One week, more or less. One week since they'd met their daughter. Three days since they'd brought her home. One completely sleepless night lost because no one had warned them that newborn babies sometimes stop breathing completely for minutes at a time before beginning again. It was a wonder there was any coherence left in Michael and Elena Donnelly. After spending the first few days in pajamas, Elena had been making the effort to get dressed, but that wasn't stopping the inevitable from happening. Mid-afternoon, silence reigned. The kind of silence that only comes when Mommy has fallen asleep while baby is eating, and now both of them were napping in the nursing chair, oblivious to the world around them.

While the cat was away the mouse would play, or so the saying went. Though the analogy didn't quite work in this case, Michael was taking advantage of the rare quiet to scribble a few ideas that were rattling around in his head, a cup of coffee close at hand to keep him awake. He hadn't started on another novel since Rhy'Din Nights had been published, but he had a few ideas. As a writer, ideas weren't the problem - latching onto one that might prove a good novel was the problem.

"You know," a familiar voice said from behind him, "trying to write anything when you're sleep-deprived never works. Take it from someone who knows." And yes, she did know. Calliope had dropped in, looking solid for once and swinging a stuffed minotaur around in one hand. She grinned at one of her favorite writers. "Heard you had a girl. Congratulations."

Michael just about jumped out of his skin at the sound of a familiar voice that didn't really belong there intruding on his quiet time and interrupting his train of thought. "Jesus Christ!" he exclaimed quietly, dropping the pen in his hand. He'd been writing long-hand, rather that tapping away at his computer keyboard. For some reason, the quiet of writing long-hand relaxed him and helped him think. "Haven't you ever heard of knocking?" he asked, not exactly a welcome, though he wasn't unhappy to see her. "And I didn't have a girl. Elena did. I just watched," he pointed out helpfully.

"I didn't want to wake up the new mommy," the Muse pointed out cheerfully. Thankfully, she and Elena had met a few times by now, or this sneaking around would have been a big no-no. "Half of you is in there. You made a girl, deal with it." She dropped the minotaur in his lap. "The girls said I should bring a gift."

He picked up the stuffed creature to give it a better look. "A minotaur" Not exactly the most friendly creature in the world," he remarked, trying hard not to be rude or ungrateful, but she was right about him being sleep-deprived, and a sleep-deprived Michael was a slightly-grumpy Michael, no matter how proud and happy he was to have a daughter. "You might have brought a pegasus or unicorn instead," he added, half-teasing, half-serious.

"Pegasus is overrated, and besides, the driving force behind one of the greatest tales from the ancient world is the minotaur," Calliope pointed out. "Just because she's a girl doesn't mean everything has to be rainbows and puppies, whatever that means." She leaned on a shelf of air comfortably. "I thought you were writing about me, anyway."

"I was, but I lost the thread of the story when Elena got pregnant," he replied with a frown. He still wasn't sure that was the direction he should go in or whether people would want to read such a story, though that hardly mattered. "Maybe I just need a little sleep and some inspiration," he said, talking to the very being who'd inspired him in the first place. "I don't want to just write a new telling of an old - pardon the word - myth. I need to put a fresh spin on it."

"So update it," Calliope suggested. "Take what you know about me and how I work, and write a muse in the modern day world you're more familiar with. Maybe she had to get a job to blend in somewhere, maybe all the muses did. Maybe all the gods did, too."

"Did they?" he asked, arching a curious brow. He had a feeling she hadn't come to inspire him so much as to take a peek at his daughter, but he was too tired to ask her.

"Some of them did," she smiled impishly, seeing the curiosity in his eyes. "Some of them couldn't bear to leave the Earth where we were dominant, and they blended into society for centuries. Others went and sealed themselves onto Divine Olympus, and others, like me, found our way here. Personal preferences." She glanced toward the door to the nursery hopefully. "Would Elena hit me with something if she woke up and I was standing over her?"

"She might," he replied, scratching wearily at his head. He wasn't sure what Elena was capable of if she awoke to find the muse standing over her child. "You want to take a peek?" he asked. "Or did you come here to scold me for not writing?"

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't I just finish telling you that anything you write while not sleeping is going to be crap?" the Muse pointed out mildly. "And of course I came to get a look at your daughter! I brought a present and everything, isn't that what you're supposed to do so the parents let you see?" She sighed, stepping back as she shook her head. "Billy was never this obtuse about showing off his kids."

"I'm sorry, Billy' Are we talking about William Shakespeare here" Did he even have kids?" he asked, trying hard not to grumble. He took a sip of his coffee, wincing as it had gone cold, and got up from his chair. "Come on. I'll let you have a peek. Just try to be quiet. If you wake her up too early, Elena will kill me!"

"He had three," Calliope beamed. "Susanna came first - she was around before I showed up for him. There were twins, too - Hamnet and Judith. He loved his kids, that man. Not so attached to his wife, but it was a different time. They were in different cities a lot of the time. It's just the way it goes."

"I'm not Shakespeare," Michael pointed out. In his opinion, he'd managed to eek out two bestsellers, amidst all the other crap that had mostly ended up in the trash. No, he was definitely not Shakespeare, not even close. "We named her Michela," he said, deliberately lowering his voice as he led her toward the nursery where mother and daughter were napping. "It was Elena's idea."

"It's a good name," Calliope approved, smiling. "Named for her talented father, always a good sign." Obligingly, she lowered her voice as she followed him, not particularly willing to risk Elena's temper again. They'd had one altercation when they'd first met, but things had settled down after that.

He warned her with a soft, "Shhh," before he led her into the nursery where mother and daughter were curled up together in a chair asleep. He wondered if he could manage to get his daughter out of his wife's arms without waking them both, but wasn't sure he should chance it. "There she is. My little angel," he added with a soft smile that spoke of his pride and joy, despite the lack of sleep at having a newborn in the house.

It looked as though Elena had dropped off in mid-burp. Michela was tucked against her shoulder, supported more by the nursing pillow than by Elena's arm. Tiny and surprisingly awake, the baby girl blinked her unfocused eyes at Michael as he brought their visitor in, gurgling softly in some kind of greeting.

"Oh, I see." Carefully extracting one hand from beneath Michela's bottom, Calliope gently pulled her bead out of the baby girl's mouth, charmed all over again as she smacked her lips, little hands grasping at the air for a long moment. As Michael went in search of something mysterious, the Muse held the infant's unfocused gaze. "If I have any power to grant blessings on you, little one," she said softly, uncaring if anyone heard her, "then I bless you with happiness in your life to come. Beauty will come from your mother; wit and intelligence from your father. But I will inspire you to be happy, whenever you have need of it. This I promise."

Thankfully, Michael didn't overhear the muse's blessing; if he had, he might have teased her to no end or he might have simply been touched. But he was too busy trying to locate his daughter's pacifier to take much notice of what the muse was whispering to her in the other room. At last, he found what he was looking for with an, "A-ha!" and returned with it in hand, though it didn't seem the baby needed it just yet. "You know, I do appreciate you visiting," he said, with a serious tone to his voice as he reclaimed his seat.

He found Calliope booping Michela's nose, fascinated by the way the tiny girl's eyes crossed as she grabbed for the finger teasing her, missing every time. The Muse looked up as her hand was captured, trying not to melt too obviously at the feeling of those tiny hands about her fingers. "You've been too busy to write," she said, understanding more than it might seem she did at first. "And you won't find time to write properly for the next few weeks. But I'll be back, when you're ready for a little more inspiration."

"It's hard to write when you're not getting a full night's sleep," he admitted with a smile as he watched her with his daughter, more observant than she might give him credit for. "She's not gonna stay little forever. And once she starts sleeping through the night, things will get easier," he said, or so they'd been told. "Have you really never held a baby before?"

She shook her head, looking down at the little life in her arms. "Never. I'm a Muse, I give inspiration. Even the smallest of writers is never this small." She stroked her fingertip along the chubby cheek. "She really is beautiful, Michael. You are very lucky."

"Did it ever occur to you that she inspires me, too' So does Elena. It's not enough to inspire writers to write, if we don't have enough life experience to draw on to make that writing come to life, Calliope," he told her, getting a little more philosophical than he realized.

"I know." The Muse was smiling as he spoke, wondering if he realized this was what she had been telling him for the last three years. "The words come from you. That's what makes them special. And I hear the movie did well, too. That's still you."

"I suppose," he admitted, though he still wasn't satisfied with what he'd accomplished. What writer ever was" There was always room for improvement, always room to do better. "I wonder if Billy had these problems. I bet he knew everything he wrote was a masterpiece."

Calliope snorted with laughter. "Are you joking" The man flirted with danger in his writing," she pointed out. "He wrote to please whichever monarch was on the throne at the time. There was a lot of backpedaling when old Lizzie died and he had to make nice with the King of the Scots."

"Shakespeare was the greatest writer who ever lived. Every writer strives to be a little like him, but we all come up short." Hell, not even the greats like Hemingway and Byron were in the same caliber as Shakespeare. "I'm still not convinced he was mortal."

"No immortal has halitosis that bad," Calliope informed him cheerfully. She shifted, glancing down at the baby once again. "I think something is happening here. Her rear end feels hot and squishy."

Michael laughed. "Yeah, well ....There weren't many dentists back then." In point of fact, there weren't any dentists. He couldn't help but smirk at her observation. "That means she's filling her diaper. Would you like to try changing her?"

The look of horrified disgust on Calliope's face said it all. She lifted the baby girl carefully off her lap and held her out to Michael. "You made it, you clean it."

He chuckled as he reached to reclaim his daughter, dirty diaper and all. "Chicken," he accused his muse with another smirk as he moved to his feet to find his way to the changing table.

"I'm immortal, I don't have to deal with baby poop," was her less than dignified answer as she rose to her feet. Michela was starting to fuss, the thin wail newborns are known for beginning to make itself known. Calliope winced. "Say hello to Elena for me, hmm?"

"I will," he replied, as he tempted his daughter with the binkie so he could change her daughter without her waking her mother. "Thanks for the, uh ....present."

"My pleasure." As Michela clamped down on the binkie, Calliope did her disappearing act, fading out of sight until she really wasn't there at all.

A few moments later, Elena's voice sounded groggily from the nursery. "Mischa" Is she okay?"

"In here!" he called back as he expertly swabbed his daughter's bottom clean and swapped the dirty diaper for a clean one. He might have only been at this a week or so, but with countless diaper changes behind him, he'd learned it wasn't as hard as it looked.

Elena came into view, rubbing a hand through her hair as she blinked to try and wake up a little. "I'm sorry, baby," she apologized. "I guess I dropped off, huh?" She leaned against his back, hugging him affectionately even as she grabbed Michela's feet. The baby girl had an uncanny ability to plant both feet into her dirty diaper when you least expected it.

"You don't have to apologize for sleeping, Elena," he told her as he dropped the dirty diaper into the trash and finished up redressing their daughter. "You know what the doctor said. We should try and sleep when the baby sleeps, and we can take turns."

"Yeah, but you wanted to try and get some time to write, and ..." Her gaze fell on the little stuffed minotaur. That hadn't been in the apartment before she'd fallen asleep, and there was only one person who dared come and go without checking in with her. "Did I miss another flying visit by the badly groomed witch of the west?"

He chuckled at the not-very-nice description of his muse. "Yeah, we actually had a nice visit. Did you know she's never held a newborn baby' I mean, like ever?" Until now, that is, inferring that might have just changed. "She even seemed to be enjoying it, until Michela decided to poop."

"Yeah, so am I." Elena's smile softened as she considered how good it felt to be on speaking terms with all her family members for the first time in years. "I've missed being the baby," she admitted with a faint laugh. Her gaze flickered toward Michael. "You know, uh ....we got a package from Earth," she told him. "I think it's from your grandparents."

"My grandparents?" he echoed, obviously surprised by that bit of news. He hadn't talked to his grandparents in years and didn't even know they were aware of his whereabouts. He didn't need to ask how they'd found out where he was though. If he had to guess, he'd have blamed Mataya for it, though he didn't know for sure.

"All our mail is still being scanned by 'Taya's security, just in case," she pointed out gently. "It wouldn't have arrived here if it wasn't safe for us to open, and it's a Boston stamp. Sounds like they heard about our good fortune."

Either that or they were interested in his money, but he was trying not to be cynical. Now that he had another bestseller on his hands, not to mention the royalties from the movie rights, money was no longer an issue. They'd even bought a house with hopes of filling the place up with love and the laughter of children. "What did they send?" he asked, unsure if she'd already opened it.

"I didn't open it yet," she told him with a gentle smile. "Want me to do that now" It's right there on the table." She nodded toward the box that was sitting on the table, wrapped in brown paper, with their address written carefully on the top.

"If you're sure it won't explode," he said, unable to withhold his cynicism just a little, but if Elena could reconcile with Tess, he supposed he could reconcile with his grandparents, if that's what they wanted. "They were right about me anyway, so I guess I shouldn't hold a grudge," he said pushing a few peas around on his plate.

"What do you mean, they were right about you?" she asked suspiciously, reaching for the package to begin peeling the paper and string away. "You never talk about why you ended up so far away from them, baby."

"Same way you ended up distanced from Tess, I guess," he said, looking across the table to the package she was unwrapping with mild curiosity. "I kind of fell apart after the accident ....after my parents died. I felt lost, alone. They tried to reach out to me, but ..." He shrugged. "My father didn't want me to pursue writing. He wanted me to do bigger and better things - become a doctor or a lawyer - and my grandparents agreed. After he died, I never really got the chance to prove him wrong, or to make him proud of me. My mom was my biggest fan and she was gone, too. All of it just went to hell, and I couldn't find anything I wanted to write about anymore."

"Maybe this is their way of reaching out to you again," she suggested, picking at the tape that held the box closed. "Maybe they heard about the new book and the movie, and through that, about you and me, and the announcement about Michela. It could be that they just miss you, Mischa. You're all they've got." Finally the tape came free under her picking, and she opened the box, reaching into the collection of bright pink tissue paper to draw out the gift ....a silver-plated money box in the shape of Cinderella's carriage. "Oh ....wow ..."

There was more to it than he was saying, but she could probably piece the rest together herself. He'd taken to drinking to drown the pain of his parents' deaths, and that only led to a further rift between his only living relatives. "It's my fault," he said, unable to meet her gaze of even look over at the gift his grandparents had sent, his heart aching. She knew him well enough that he didn't feel he needed to explain further than that.

"Mischa." Her voice was soft as she set the beautiful money-box down on the table in front of him. It had even been engraved with their daughter's name and date of birth. "Look. That doesn't look like the kind of gift you give someone you've given up on."

He sniffled suspiciously and wiped at his nose before looking up to see what his grandparents had sent. He picked up the box in the shape of a carriage and traced their daughter's name with a finger. "I don't know what to do," he admitted quietly, afraid she'd hear the grief and guilt in his voice.

"Call them?" she suggested softly, understanding the struggle he was going through. But she'd healed the rift in her own family; she knew he deserved to heal the rift in his. "Write them a letter. Make contact, somehow. The first time is the hardest. It gets easier. Trust me."

He nodded, silently promising to make contact - he just wasn't sure how yet. "Will you go with me to see them, once Mica is old enough to travel?" he asked, looking over at her again with tears in his eyes. Who was he to tell her that life was too short to hold grudges if he couldn't live by his own words"

Elena raised her brow above her smile. "You really think I'd let you go alone?" she countered in amusement. "Besides, I'm not going to miss the opportunity to see you introduce Mica to her great-grandparents. How often does that happen in a family?"

"Not very often, I guess," he admitted with a wistful smile, as he wiped a hand across his face and cleared his throat. He didn't ask if there was a card, but he'd make a point to check later. "We're pretty lucky, aren't we, El?"

"We're very lucky," she told him, rising from where she sat to wrap her arms about him. "And the best part is that we know we are. We're not going to take it for granted, because we've both been to the bottom and we know what the world looks like from there. We're not going that way again."

"No, we're not. We're lucky, and we're blessed," he told her, setting the silver money box aside so that they could both finish their dinner before their little miss decided she'd had enough of her nap. He reached for her hand, that soft, adoring look on his face again. "I love you, Elena." There really wasn't much else that he needed to say, other than that.

She drew his hand to her lips, kissing his fingers tenderly. "I love you back, so much," she promised him, rising to kiss his temple before taking her seat once again. Another pastry found its way onto her plate - food for the adults was a priority these days. "There's a card in the box, but I didn't open it."

Michael wasn't sure if he wanted to read the card yet, knowing it was going to tear open a wound that wasn't yet healed. He smiled at the display of affection she offered, tempted to draw her into his lap and take advantage of the moment, but she needed to eat while she had a chance. "I'll read it later," he promised. And he supposed he'd have to call them later, too, but not now.

"I'll give you a week," she warned him with a faint smile. "If you haven't contacted them by then, I'm gonna do it for you." And she would. The De Luca stubborn streak was legendary. She nodded at his plate. "You need to eat, baby."

He didn't doubt that she'd make good on her word, and he was half tempted to let her do it. At least, they knew he was alive and well and happy. He couldn't help but wonder what they'd think if they knew Rhy'Din was a real place and not something he'd just made up in his head. "I'll consider myself warned," he told her with a faint smile, already dreading making that phone call.

"And if you're a good boy, I'll let you cop a feel before I pass out again," she added, winking at him as she shoveled a mouthful past her lips once more.

"That's called being a tease, Elena," Michael replied, with a chuckle at last. "Slow down. It's not the end of the world," he teased as he watched her shovel food in her mouth like it was her last meal.

He winced, wondering what he'd got himself into. "Maybe I should have kept my big mouth shut," he murmured, but he was mostly teasing. He really did want to help and be part of their daughter's life, not just because he was her father but because he didn't want Elena having to do it all by herself.

"God bless Piper Granger and her amazingly well-timed advice," she said cheerfully. "We are going to get a breast pump. My milk's come in, so there should be plenty to go around."

"So, then we can share feedings," he said, stating the obvious. He was, for the most part, a stay at home dad anyway, and with them both taking a break from work, there was no reason they couldn't share baby duty.

"Exactly." She beamed up at him, glancing briefly down to check on Michela, who hadn't stirred once since being lifted out of her crib and put in the sling. The baby girl had a tight grip on her daddy's shirt, and was fast asleep. "Looks like you two are pretty comfortable there, too."

"She's light as a feather," he declared. Even when he'd walked the floor with her trying to get her to sleep, he was always struck by how small she was. How tiny. Their tiny little miracle baby. "She's really amazing," he said, before looking back to Elena, a soft smile on his face as he gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "You're amazing."

"You're not so bad yourself, poppa," she murmured back to him, walking close by his side as they reached the Marketplace. "I didn't know you were feeling left out, or I would have done this sooner," she told him softly. "I guess I've been sleepwalking a little not to have noticed."

"It's not that exactly," he said, though it sort of was. He frowned a little again as his thoughts turned to his own father. The man had had little interest in his son's life, so long as he did as he was told. He was a good provider, though, as his mother had reminded her son time and again. He rarely, if ever, spoke of his parents, almost as if it gave him physical pain. "I just don't want to be like my dad, that's all."

"Mischa ..." Elena drew him to a halt, looking into his eyes. "You're not your father," she told him firmly. "Look at yourself, right now. You're standing in the street, with your newborn daughter warm against your chest. She's sleeping because she knows she's with you. You've looked after me for three years. Hell, you survived looking after me for the whole pregnancy. You've got this, and you're gonna be great at it."

"I hope so, Elena. I really do. I want to help. I want to be a good father," he paused, unexpected tears gathering in his bright blue eyes. "I want her to love me," he said, barely more than a whisper. It wasn't that he hadn't loved his father or vice versa; but they were men, he'd been told, and men didn't talk about their feelings the way women did.

"Oh, baby, why would you ever think that she wouldn't love you?" his wife said softly, reaching up to gently touch his cheek. "You're a big part of her life, and you always will be. You're gonna be home more than me, when I get back to working. You're not the kind of man who would ever be able to ignore his children. So don't worry so much. She loves you already."

He drew comfort from her touch, knowing he was being silly, but it worried him nonetheless. "I'm not so sure she knows us well enough to love us yet," he murmured, looking down at the small bundle snuggled in the carrier against his chest. "She's beautiful, isn't she?" he asked, just as quietly.

"Oh, she knows us," Elena promised him, looking down at the sleeping face of their daughter with him. "Of course she's beautiful. Look who her papa is." Rising onto her toes, she brushed a kiss against his cheek, seizing his hand. "Okay, so ....time to find a boob squeezer in my size." With a tug, she pulled him into the shop she'd been heading for, a woman on a mission.

He hardly thought their daughter's good looks were because of him, but he only laughed as she dragged him into the shop to find a contraption that would allow him to be more of a help.

In the end, it wasn't such a big deal as either of them had been led to think. In little over an hour, they'd returned home with the best breast pump they could find, and after half an hour of giggling over the instructions, had managed to produce four ounces - perfect for Michela's next feed.

As Elena handed Michael the bottle just in time for their daughter to latch on and eat, she smiled fondly. "I have got to get a picture of this."

It was a little awkward at first, until he figured out how to hold her at just the right angle so that his arm didn't get too sore. "Do I get to return the favor?" he asked with a smirk, knowing Elena didn't need to use a bottle to feed their daughter.

She snorted with laughter, crouching down to get the perfect angle as she held up her phone. "You want to spend fifteen minutes with a pair of suction cups attached to your chest?" she asked innocently. "Feel free, but I want pictures of that, too."

"That's not what I meant," he said, sticking his tongue out at her. Hopefully, she got a photo of that, too. "You're not gonna use this to blackmail me with someday, are you?" he asked, though he couldn't see how she could really. He wanted to do this; he wanted to be a part of his daughter's life in ways his father was never a part of his, and this was just the beginning.

"No, I'm going to use it to remind you on her wedding day of how terrified you were that she'd never love you, and show you that the way she looks at you when you dance with her is exactly the same way she looked at you the first time you fed her," she told him firmly, setting her phone down as she smiled at him. "I'm taking the long view on this one."

Michael furrowed his brows at her, looking a little confused, before turning his gaze back to their daughter. "She is looking at me, isn't she?" he mused aloud, seeing the look of inquisitive trust on her young face. Could she really see him' Did she recognize his voice" Did she knew he was her father and that he loved her"

"Yeah, she is," Elena nodded, curling up in a corner of the couch to watch her husband and daughter together. This was a much better use of her time than napping. "You know why' Because she recognizes you. She's been listening to your voice for nine months. She's been aware that just being around you makes me calm and happy. You're her papa. You don't need boobs for her to need you."

His gaze remained fixed on the little bundle in his arms, even as his vision grew misty with tears. "She's our little miracle. Our angel," he said quietly, watching as she blinked trustingly up at him.