutes, for hours, for days. I mourned forever, mourned my mother and what she forced me to do.

I think somehow that thought, that she'd forced me to do it, was what let me whisper. "I had to kill my mom."

I forget sometimes how good my kids' hearing is. The littlest ones especially, between Aisling's connection to sound and singing, not to mention Isnomi's whole Predatory senses. Aisling didn't really respond other than to go still, but Isnomi glanced over at Sigyn, then back to me. A moment later I saw comprehension dawn.

"Gammama?"

I couldn't speak. I just nodded, sobbing.

Then, instead of howling, or crying, or doing anything else I could have been prepared for, she asked The Question. "Why?"

I thought I hadn't been prepared, at least. Before I could think, I growled out, "she threatened you."

Tears filled her eyes as she sobbed out, "me?"

I opened my mouth and, wonder of wonders, thought for just one second before answering. I shook my head. "No. Not you. I think you're the only one at the Homestead she wasn't going to kill." When she looked confused, I tried to explain. "She thought everyone else was corrupting you. Us. You and me. She was going to kill Saffron, your Ma, your sisters... Your siblings, your moms. Everyone."

Now she wailed. Howled. And all of her sibs howled with her. Even little Aisling, who... Didn't scream. Didn't keen. Just howled, a sound so mournful that it brought another wave of tears to everyone's eyes. When, after an eternity of howling, mourning, crying, we all went silent, Menace whispered, "she nod lub me anymow?"

I shook my head. "No, Menace. She loved you. That's why she wanted to kill everyone else. To protect you. That's..." I realized as I said it that I wasn't talking out my ass to comfort my daughter, but maybe taking my best guess at what had passed through Domnu's Mind. "That's why she wasn't going to stop, wasn't going to listen. Why I had to... To put her down. To kill her."

After we'd all cried ourselves out, Ria tugged at my tentacle. When I looked to her, she asked, "can you Revive her?"

I shook my head. "I don't... I don't think so. There's nothing left. I think if there had been she'd still be trying to kill you all."

Then Menace made me simultaneously proud of her, sad, and ashamed at myself for being comforted by her saying, "I lub Gammama, but I lub my famiwy too. I nod mad. Jus sad."

How did my kid wind up more mature than me?