{She Knows Your Voice - Andrew Pope Cody x F!Reader}
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You told yourself the duck onesie was practical.
It was clean.
It was soft.
It had snaps that didn't make you want to throw it across the room at three in the morning.
Those were all practical reasons.
The fact that Andrew loved it was irrelevant.
Mostly.
Probably.
You stood in the nursery with Andie lying on the changing mat, her tiny legs kicking with great seriousness while you tried to get one foot through the correct opening.
"Stop fighting the duck suit," you murmured.
Andie made a small offended sound.
"Oh, I'm sorry. Did I insult your dignity?"
She blinked at you.
You smiled despite yourself and fastened the final snap.
There.
Tiny yellow ducks.
Dark hair sticking up slightly near her crown.
Andrew's frown already forming even though she was only a few weeks old and had absolutely no bills to pay.
You looked down at her and felt your chest do the painful, impossible thing it did fifty times a day now.
She was real.
Still.
Every morning, somehow still surprising.
You brushed one finger gently over her cheek.
"Your dad is going to lose his mind."
From the doorway, Deran said, "You're dressing her emotionally."
You turned.
He stood there with two takeaway coffees in one hand and a packet of nappies under his arm, looking deeply unimpressed for a man who had voluntarily shown up at nine in the morning with baby supplies.
"I'm dressing her practically," you said.
"It has ducks."
"Ducks can be practical."
"No, they can't."
"You have no proof of that."
"You put her in the duck onesie because Pope likes it."
"I put her in the duck onesie because it was clean."
Deran looked at the laundry basket overflowing beside the wardrobe.
"There are four clean things on top of that pile."
You narrowed your eyes. "Why are you inspecting my laundry?"
"It's right there."
"Stop perceiving my laundry."
He huffed and stepped into the room, setting one coffee on the dresser. "That one's decaf."
You softened immediately.
"Thank you."
"Yeah, whatever."
Andie kicked both legs.
Deran looked down at her.
His face changed.
It always did, even though he tried to stop it. Something in him went quieter around her, like she made the whole room less easy to joke inside.
"Hey," he said.
Andie stared past him at absolutely nothing.
Deran nodded. "Good talk."
"She's very selective."
"She looks like she's judging me."
"She is."
"She gets that from you."
You laughed and lifted her carefully from the changing mat. Your body still felt strange most days. Better than those first raw days after birth, but not fully yours yet. There were aches you had learned to move around, a tiredness that sat under your skin, and a new constant awareness of Andie's weight in your arms.
Not heavy.
Never heavy.
Just there.
A whole person.
Deran watched you shift her against your chest.
"You okay going today?"
You glanced up.
His voice had gone casual in the way Cody men used when they were being very, very not casual.
"Yes."
"You sure?"
"Yes."
"You look tired."
"I have a newborn."
"Yeah. That's why I asked."
You looked down at Andie.
She had started making little rooting motions against your shirt even though she had eaten forty minutes earlier, because apparently babies worked according to laws no one had written down properly.
"I'm okay," you said, softer.
Deran leaned back against the dresser.
"It's glass today?"
Your throat tightened.
"Yeah."
He nodded once.
No contact room.
No special approval.
No one impossible hour of Andrew holding both of you like the world had narrowed down to his arms and your daughter's breathing.
Just the regular visiting room.
Booth five.
Phones.
Glass.
Andrew had held Andie once now.
That was the blessing.
That was also the wound.
Deran looked down at his coffee.
"That's gonna suck."
You laughed once.
Small and honest.
"Yeah."
He nodded again.
Then he looked at Andie in the duck onesie.
"He'll like that, though."
Your smile trembled.
"I know."
Deran cleared his throat.
"Okay," he said, pushing off from the dresser. "Let's get this emotionally practical duck baby on the road."
You laughed properly then.
Andie startled at the sound, eyes widening.
You kissed the top of her head.
"Sorry," you whispered. "Your uncle is ridiculous."
Deran paused in the doorway.
"Uncle?"
You looked up.
He was staring at you.
You blinked. "What?"
"You said uncle."
Your face softened.
"Oh."
He looked away too fast.
"Don't make it a thing."
"I wasn't."
"You were about to."
"I absolutely was."
"Don't."
You smiled down at Andie.
"Your uncle Deran is emotionally fragile."
"I can still leave you here."
"No, you can't."
"No," he admitted. "I can't."
Andrew knew it was going to be glass.
He had known for three days.
That did not help.
He stood in the visiting room line with his hands at his sides and tried not to think about the weight of Andie in his arms.
It was impossible.
His body remembered before his head could stop it.
The warm curve of her.
The way she had fit against his chest.
The tiny sound she made when he said her name.
The frown.
His frown, apparently, though he still thought you were exaggerating.
He could still feel your hand on his wrist too.
Your mouth.
Your cheek against his shoulder.
The way you had leaned into him when he held her, like for one hour all the months of distance had been suspended in the space between your bodies.
Now it was glass again.
Phone again.
Touching nothing.
He told himself seeing them through glass was still seeing them.
It did not help much.
The door opened.
He walked in.
Booth five.
You were already there.
Andie was against your chest, wrapped in a blanket, her little face turned toward your throat.
Andrew stopped.
For a second, the glass disappeared because all he saw was you.
Tired.
Soft.
Beautiful in a way that hurt.
Then Andie shifted.
The blanket moved.
Yellow ducks.
His breath caught before he could stop it.
You picked up the phone.
He sat and grabbed his.
"You put her in the ducks," he said.
No greeting.
No question.
Just that.
Your smile warmed and ruined him at the same time.
"She chose them."
His eyes dropped to Andie. "She can't choose clothes."
"She has strong opinions."
"She's a baby."
"She's a Cody."
Andrew looked up at you.
Your mouth twitched.
His did too.
Barely.
But enough.
"Hi," you said softly.
His throat tightened.
"Hi."
"You okay?"
"That's my question."
"I'm stealing it."
He looked at you through the glass.
You had dark circles under your eyes. Your hair was pulled back, but not well. His old flannel was draped over your shoulders again, sleeves rolled messily at the wrists. Andie's cheek rested against your chest, tiny mouth relaxed, one fist tucked under her chin.
The sight made him ache.
Not only from missing it.
From loving it.
"I'm okay," he said.
Your gaze softened, like you knew all the ways that answer was incomplete and decided to let him have it anyway.
"She sleep?"
"Sometimes."
"That means no."
"That means she sleeps like a newborn."
"That means no."
You sighed. "No."
"Eating?"
"Yes."
"You?"
You gave him a look. "Also yes."
"Enough?"
"Andrew."
"What?"
"You have moved from baby interrogation to wife interrogation very quickly."
"You both need food."
"She gets hers directly from me. It's very hard to forget."
His eyes widened slightly.
You laughed.
"Oh, don't look so alarmed. You know how babies work."
"I know."
"You look scared."
"I'm not scared."
"You are absolutely scared."
"I'm concerned."
"About breastfeeding?"
"About all of it."
Your expression softened.
Andie made a tiny sound against your chest.
Both of you looked down.
She shifted, scrunched her face, then started fussing.
Not crying yet.
Just winding up.
You adjusted her carefully, bouncing her a little against your shoulder.
"Hey," you murmured. "It's okay."
Andrew's hand tightened around the phone.
The sound went through him strangely.
He had heard her fuss on calls.
He had heard her cry.
But seeing it through glass, seeing her tiny face crumple while he could not reach either of you, made something hot and useless move through his chest.
Andie fussed harder.
You shifted again.
"I know," you whispered, kissing her hair. "I know. It's loud in here."
Andrew leaned closer.
"Put me on."
Your eyes lifted.
"What?"
"The phone."
You looked down at Andie.
"She's upset."
"I know."
"She might scream directly into your ear."
"That's okay."
For a second, you just looked at him.
Then you nodded.
You moved the phone from your ear and held it near Andie, careful not to press it too close.
"She's listening," you said.
Andrew's voice changed before he even thought about it.
Low.
Quiet.
The voice that had become hers somehow.
"Hey, Andie."
Andie fussed.
Her little face crumpled.
Andrew swallowed.
"Hey, baby girl. It's me."
Her crying caught.
Not stopped.
Caught.
A tiny interruption in the rhythm.
You went very still.
Andrew saw it.
He kept talking.
"I know. This place is loud. I don't like it either."
Andie made a small distressed sound.
"But you got the ducks on," he said. "That helps."
A wet laugh slipped out of you.
Andie's fussing softened from the edge of a cry into hiccupping little complaints.
Andrew kept his eyes on her.
"You saw me already," he said softly. "Remember? I held you. You slept on me."
His throat tightened.
The words almost got stuck.
He forced them out anyway.
"You were warm."
Your face crumpled behind the glass.
Andie quieted.
Not fully asleep.
Not peaceful.
But listening.
Her eyes opened slightly, dark and unfocused, shifting vaguely toward the phone.
Andrew stopped breathing.
You brought the phone back to your ear slowly.
"She knows your voice," you whispered.
Andrew could not answer.
His eyes stayed on Andie.
She was still looking toward the sound.
Toward him.
Not seeing him, probably. Not really. The books said newborn eyesight was blurry. He had read that twice.
But she knew something.
The voice.
The rhythm.
The shape of him in sound.
Andrew pressed his palm flat to the counter, because if he didn't put his hand somewhere, he was going to break.
"She knows your voice," you said again, softer.
His jaw worked.
"Yeah?"
"Yes."
Andie made another tiny noise.
Not upset now.
Just there.
You smiled down at her. "See? That's Daddy."
Andrew's eyes burned.
Daddy.
He had heard you say it before.
Every time, it landed somewhere new.
You shifted closer to the glass, lifting Andie carefully so she faced him more. Her head wobbled slightly, supported by your hand at the back of her neck.
"She's looking," you said.
"At what?"
"At the blur that is probably you."
A rough laugh left him.
Andie blinked slowly.
Her tiny hand escaped the blanket.
You caught it gently between your fingers.
Andrew watched like his whole world had become that hand.
So small.
Ridiculously small.
Perfectly formed fingers curling and uncurling against your thumb.
You looked up at him through the glass.
"Do you want to..."
You did not finish.
You didn't need to.
Andrew lifted his hand.
Slowly.
Like he was afraid of frightening her even through the barrier.
You brought Andie's hand to the glass.
Her palm pressed flat, tiny and loose, supported by your fingers.
Andrew placed his hand on the other side.
His palm dwarfed hers completely.
Glass between them.
Your fingers around hers.
His hand opposite.
For a second, none of you moved.
The room around you faded.
The other visitors.
The guards.
The phones.
The ugly lights.
All of it blurred around the smallest hand in the world pressed to the barrier between Andrew and his daughter.
Andrew's mouth trembled.
"Hi," he whispered, even though the phone was at your ear and she could not hear him that way.
You heard.
That was enough.
You looked at his hand.
Then at his face.
"She's touching you," you said.
His eyes flicked up.
Then back down.
"Not really."
"Yes," you said. "Really enough."
His face changed.
Really enough.
That was what so much of this had become.
Phone calls were not holding, but they were really enough to calm her.
Recordings were not bedtime in his arms, but they were really enough to fill the room.
Glass was not skin, but right now, his daughter's hand was opposite his and yours was holding her there.
Really enough.
Andrew nodded once.
Barely.
You pressed Andie's hand there a moment longer.
Then she squeaked, unimpressed, and curled her fingers.
You laughed softly.
"She's over it."
His mouth twitched.
"Like you."
"Like you."
Andie yawned then.
A huge, dramatic newborn yawn that took up her whole face.
Andrew stared.
"She does that a lot," you said.
"Yawns?"
"Yes, Andrew. Babies yawn."
"I know."
"You always sound surprised."
"I still am."
You smiled.
His hand stayed on the glass even after you lowered Andie back against your chest.
He did not seem to notice.
Or maybe he did and simply did not want to move it yet.
You didn't tell him to.
For a while, you talked about small things.
Andie's hatred of swaddling.
Andie's conflicting hatred of not being swaddled.
The way she slept with both hands near her face like she was ready to fight someone in a dream.
Deran falling asleep upright on your sofa and denying it while still half asleep.
Andrew listened to all of it.
Every ridiculous detail.
He asked questions that were half practical, half desperate.
How much was she eating?
Did she still make the angry rooting face?
Was the duck on the shelf or had it been moved?
Was the chair still loud?
Were you taking the pain medicine on time?
That last one made you pause.
Mostly because you had not been.
Andrew saw it.
Even through glass.
"Baby."
"I'm mostly taking them."
His gaze narrowed.
"What does mostly mean?"
"It means I am an adult woman who knows how to take medication."
"It means you forgot."
"It means newborns are distracting."
"It means you forgot."
You huffed. "Maybe once."
His eyes stayed fixed on you.
"Twice."
Andrew's expression did not change.
You sighed. "Fine. Deran has set alarms."
"Good."
"He labelled one 'take your damn pills.'"
"Good."
"He labelled another one 'Pope would yell.'"
Andrew nodded. "Accurate."
You laughed.
Andie startled.
Both of you froze.
She settled again.
You lowered your voice. "You're both bullies."
"You need sleep."
"I need a clone."
"No."
"No?"
"One of you is enough."
Your eyes softened.
Andrew seemed to realize what he had said a second later. He looked down, but you caught the warmth before he could hide it.
The visit timer crackled overhead.
Ten minutes.
The sound went through you like a small blade.
Andrew's hand finally dropped from the glass.
Andie shifted against you, her mouth making soft sleeping movements.
You looked down at her.
Then back at him.
"It was harder today," you said quietly.
Andrew's eyes lifted.
He knew exactly what you meant.
No contact room.
No arms.
No kissing.
No Andie warm against his chest.
Just glass again.
He looked at his hand where it rested on the counter.
"Yeah."
Your throat tightened.
"I'm sorry."
His eyes snapped up.
"No."
"I know. But—"
"No."
You stopped.
He leaned closer, voice low.
"Don't be sorry for bringing her."
Your eyes burned.
"I'm not."
"Good."
He looked at Andie.
Then at you.
"It was easier before I knew what she felt like," he admitted.
The honesty hurt.
You had expected it, maybe.
Still, hearing it made your chest ache.
"I know."
His jaw tightened, but he did not spiral.
He did not turn the pain into apology.
He just sat with it.
That, too, was new.
"But I know now," he said.
Your face softened.
"And that's good."
You nodded.
"It's good," he repeated, like he was making himself believe it because it was true and because truth sometimes had to be held steady with both hands.
Andie stirred.
You lowered your mouth to her forehead.
"She still knows you."
Andrew looked at her.
Then at the phone.
"Yeah?"
You smiled through tears.
"Andrew, she practically stopped mid-meltdown because you told her the prison was loud and praised her outfit."
His mouth twitched.
"The ducks help."
"The ducks help," you agreed solemnly.
The loudspeaker called five minutes.
You hated every announcement in this building.
Andrew looked at Andie like he was trying to memorize the exact shape of her sleeping against your chest.
"She bigger?"
"Since the contact visit?"
"Yeah."
"A little."
"I thought so."
"You saw her for one hour."
"I know."
"And you can tell she grew?"
"Yes."
You smiled. "Obsessed."
His eyes stayed on his daughter.
"Yeah."
No denial.
No shame.
Just yes.
You looked at him and felt your heart fold itself in half.
The last minutes went too quickly.
They always did.
You promised to send pictures.
He told you to take your medication.
You told him not to be bossy.
He ignored that and reminded you to drink water.
You asked about the recording programme, and he said the first one had been approved for mailing.
Your expression changed.
"It's coming?"
"Should be."
"You read the duck one?"
"Yeah."
"Was it good?"
His mouth tightened.
"It was a book."
"That is not an answer."
"It had a duck."
"Also not an answer."
"It was fine."
You narrowed your eyes. "Andrew."
"I did the voices."
Your mouth fell open.
"You did not."
His eyes flicked away.
"You did?"
"Don't make it a thing."
"Oh, I am absolutely making this a thing."
"Don't."
"You did duck voices?"
"One voice."
"Andrew Cody."
"Baby."
"You recorded yourself doing a duck voice for your daughter."
His jaw tightened, but there was color high on his cheekbones.
"She might like it."
Your face crumpled.
All teasing disappeared.
"She will love it."
He swallowed.
"You don't know that."
"I do."
"Mother science?"
"Mother science."
The guard stepped closer.
Time.
You stood slowly, careful with Andie against your chest. Your body still ached if you moved too fast, and Andrew noticed because of course he did.
"You okay?"
"Yes."
"Pain medicine."
"I will."
"Promise?"
"I promise."
His face softened.
You lifted Andie's tiny hand from the blanket.
Just a small wave.
Andrew pressed his palm to the glass again.
"Bye, baby girl," he whispered.
You looked at him.
"I love you," you said.
His eyes lifted.
"I love you."
"And she loves you."
This time, he did not ask if you were sure.
He looked at Andie.
Then at your fingers supporting her tiny hand.
"I know," he said.
Your breath caught.
He said it like he meant it.
Like he finally had enough proof to hold.
You smiled through tears.
Then you turned and left.
Behind you, Andrew kept his palm on the glass until the door closed.
The package was waiting when you got home.
Deran saw it first.
He had carried the diaper bag in while you carried Andie, who had fallen asleep in the car and was now making tiny dream noises against your shoulder.
There was a padded envelope on the hallway floor just inside the door, pushed through the letter slot at an odd angle.
Deran picked it up.
His expression changed.
"What?"
He looked at the return label.
"Family services thing."
Your heart jumped.
"The recording?"
"Looks like."
You shifted Andie higher against your chest.
She stayed asleep.
For once.
Deran looked from the envelope to you.
"You want me to open it?"
"No."
You said it too quickly.
He nodded and handed it over without comment.
The envelope was light.
Inside was a children's book.
Bright cover.
Yellow duck.
Of course.
A small plastic sleeve was attached to the inside with a labeled audio file on a simple approved player.
Your fingers trembled when you opened the cover.
On the dedication page, in Andrew's careful handwriting, were four words.
For Andie.
From Dad.
You inhaled sharply.
Deran looked away immediately.
"Jesus," he muttered.
You laughed wetly. "Yeah."
You carried the book upstairs to the nursery.
Deran followed, quieter now.
He did not make a joke about the chair.
He did not make a joke about ducks.
That was how you knew he was already emotionally compromised.
You sat in the green rocking chair with Andie against your chest. The room was dim, warm from the late afternoon sun. Andrew's wooden duck sat on the shelf beside the scan photo. The hospital bracelet lay in a little dish. A clean blanket hung over the arm of the chair.
Deran stood near the doorway, arms crossed.
"You don't have to stay," you said.
"I know."
"You want to?"
"No."
You looked at him.
He sighed. "Fine. Yeah."
You smiled.
Andie stirred, making a small grumbly noise.
"Okay," you whispered. "Let's hear Dad."
Deran shifted against the doorframe.
You pressed play.
For a second, there was static.
A small scrape.
Then Andrew's voice filled the nursery.
"Hi, Andie."
Your face crumpled instantly.
Deran looked at the floor.
On your chest, Andie went still.
Andrew's voice was rougher than usual, like he had been nervous.
"Hi, baby girl. It's me."
Andie's eyes fluttered.
You pressed your lips together to keep from sobbing too loudly.
There was a pause on the recording.
Then Andrew cleared his throat.
"This is a duck book," he said.
Deran made a strangled sound.
You looked at him through tears.
He shook his head. "I'm fine."
"You are not."
"Shut up."
The recording continued.
Andrew read slowly at first.
Too slowly.
Like he was afraid of getting it wrong.
Then he found a rhythm.
His rhythm.
Low and careful, turning the silly little duck story into something softer than it had any right to be.
He did the duck voice.
Barely.
It was more of a slight change in tone than a full voice, but you caught it immediately.
Deran did too.
He covered his mouth with one hand and turned toward the wall.
You started crying harder.
Andie relaxed against your chest.
Completely.
Her tiny fist opened.
Her cheek settled against you.
By the second page, she was asleep.
You looked down at her, then back at the book.
Andrew's voice kept going.
In the room he had helped choose.
Beside the duck he had carved.
Around the daughter who knew him by sound before she knew almost anything else.
Deran was suspiciously silent by the door.
You glanced at him.
His eyes were red.
"Deran."
"No."
"I didn't say anything."
"No."
You smiled through tears and looked back down at Andie.
The story ended after a few minutes.
There was a small pause.
Then Andrew's voice came back softer.
"Goodnight, Andie."
Your breath hitched.
Another pause.
"I'm here."
The recording clicked off.
The room went quiet.
Not empty.
Not anymore.
You sat very still, Andie asleep against your chest, the book open in your lap.
Deran cleared his throat.
"That was..."
He stopped.
You looked up.
His face was turned toward the window.
"Yeah," you said softly.
He nodded once.
"That was good."
Your smile trembled.
"It was."
Andie sighed in her sleep.
You looked down at her.
"She knew."
Deran looked at her too, expression soft and unguarded for once.
"Yeah," he said. "She did."
You leaned back in the chair and pressed your cheek gently to the top of your daughter's head.
On the shelf, the wooden duck watched over the room.
In your lap, the book rested open.
Andrew's voice was gone from the player, but somehow still there.
In the walls.
In the green.
In the quiet.
He was not home.
Not yet.
But his voice had arrived before him.
Andie slept through the rest of the afternoon with one tiny fist curled against your chest, while Andrew's voice filled the green room like he had found another way back to both of you.
Taglist -
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