Baby Daddy (Dominic & Jennie)

[FRANKIE VULPINI]

What if Hannah lied? What if this wasn’t her apartment, but someone else’s, something she’d set up to fake him out because she was pissed he’d refused to do laundry or pay rent since he’d moved in? He wouldn’t put it past her. But then…this could be Jennie. Jennie Leijon, the girl he’d waited around for—chased, even. Frankie wasn’t a romantic—wasn’t even close—but with Jennie it had always been different. Something about her eyes and the way she carried herself. She’d always been captivating.

The marriage hadn’t been blissful, persay, but it hadn’t been unhappy either. They’d fought. They’d made love. Usually in the same day. He’d cheated and he’d done drugs, and she’d asked for a divorce that he insisted was his idea. It was messy. When he found out she was here, he came to knock on the door anyway.

At first, Hannah hadn’t wanted to tell him, but he’d always been good at seeing when she was lying. Forcefully, he’d persuaded her. She didn’t have any bruises, no tears; it was all fine, and he got what he wanted. Jennifer Leijon’s current address: second floor of the Ice Palace. It was admittedly odd, visiting her and knowing he wasn’t the richer of the pair. The Vulpini Manor had always been something of a bragging point for him, and rightfully so; even in Chicago none of his friends could think to compare, Johnny least of all.

Nervous. Why was he nervous? If she shut the door in his face, she only proved him right. She was the bitch, here. She’d ruined it. He’d been trying, and she hadn’t understood. Fucking her. Fucking bitch. Whore. That’s what Dad called her. Tramp. But he’d never been fond of beautiful women, and Jennie was nothing if not that.

He took the elevator up alone and stood in front of the door for five minutes, breathing in, out, in, out. Eyes closed for ten seconds, he took another deep breath and knocked.

[DOMINIC LEIJON]

Dominic Leijon --- =^.^=

Momma was taking a bubble bath which left Dominic to play his X-Box 360 and Dead Island. Though Momma didn't approve of his natural born killer instincts, Saba did his best to encourage strong boy activities in his Grandson. Now, Dominic didn't know anything about that, but he did know that he didn't understand why people sang in musicals, and did understand that you shoot Zombie's in the head. Double tap, just to be sure.

The over-sized headset sat on top of the five-nearly-six year olds head, his shrewd blue eyes dancing across the screen as he popped caps in the faces of the undead hordes. On multiplayer, him and a few others were racing to see who could get the most kills. Not his peers, five people who's ages ranged from college freshmen to a wibbly voiced sixth grade boy. Mr. Wibbles- as Dominic had begun to call him through his little mouth piece, a mean little smile playing on his lips- was whining that there was no way a seven year old (Dominic lied about his age so that other players would take him seriously of course) could be doing so well. Of course this statement was completely false. Dominic was five, with very few friends, and an abundance of time to practice his hand eye coordination.

"Have you tried not being bad at it, Wibbles?" Dominic mocked, blasting one right between the eyes of a zombie with a most skimpy bathing suit. As Wibbles began to whine about how he was leaving the party a knock came to the door. "One moment, I gotta get the door." Dominic announced, taking off his headset. With a louder voice, he instructed his party members. "Don't let me die, you wads." And with that scampered to the door.

Of course, he wasn't suppose to answer the door. This was a rule the rarely outrightly rebellious Dominic always broke. But Momma was soaking in the hot bath, and there was no reason that she shouldn't relax if it's no one important. Besides, no kidnapper would keep him for long, his Aunt Jasmine assured him after he weighted a snowball with a rock and beaned his cousin Cari in the head with it. So removing the chain lock, Dominic opened the door, pragmatically facing the guest.

Or whoever it was. He didn't look like someone who would be Momma's friend. Momma's friends were always dressed nicely or ironically, but never with wrinkles like this man. And, well, they were always clean. This mans hair had a distinct sheen of sweat and laid limply on his head. He was pale, his eyes baring deep shadows beneath them. He looked like a zombie.

In a moment of queer child like bad manners, Dominic pulled an empty squirt gun he had stepped on earlier from his pocket and pretended to shoot the man twice in the head. "Pew. Pew. Two to be sure..." With a pause, Dominic blinked, his face blank. "I don't know you. I need to get my Momma. One second-" Turning slightly, Dom called out, keeping his queer blue eyes on the mans face. "MOMMA, THERE'S SOME STICKY GUY AT THE DOOR. HE LOOKS MAD." Dominic's face, and only his face with sharply, narrowed eyes, turned to the man. "Does the doorman know you're up here?"

[JENNIE LEIJON]

It had been a rough day at work. Papers, papers, and a quite rough interview for an intern. She had managed to pick up Dominic for school, and told him to get a snack. She needed to relax, for just a few moments. Luckily, Dom was a difficult child in unorthodox ways, and understood that she needed a few moments to soak in a hot bath. She had finally started to relax in the suds when she heard the knock from her bathroom. Even when in the bath or shower, she kept her bedroom door open to hear her son call if he needed her.

The knock didn't register at first, and she sat up slightly in the tub with her brows furrowed. Normally someone would buzz in for a package, or ring the doorbell. It was also rare that someone arrived unexpectedly. Thinking it was a trick of the imagination, and that Dom was talking to people on his game--she started to ease back down into the hot water. But when his voice hollared, there was a sound of violent splashing as panic roared through her body. He knew he wasn't supposed to open the door. Without missing a beat she grabbed her satin robe off the hanger and wrapped it around herself, tying it in a secure knot as she slid across the floor and out into the main house. "Dominic!" Her voice held a stern tone, an angry one.

It was for his own safety that he didn't open that door. Someone could grab him. Or someone could burst into their house and cause trouble. She carried herself quickly to the door, reaching out to yank her son back before every muscle froze. She saw the man at the door, but it didn't quite click. Not right away. He looked sick, like he should be in a halfway house instead of the Ice Palace. She didn't recognize the man at first...but then she saw his eyes. The unmistakeable set of his brows over those eyes, the shape of the lips she had kissed so many times.

The air was sucked out of her, and she remained immobile. How had he found her? Her wet hair clung to her face, and she seemed to kick into action as her hands wrapped around Dom's shoulders, her hands pressing against his chest to drag him backwards away from the door. There was a slight shiver to her arms that had nothing to do with being cold, and she struggled with herself--trying to get Dom away from the door so she could slam it closed. But even still, her arms were locked around her son, unable to tear her eyes off of Frankie.

Her ex-husband.

Dominic's father.

"Dom, go to your room." The anger had all but drained out of her voice, and left her sounding strangely empty. Her hands loosening her grasp on the child--eyes unblinking. "You need to leave before I call the police." Her face remained blank as she stared at Frankie. The gravity of the situation not yet dropping down onto her. She was afraid. She was excited. But moreso than anything--she was furious.

"What the hell are you doing here? How did you find me?!" Jennie did her best to keep her voice as calm as she could, but blood was rushing into her face, and that slight vein in her neck was apparent as the volume of her voice raised.

---
ooc;[/color] YAY ROBE. Blame Molly. She WAS wearing clothes. But. You know.

[FRANKIE VULPINI]

The door opened and Frankie stared. That was not Jennie. That was a child. A very small, very blue-eyed, black-haired, pale child. Frankie blinked, and the kid didn’t disappear. His jaw dropped slightly as a squirt gun appeared, the profound ringing in his ears blocking out whatever it was the kid was saying. There was no way. This was the wrong house. It had to be. Jennie didn’t have a kid. Definitely not a—six? four? three? year-old one. He continued to stare as the squirt called out for his mother, because there was something about this kid that would not allow him to duck and run. Frankie wasn’t the best at math, but unless his ex-wife had slept with Joel, or had a doppelganger running around New York City, there was no way in hell this child couldn’t be his.

But he couldn’t be.
That was fucking ridiculous.

Sticky? He wasn’t sticky. He couldn’t articulate a response—couldn’t even think of what he might say. The kid asked a question. Answers. Those came next. Blinking again, sharply, as though the whole world’s slate could simply clear, Frankie licked his lips to speak. “Uh…”

No. Of course the doorman didn’t know he was here. He looked like exactly the type to get kicked out of swanky apartment complexes for pretending to be as rich as he once was. Or for being high. Frankie was quite gifted in disturbing the peace.

There was a woman in the doorway. A nearly naked woman, with nicest, tannest, most perfectly sculpted legs he’d ever seen. He’d kissed those legs, once upon a time. He’d felt that face, fallen asleep with those lips against his chest, his shoulder, near his neck. The curve of her hips still stopped him dead. Her eyes were unmistakable; even without the make-up she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, with lashes and legs for days. Jennie Leijon looked exactly how he remembered her, only…with a kid. He didn’t even want to think about how he looked.

She was here. Hannah hadn’t lied.

Frankie stared for a few more moments to allow his pounding heart to settle and the ringing in his ears to die down. He swallowed. What was he doing here? Begging had never been on his mind. Frankie didn’t know the definition of “apologize.” He’d just wanted to see, to look at her left hand and know it was still empty, to get some sort of satisfaction out of seeing her just as alone as he was; he had none of that.

“Jennie—” his voice cracked, and he instantly swallowed, attempting to regain some sense of composure.

His eyes flicked back to the little boy—Dominic—and everything else seemed to fade away. “Is he—” He couldn’t finish the question, but it was certainly clear enough.

He couldn’t be.

[DOMINIC LEIJON]

Dominic Leijon --- =^.^=

Sometimes Dominic really hated grown ups. Though, sometimes he also hated children his own age. Grown ups were less tolling on his patience, but not when they acted like this. When they acted like this- like he was stupid and couldn't tell there was something serious going on- he would have much rather being on a playground being forced to endure an ever so rousing game of red rover red rover. "Momma?" Dominic's voice with it's gentle rasp and queer intelligence, bid for his Mother's attention. However she was quite busy with the sticky stranger in the doorway. Dominic's eyes scanned the mans face as his Mother slowly released his knobby shoulders. "Momma, I don't want to go to my room." Though defiance was not a trait unknown to his age group, there was no petulance in his tone. More, he seemed to be informing the protective Mother Lioness. Like he was doing her a courtesy.

Police? Apparently Momma did know this man, but Dominic had been quite right to presume that he was not her friend. How did the man find them? Were they hiding? No, she said her. It was so weird to hear his Mother not speak of them in a unit. They were the Leijon's. Saba had entrusted Dominic to be the man of the house, to protect her. And this man was distressing her. Though, to be fair, the man- his name still escaping Dominic which was particularly annoying- looked rather... frightened. Almost as frightened as Momma, but without the indignation. He looked scared of Dom.

Is he-? Dom's brows furrowed, bristling. Now they were talking about him as if he wasn't here. This couldn't be tolerated, it was too much. "Momma." His voice firmed up, but they were still in grown up land. The trademark, angry, red, blotches of the Vulpini line began to appear on his narrow and pale face. "Am I what?" Dominic said, voice rising. "Momma, am I what!?" Impatiently, he tugged on her hand, the pink robe doing a little flutter as her arm was pulled limply. "Who's he? Why does he know me? I don't know him." Jennie was right to be wary of her sons already budding tenacity, because he wasn't a child one would keep and expect to have many secrets.

Grown ups really were frustrating creature. It wasn't fair that they were in charge of everything, because they always mucked things up. They were never just open about things. It always had to be so dramatic, so secretive. Turning to him, showing off the imperiousness that ran deep on both sides of his family, he directed his question to the sticky man. "Why are you buggin my Momma?"

[JENNIE LEIJON]

Jennie loved Dom, no matter what. But for once she was just wishing he could be like every other child, and be compliant. Not ask questions and do as he was told. Obviously, he could tell that she was in distress--which made her feel even worse. Jennie Leijon made a strong point to always act like an unmoveable force, just to be strong for her son. But when him tugging on her arm, his voice getting just a little louder. A little more frantic. Her unadorned left hand pressed at the chest of her robe, almost like she was trying to stop her heart from bursting through her chest.

Frankie's voice after so long, and he said three words. Jennie. Is he. Honestly, she didn't think she would have to hear his voice so soon. The voice that would talk her to sleep, sigh in her ears, murmur words that would make her toes curl. Even if his appearance wasn't matching what he once was--that voice was unmistakeable. It was drowned out though by Dominic's voice. The questions--the tugging to her arm. She felt numb all over, and when she looked down--her breath caught in her throat. For a long time, Jennie managed to seperate the Dominic and Frankie, to ignore the similiarity. But with the color bursting across his face, she felt the air leave her body. Frankie's skin had done that a few times. His dark, dark hair. The set of his brows, and the turn of his lips.

The questions only managed to push Jennie deeper into turmoil. She wanted to give Dominic all the answers, everything. But not like this. She obviously now had to talk to Frankie--but not like this. There were conversations that children shouldn't be part of, and there were things that children shouldn't see. Like the way Jennie's hands clutched at her satin robe instead of her son, white-knuckled. The way she awkwardly shifted from foot to foot as though she were struggling to hold her own delicate weight up. Too much stress from work, and the unexpected, unwelcomed surprise. It was all too much for the typically strong woman.

Blue eyes filled with tears, and her suddenly cold hands raised up to her mouth, hiding the quiver of her lips behind her fingers. One hand reached out for Dominic. She didn't want Frankie to grab him, to strike out. And much like a teddy-bear, she wanted the warmth of her son close by. "Y-yeah. Yeah, he's your son." Her voice cracked like Frankie's did. She didn't want Dominic to find out like this. That didn't look like Frankie, the one she remembered. So many questions were going to come spilling out. She'd have to retrieve the box from the top of her closet, and explain everything to Dominic.

And it was all Frankie's fault. He did this. He showed up on their doorstep--they were perfectly happy. They were doing fine, they were doing great. Dominic didn't need a father, he didn't need Frankie. The family he has was family enough. The sudden heat of anger flared through Jennie, and her expression changed from distressed to angry. It was just a subtle shift of her brows, and the hardened look in her eyes. Frankie should know that look--it would be foreign to Dominic. But the way her jaw stiffened, and the way her entire body seemed suddenly much more solid, and less frail--it should be familiar to Frankie.

With a strong hand, Jennie pulled Dominic firmly away from the door as she stepped forward, in front of her son. "You need to leave now."

[/color] She didn't blink. Her gaze didn't leave Frankie's face. Her jaw raised up slightly--and despite her anger. There was a slight touch of fear in her misty blue eyes. [/color][/blockquote]


---
ooc;[/color] YAY ROBE. Blame Molly. She WAS wearing clothes. But. You know.

[FRANKIE VULPINI]

Frankie’s heart was in his ears. This couldn’t be happening. He wasn’t a father. He wasn’t. Couldn’t be. He’d never had any intention of having a child, nor the slightest desire. This was—well, it was everything that could possibly go wrong in Frankie’s world. He’d been kicked out of his house, married and divorced, forced to live with his siblings in an apartment that frankly, was about the size of his room back home, and now he’d found his ex-wife again only to discover that she was raising his potentially illegitimate child. It really couldn’t have gotten any worse if he’d found out his best friend had knocked up his sister. And the kid…looked like him. That was the worst part, other than him having Jennie’s eyes. And the way he tugged on his mom’s robe, how he glared at Frankie, the questions…it was all too much. Frankie’s stomach flipped. He felt his insides begin to crawl again, doing the wormish thing they were so fond of when he drank too much, only it was this kid, Jennie, her new life, her legs, the way they were both staring at him, that little boy’s brown hair and serious frown, they were the problem. Not him. He hadn’t done anything wrong. He was just stopping by, and now he was just leaving. Right?

So why couldn’t he move?

“I—I’m not—” he stammered, searching for some excuse to give the kid. I just wanted to see how she was. I wanted to know if she was still pretty. If she was better off without me. Remarried. Lonely. Sad. Angry. I wanted to know if she missed me.

Instead, he stared. He wasn’t going to lash out, wouldn’t have known what to hit even if he was thinking about it. And as he looked back up at Jennie and saw those tears welling in her eyes, he felt suddenly as though all of his insides were seeping out through his pores, particularly around his heart. And for a moment—a very short, very inconspicuous moment—he hated himself.

But then that moment passed.

“You didn’t fucking—My son?” he took a small step in through the door, simply because he couldn’t bring himself to move backwards. “No way. There’s no—no way. He can’t be. I don’t have a kid.” He stared at Dominic for a second more, watching how he stood behind his mother’s robe, how Jennie stood there as though protecting him from some monster. Suddenly, Frankie was angry. “Bullshit! I’m not going anywhere.”