Fic
Title: All You Need is Love
Author: alicebluegown16
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Parings: Matt/Mohinder, Molly, Nathan Petrelli, Samuel Parkman (mine!)
Summary: The House of M just got a little bigger. Cue Matt!Panic.
AN/Warning: Matthew Parkman, the tests are in and you are the father! More of my House of M+baby 'verse. This is the sequel/companion piece to The Kid's Are Alright, so please read that one first. The first few days with Sam from Matt's point of view. Feedback is much appreciated. And yes, that is a Zoolander reference because I am a huge dork.
All You Need Is Love
Every night when they talk on the phone, Mohinder repeats the same mantra to Matt, “I love you and we’ll be fine.”
And every night Matt watches his son sleep, Sam’s face the same as the one that stared back from all of his old baby pictures, his son, Janice’s son, their son-Mohinder’s son? (Maybe? Possibly? Someday? Is he that lucky? Is it even worth ever hoping for?), headache building between his eyes and panic clawing at his chest as tries to pretend he doesn’t hear run the other way in every syllable of Mohinder’s voice.
He loves Sam. Loves Sam and wants Sam and wants Sam to know he’s loved and wanted which is impossible since the little guy can’t even gurgle the same way twice let alone talk, or understand him when he talks, or see him as anything more than the wavery blob who changes and feeds him, but he has to believe that loving him will be enough.
Because if it isn’t, if he’s wrong, then he’s well and truly fucked and will likely end up buying a therapist a swimming pool as he is, without any doubt, the most inept caregiver ever inflicted on an infant.
Very quickly, Molly stages an intervention and revokes Matt’s WebMD privileges, because ever time he checks the site convinced no child should be screaming or puking or shitting as much as Sam does, he comes back insisting the kid has Ebola or something.
He’s sure if Mohinder were here, he’d have some perfectly apropos equation that would help it all make sense, or perhaps an obscure journal article in the latest issue of Obsessive Parenting Monthly with charts and graphs and copious footnotes. And even if he couldn’t do that, at the very least Mohinder should be here, as terrified and unsure as he is.
But Matt doesn’t have Mohinder here with him. Mohinder is in Europe and when he comes home Matt has no guarantees of how long that will be for. He’s the one who wanted to take Sam in, he’s the one who wants them to all be a family, he’s the one who the moment he held him, hands instinctively moving to support his head (and who knew he had those instincts?), had felt it immediately and soul deep, yes, this is right, this is the way it should be. What if it’s not that simple for Mohinder? What if he takes one look at Sam and shakes his head, “Thanks but no thanks and no hard feelings, right, Matthew? You understand. What more can you expect from me? After all, his own mother didn’t even want him.”
This particular nightmare is just number one hundred and forty seven of a seemingly never ending list of possible scenarios that completely terrify Matt.
The Company stealing the little guy away and poking and prodding him to see what, if anything, he’s capable of. Waking up one night to find Sylar standing over Sam’s crib. Sam having powers. Sam having his powers. Sam having some other power, something worse, something he hasn’t even thought of. Sam not having any powers at all and Janice deciding to take him back. Sam not having powers and Janice still not caring about him. Sam growing up to hate Janice. Sam growing up to hate him for being the reason Janice left. Sam having the same problems reading. Sam not having the same problems, Sam being perfect, growing up so smart and driven just like Jan and being embarrassed by a dad who can barely manage to read him bedtime stories.
Needless to say, even without the every hour on the hour ear splitting wake up calls, Matt isn’t getting much sleep. Monday morning finds him almost catatonic from exhaustion, the hand he’s propping his chin up on the only thing preventing him from face planting into his cereal and drowning.
“Matt?”
“Mmmhuh?”
Matt squeezes his eyes shut and then opens them again, trying to make the swimming image of Molly’s face come into better focus. She’s chewing on her lip and poking at her Cheerios, clearly deep in thought.
“I’ve been wondering…what are we going to call Sammy? When Mohinder comes home, he’ll be the only one in the family without an M name and I worry he’ll feel left out. I call him Monkey-face sometimes when he gets fussy, but I don’t think that’ll work when he’s older.”
Matt doesn’t know what to say to this. His little girl is perfect. Sweet, wonderful, accepting, non-neurotic Molly. He doesn’t deserve her in the least.
He takes a shuddery rattling breath and tries to regain control of his emotions. When he opens his mouth, it’s with the full intention of making some sort of joke, but instead what comes out is “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“I don’t know.”
Molly’s watching him with far more concern than someone her age should ever have to.
“Are you okay, Matt?”
No. Yes. Maybe. Once Mohinder’s home and I know for better or worse how things are going to be.
“Yeah, I’m fine, princess. Just being weird this morning.”
Molly’s up in an instant, leaning her head against his shoulder and flinging skinny arms around his neck.
“Do you want me to stay home with you today? We’re not doing anything new in class and I can help out with Sammy.”
It probably isn’t a good thing that except for the fear of Mohinder beating him to death with the baby monitor for allowing it, Matt is extremely tempted to take her up on the offer.
“That’s probably not the best idea, Molly-doll. School officials tend to frown on keeping kids out of class to care for their younger siblings. Besides, Sam and I need to learn how to take care of each other on our own.”
“Until Mohinder gets home.”
Molly’s arm tightens around his neck and her voice sounds stretched wire thin.
“What?”
“You only need to be on your own until Mohinder gets home, right? And then we’ll all be a family. That’s what you meant, isn’t it?”
Crap. He’s done it again. Molly’s looking all kinds of worried and fretful and it’s his fault. She's already one of the most emotionally perceptive people on the planet and he’s not supposed to let her know how completely fucking terrified he is ninety nine percent of the day. That’s not what good fathers do.
“Of course that’s what I meant, pumpkin. I’m just really tired. Now, you need to finish getting ready or else you’re going to miss your bus.”
Somehow, Matt manages to get Molly off to school on time. He hands her five dollars to buy lunch, knowing Mohinder would agonize over such a decision and remind her half a dozen times to put at least three fruits and vegetables on her tray. Matt’s just grateful she wears a uniform everyday because otherwise he’d have sent her out in pajamas they’re already so behind in laundry.
Twenty minutes after Molly leaves, all those good intentions of wanting to be alone with Sam and really learning how to be the best dad possible collide head on with the indisputable fact that Matt has no idea what he’s actually doing and is in all honesty slightly scared of his own kid.
So, he does the only thing he can think to do.
He calls Nathan Petrelli to save him.
Matt has to give the other man credit. Nathan takes the whole thing in stride and after a long, long silence, he simply says “Okay, I’ll be there in half an hour.”
When he shows up, he hands Matt a bag overflowing with a dozen tubes of diaper cream and eight boxes of Pampers.
“You better be fucking grateful, Parkman. Some sleazy tabloid rag followed me into the store and is probably now going to report that I’m into all kinds of kinky shit.”
“Nah, they’ll just assume it’s for one of the many secret offspring you have strategically placed all around the country.”
Nathan’s only reaction is a very deliberate blinking of his eyes and Matt suddenly realizes just what a bad idea this is.
Fuck, pretty hard to kick yourself with the other foot in your mouth, isn’t it? He hasn’t seen his sons in how long? And you asked him to come over and help you take care of your kid? You selfish fucking bastard.
Before Matt can apologize, Nathan smirks at him and raises an eyebrow.
“This from the man holding a recently acquired infant.” He deadpans. “What the hell are you thinking? Like your life isn’t crazy enough as it is, you and Suresh have suddenly decided to become the new gay Brangelina?”
See, this is why Matt called Nathan first. Not just because he’s the only one Matt knows in the city with kids who is aware of the whole twisted tale of how his happy family came to be, but because he can trust Nathan not to empathize him to death.
“Yes, Petrelli, because clearly I planned this. I heard it’s what all the cool kids are doing these days. Illegitimate children, they’re so hot right now.”
Nathan actually laughs at this.
“Yeah, well if that’s your Blue Steel look, it needs serious work. Your hair resembles a rabid porcupine desperately clinging to your scalp. Don’t you know very few can pull off hobo chic? Must you copy everything I do?”
Matt doesn't even attempt to argue with the description of his appearance, since he suspects Nathan might actually be right. But that doesn't mean he can let the rest of the comment go. Nathan may be the closest thing he has to a friend right now and his diaper bearing savior, but he's not going to actually say that.
“Speaking of copying people, how’s that gaping chest wound of yours doing? At least when I took four bullets I didn’t insist on it being in front of a full press corps. You’re such an attention whore.”
A shrug of shoulders and a ‘What can I say?’ smile.
“I heard it’s what all the cool kids are doing these days. Now, am I allowed to come in and actually hold your spawn, or do you just want me to stand in the fucking doorway all damn day?”
Nathan stays all morning. He looks far more comfortable holding an infant than a man in a three thousand dollar suit ever should, but any time Matt starts to feel jealous, the twist your guts wistful expression on his face nips that right in the bud.
Nathan watches Sam while Matt does some much needed laundry and answers all of Matt’s questions and listens without comment as Matt spill his guts about how completely in over his head he is. By lunch, Matt has impossibly exhausted his list of worries about how he’s going to fuck Sam up. So, he pauses a moment and then immediately and starts in on his list about Molly.
“I don’t know what I’m gonna do, Nathan! Molly’s great right now, but sooner or later she’s going to be pissed as hell about suddenly being a big sister without any warning.”
“Parkman-“
“She’s going to think I’m playing favorites, she’s going to resent me forever.”
“Park-“
“She’s going to rebel and run off to Berkeley to live in a commune to study something useless like Underwater Basket Weaving! She’ll do creepy disturbing modern art with titles like Despair and Agony which I won’t understand but critics will all love about how she hates me for emotionally abandoning her.”
“Park-Matt! Jesus, breathe for fuck’s sake!”
Matt attempts to do as instructed, but his deep cleansing breath sounds more like hyperventilating.
“I don’t make enough money. How am I going to afford two college educations and therapy for both of them?”
“Okay, why are you telling me all this? Wait, that came out sounding worse than it was supposed to. What I meant is, why are you not telling Suresh all this? Considering the fact that in all of the scenarios you described you’re referring to yourself in the singular, I’m guessing you haven’t even tried. I'm right, aren't I…What? He hasn’t even gotten home yet and you’re already picturing him going to the corner store for a pack of smokes and not coming back?”
Matt looks away and in the centuries long uncomfortable silence, he tries to convey how much Mohinder hates to share. Nathan wearily rubs his eyes and mutters something that sounds like “So fucked up.”
“Well, now I know why you’ve been trying to learn how to be the most perfect father of all time in a single day. Which is impossible by the way. And not necessary, I promise you. Because you’re going to survive this week. You’re not going to sleep much, you’re going to be covered in more bodily fluids than you will ever care to contemplate, but you’re going to survive this week. And at the end of it, Mohinder will come home and yes, it’s going to be an adjustment, but Parkman…Matt, whatever doom and gloom you’re imagining, stop. Mohinder’s going to love Sam.”
Why because he’s so cute?
Because he’s yours. He’ll love Sam because he’s yours.
With anyone else, this would sound like maudlin patronizing bullshit. Nathan tilts his chin up and glares at Matt as if it were irrefutable fact.
He still argues though.
Janice didn’t. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t. People make promises they can’t keep all the time, Nathan.
And because this is Nathan, who is a not only a stubborn son-of-a-bitch (literally, ha, ha, ha), but a stubborn son-of-a-bitch who has seen first hand how fast things you love can slip through your fingers, he doesn’t flinch.
“Maybe. Or maybe she loved him just enough to leave him somewhere she knew he’d be safe and happy. I don’t know about her, but I know Mohinder took to Molly right away and I know he’ll do the same with Sam. Babies have the tendency to do that, turn you all warm and gooey. Take me, for example. You’re not going to believe it, but before I had kids, I could be kind of a bastard at times.”
“No!”
“You’re shocked, I can tell. But they’re pretty amazing little buggers, aren’t they? Can’t do anything but cry and drool and we’d still carpet bomb the Grand Canyon to keep ‘em safe.”
At this assessment, Matt lets out a startled huff of laughter.
“Since we’re handing out advice, I’d recommend if you ever run for another public office, don’t mention that in any campaign speeches.”
Matt wakes up after sleeping a grand total of exactly 6.3 seconds, stumbling and straining to escape the tangle of blankets. In the dark, he not only stubs his toe but also bangs his elbow on the doorframe and by the time he picks Sam up, red faced and howling, he wants nothing more than to cry himself.
He murmurs what he hopes is soothing nonsense, rocking Sam as the little guy shakes his fists and screams his lungs out.
When the bottle finally warms, instead of taking it, Sam pulls away from him and cries even louder.
“Oh, come on now, little man…is that how you’re gonna be? Are you going to make me ask nicely? Alright, but don’t let anyone else know I’m such a push over. Come on, Sammy…drink your bottle so I can get an hour of sleep before you wake me up needing to be changed…come on, don’t be so stubborn, buddy, you’ll feel much better once you finish your bottle…there ya go, not so fast…you’re getting it all over yourself…it’s supposed to go in you, not on you.”
Sam doesn’t seem at all eager to take his advice, greedily slurping away so entusiastically that he spills formula down the front of his shirt and into the creases of his neck. When Matt tries to shift slightly, Sam squirms and kicks at the underside of his arm.
“Okay, fine then, we’ll do it your way. You know for someone who hates baths, you sure do enjoy getting messy.”
After Sam finally finishes his bottle, Matt shifts him to his shoulder and pats his back, eliciting a burp that would make a frat boy blush.
“Hey, that was very impressive. You scored a 9.8 from the Russian judges.”
As he settles the baby back into his crib, Matt realizes two things. This is the first time he hasn’t panicked at all during one of Sam’s midnight feedings and that Sam actually appears to be smiling at him.
“Wow…are you…is that just gas? You know what, if it is, don’t tell me, I’m just going to pretend you are smiling…so, this is what you look like when you’re not crying. You’re kind of cute, actually. Mohinder’s going to love you…”
He straightens Sam’s blankets and runs a hand along one chubby little cheek.
“But don’t worry, even if he doesn’t, I've got your back. You and me against the world, I promise. How does that sound to you?”
It must sound pretty good, because Sam is already asleep again, Matt’s fingers clenched tight in his hand.
The day Mohinder comes home, Matt doesn’t eat anything for breakfast, throws on the first thing he can find that doesn’t smell too overwhelmingly of baby puke, and then spends almost half an hour picking out Sam’s outfit.
By the time they actually get to the airport however, the blue sweater with yellow ducks on it that Molly insisted was perfect is stuffed in the diaper bag covered in snot and formula and Sam is much more casually dressed in a plain white undershirt.
And then it’s a blur of Molly screaming “There he is!” running forward to hug Mohinder and dragging him over. Mohinder is thinking about running off to Fiji which has Matt thinking about throwing up, but eventually he kneels down and Sam stares up at him, wide eyed and seemingly extremely curious to learn what all the fuss is about.
You. You’re what all the fuss is about, little man.
And maybe Sam hears him or maybe he instinctively realizes this is his big moment, Matt can’t be sure, but the why doesn’t matter when Sam grabs Mohinder’s fingers and shoves them into his mouth.
Mohinder smiles. Mohinder’s grinning, Mohinder’s looking up with an expression of complete and total wonder, an expression Matt usually only sees when he’s somewhere in the vicinity of a microscope.
He thinks he says something, he can’t be sure, but he’s very sure of what Mohinder’s response is.
“He’s perfect. He looks just like you."
He’ll love Sam because he’s yours.
A equals B. Just like that, it’s that simple. Mohinder, genius that he is, has found the equation.
Matt can’t speak, can’t breathe, can’t swallow around the fist sized lump in his throat, but he can move, he can step forward and pull Mohinder into a desperate rib-cracking embrace.
After the frantic blur of activity that is the move to Queens, things settle into a comfortable routine much faster than Matt would have thought possible. He’s back at work, Mohinder, after telling Bob to accept it or find another scientist, is working from home until they can make more permanent child care arrangements. Bob ends up blinking first and soon there is a very expensive computer in the study with video conference technology, twelve different password encryptions, and a high speed DSL the Company is paying for which kind of freaks Matt out.
But there’s also taking Molly to Girl Scout meetings and ballet lessons and Nathan coming over for dinner at least once a week for what he refers to as meetings of the I Got Shot in the Chest and Lived to Tell About It Club, and Sam beginning to crawl which has Mohinder obsessively baby-proofing everything in sight-“Why aren’t you the least bit concerned? What are we going to do when he starts walking? There are corners everywhere, Matthew! We live in a death trap!”
It’s on a Sunday exactly two months to the day since the phone call from Janice that started all this and Matt wakes up to the not very pleasant sensation of an early morning sneak attack from the dreaded Slime Faced Baby.
“Nhguuh!”
It’s six a.m. and Sam is enthusiastically chewing on his ear while Mohinder watches. When Matt picks him up and settles him between them, Sam wastes no time to begin gnawing at the hem of his t-shirt.
“Okay, I think the time has come for you to learn to tell time. See this?” Matt holds out the alarm clock for Sam to inspect. “This says it’s way too early to be up on a Sunday.”
Mohinder yawns an explanation. “I tried to explain it to him, but he’s just too stubborn to listen to any sense.”
“Is that what you are, Sammy? Are you stubborn?”
“Like a bloody mule.” Mohinder’s smile when Sam reaches for the alarm clock hints at a newfound fondness for mules. When playing with the alarm clock turns into gumming at it, Mohinder reaches over and untangles the cord from tiny little fingers.
Matt watches all this unfold, running his hands through Sam’s hair as he tries the name out for size.
“Sam…Samuel…Sam. Mule.”
When Sam looks up at him and gurgles something likely quite profound, Matt taking it as a sign, reaches over to settle him on top of his chest.
“I dub thee, Mule Parkman! There, now you have an M name. Molly will be very relieved. But we’ll wait til she wakes up to tell her, won’t we? We want to be considerate.”
Mohinder covers his face and groans. “Mule? Oh, because that won’t lead to him hating you when he’s older.”
“Aw, you like it, don’t you, buddy? Tell your Appa not to worry so much.”
Mohinder instantly rolls over onto his side and stares at Matt.
“Appa?” He repeats.
“Yeah, Appa. Is that-I mean, did I say it right?”
With Sam nestled between them, Mohinder leans over to kiss him.
“Yes. You said it just right.”
Author: alicebluegown16
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Parings: Matt/Mohinder, Molly, Nathan Petrelli, Samuel Parkman (mine!)
Summary: The House of M just got a little bigger. Cue Matt!Panic.
AN/Warning: Matthew Parkman, the tests are in and you are the father! More of my House of M+baby 'verse. This is the sequel/companion piece to The Kid's Are Alright, so please read that one first. The first few days with Sam from Matt's point of view. Feedback is much appreciated. And yes, that is a Zoolander reference because I am a huge dork.
All You Need Is Love
Every night when they talk on the phone, Mohinder repeats the same mantra to Matt, “I love you and we’ll be fine.”
And every night Matt watches his son sleep, Sam’s face the same as the one that stared back from all of his old baby pictures, his son, Janice’s son, their son-Mohinder’s son? (Maybe? Possibly? Someday? Is he that lucky? Is it even worth ever hoping for?), headache building between his eyes and panic clawing at his chest as tries to pretend he doesn’t hear run the other way in every syllable of Mohinder’s voice.
He loves Sam. Loves Sam and wants Sam and wants Sam to know he’s loved and wanted which is impossible since the little guy can’t even gurgle the same way twice let alone talk, or understand him when he talks, or see him as anything more than the wavery blob who changes and feeds him, but he has to believe that loving him will be enough.
Because if it isn’t, if he’s wrong, then he’s well and truly fucked and will likely end up buying a therapist a swimming pool as he is, without any doubt, the most inept caregiver ever inflicted on an infant.
Very quickly, Molly stages an intervention and revokes Matt’s WebMD privileges, because ever time he checks the site convinced no child should be screaming or puking or shitting as much as Sam does, he comes back insisting the kid has Ebola or something.
He’s sure if Mohinder were here, he’d have some perfectly apropos equation that would help it all make sense, or perhaps an obscure journal article in the latest issue of Obsessive Parenting Monthly with charts and graphs and copious footnotes. And even if he couldn’t do that, at the very least Mohinder should be here, as terrified and unsure as he is.
But Matt doesn’t have Mohinder here with him. Mohinder is in Europe and when he comes home Matt has no guarantees of how long that will be for. He’s the one who wanted to take Sam in, he’s the one who wants them to all be a family, he’s the one who the moment he held him, hands instinctively moving to support his head (and who knew he had those instincts?), had felt it immediately and soul deep, yes, this is right, this is the way it should be. What if it’s not that simple for Mohinder? What if he takes one look at Sam and shakes his head, “Thanks but no thanks and no hard feelings, right, Matthew? You understand. What more can you expect from me? After all, his own mother didn’t even want him.”
This particular nightmare is just number one hundred and forty seven of a seemingly never ending list of possible scenarios that completely terrify Matt.
The Company stealing the little guy away and poking and prodding him to see what, if anything, he’s capable of. Waking up one night to find Sylar standing over Sam’s crib. Sam having powers. Sam having his powers. Sam having some other power, something worse, something he hasn’t even thought of. Sam not having any powers at all and Janice deciding to take him back. Sam not having powers and Janice still not caring about him. Sam growing up to hate Janice. Sam growing up to hate him for being the reason Janice left. Sam having the same problems reading. Sam not having the same problems, Sam being perfect, growing up so smart and driven just like Jan and being embarrassed by a dad who can barely manage to read him bedtime stories.
Needless to say, even without the every hour on the hour ear splitting wake up calls, Matt isn’t getting much sleep. Monday morning finds him almost catatonic from exhaustion, the hand he’s propping his chin up on the only thing preventing him from face planting into his cereal and drowning.
“Matt?”
“Mmmhuh?”
Matt squeezes his eyes shut and then opens them again, trying to make the swimming image of Molly’s face come into better focus. She’s chewing on her lip and poking at her Cheerios, clearly deep in thought.
“I’ve been wondering…what are we going to call Sammy? When Mohinder comes home, he’ll be the only one in the family without an M name and I worry he’ll feel left out. I call him Monkey-face sometimes when he gets fussy, but I don’t think that’ll work when he’s older.”
Matt doesn’t know what to say to this. His little girl is perfect. Sweet, wonderful, accepting, non-neurotic Molly. He doesn’t deserve her in the least.
He takes a shuddery rattling breath and tries to regain control of his emotions. When he opens his mouth, it’s with the full intention of making some sort of joke, but instead what comes out is “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“I don’t know.”
Molly’s watching him with far more concern than someone her age should ever have to.
“Are you okay, Matt?”
No. Yes. Maybe. Once Mohinder’s home and I know for better or worse how things are going to be.
“Yeah, I’m fine, princess. Just being weird this morning.”
Molly’s up in an instant, leaning her head against his shoulder and flinging skinny arms around his neck.
“Do you want me to stay home with you today? We’re not doing anything new in class and I can help out with Sammy.”
It probably isn’t a good thing that except for the fear of Mohinder beating him to death with the baby monitor for allowing it, Matt is extremely tempted to take her up on the offer.
“That’s probably not the best idea, Molly-doll. School officials tend to frown on keeping kids out of class to care for their younger siblings. Besides, Sam and I need to learn how to take care of each other on our own.”
“Until Mohinder gets home.”
Molly’s arm tightens around his neck and her voice sounds stretched wire thin.
“What?”
“You only need to be on your own until Mohinder gets home, right? And then we’ll all be a family. That’s what you meant, isn’t it?”
Crap. He’s done it again. Molly’s looking all kinds of worried and fretful and it’s his fault. She's already one of the most emotionally perceptive people on the planet and he’s not supposed to let her know how completely fucking terrified he is ninety nine percent of the day. That’s not what good fathers do.
“Of course that’s what I meant, pumpkin. I’m just really tired. Now, you need to finish getting ready or else you’re going to miss your bus.”
Somehow, Matt manages to get Molly off to school on time. He hands her five dollars to buy lunch, knowing Mohinder would agonize over such a decision and remind her half a dozen times to put at least three fruits and vegetables on her tray. Matt’s just grateful she wears a uniform everyday because otherwise he’d have sent her out in pajamas they’re already so behind in laundry.
Twenty minutes after Molly leaves, all those good intentions of wanting to be alone with Sam and really learning how to be the best dad possible collide head on with the indisputable fact that Matt has no idea what he’s actually doing and is in all honesty slightly scared of his own kid.
So, he does the only thing he can think to do.
He calls Nathan Petrelli to save him.
Matt has to give the other man credit. Nathan takes the whole thing in stride and after a long, long silence, he simply says “Okay, I’ll be there in half an hour.”
When he shows up, he hands Matt a bag overflowing with a dozen tubes of diaper cream and eight boxes of Pampers.
“You better be fucking grateful, Parkman. Some sleazy tabloid rag followed me into the store and is probably now going to report that I’m into all kinds of kinky shit.”
“Nah, they’ll just assume it’s for one of the many secret offspring you have strategically placed all around the country.”
Nathan’s only reaction is a very deliberate blinking of his eyes and Matt suddenly realizes just what a bad idea this is.
Fuck, pretty hard to kick yourself with the other foot in your mouth, isn’t it? He hasn’t seen his sons in how long? And you asked him to come over and help you take care of your kid? You selfish fucking bastard.
Before Matt can apologize, Nathan smirks at him and raises an eyebrow.
“This from the man holding a recently acquired infant.” He deadpans. “What the hell are you thinking? Like your life isn’t crazy enough as it is, you and Suresh have suddenly decided to become the new gay Brangelina?”
See, this is why Matt called Nathan first. Not just because he’s the only one Matt knows in the city with kids who is aware of the whole twisted tale of how his happy family came to be, but because he can trust Nathan not to empathize him to death.
“Yes, Petrelli, because clearly I planned this. I heard it’s what all the cool kids are doing these days. Illegitimate children, they’re so hot right now.”
Nathan actually laughs at this.
“Yeah, well if that’s your Blue Steel look, it needs serious work. Your hair resembles a rabid porcupine desperately clinging to your scalp. Don’t you know very few can pull off hobo chic? Must you copy everything I do?”
Matt doesn't even attempt to argue with the description of his appearance, since he suspects Nathan might actually be right. But that doesn't mean he can let the rest of the comment go. Nathan may be the closest thing he has to a friend right now and his diaper bearing savior, but he's not going to actually say that.
“Speaking of copying people, how’s that gaping chest wound of yours doing? At least when I took four bullets I didn’t insist on it being in front of a full press corps. You’re such an attention whore.”
A shrug of shoulders and a ‘What can I say?’ smile.
“I heard it’s what all the cool kids are doing these days. Now, am I allowed to come in and actually hold your spawn, or do you just want me to stand in the fucking doorway all damn day?”
Nathan stays all morning. He looks far more comfortable holding an infant than a man in a three thousand dollar suit ever should, but any time Matt starts to feel jealous, the twist your guts wistful expression on his face nips that right in the bud.
Nathan watches Sam while Matt does some much needed laundry and answers all of Matt’s questions and listens without comment as Matt spill his guts about how completely in over his head he is. By lunch, Matt has impossibly exhausted his list of worries about how he’s going to fuck Sam up. So, he pauses a moment and then immediately and starts in on his list about Molly.
“I don’t know what I’m gonna do, Nathan! Molly’s great right now, but sooner or later she’s going to be pissed as hell about suddenly being a big sister without any warning.”
“Parkman-“
“She’s going to think I’m playing favorites, she’s going to resent me forever.”
“Park-“
“She’s going to rebel and run off to Berkeley to live in a commune to study something useless like Underwater Basket Weaving! She’ll do creepy disturbing modern art with titles like Despair and Agony which I won’t understand but critics will all love about how she hates me for emotionally abandoning her.”
“Park-Matt! Jesus, breathe for fuck’s sake!”
Matt attempts to do as instructed, but his deep cleansing breath sounds more like hyperventilating.
“I don’t make enough money. How am I going to afford two college educations and therapy for both of them?”
“Okay, why are you telling me all this? Wait, that came out sounding worse than it was supposed to. What I meant is, why are you not telling Suresh all this? Considering the fact that in all of the scenarios you described you’re referring to yourself in the singular, I’m guessing you haven’t even tried. I'm right, aren't I…What? He hasn’t even gotten home yet and you’re already picturing him going to the corner store for a pack of smokes and not coming back?”
Matt looks away and in the centuries long uncomfortable silence, he tries to convey how much Mohinder hates to share. Nathan wearily rubs his eyes and mutters something that sounds like “So fucked up.”
“Well, now I know why you’ve been trying to learn how to be the most perfect father of all time in a single day. Which is impossible by the way. And not necessary, I promise you. Because you’re going to survive this week. You’re not going to sleep much, you’re going to be covered in more bodily fluids than you will ever care to contemplate, but you’re going to survive this week. And at the end of it, Mohinder will come home and yes, it’s going to be an adjustment, but Parkman…Matt, whatever doom and gloom you’re imagining, stop. Mohinder’s going to love Sam.”
Why because he’s so cute?
Because he’s yours. He’ll love Sam because he’s yours.
With anyone else, this would sound like maudlin patronizing bullshit. Nathan tilts his chin up and glares at Matt as if it were irrefutable fact.
He still argues though.
Janice didn’t. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t. People make promises they can’t keep all the time, Nathan.
And because this is Nathan, who is a not only a stubborn son-of-a-bitch (literally, ha, ha, ha), but a stubborn son-of-a-bitch who has seen first hand how fast things you love can slip through your fingers, he doesn’t flinch.
“Maybe. Or maybe she loved him just enough to leave him somewhere she knew he’d be safe and happy. I don’t know about her, but I know Mohinder took to Molly right away and I know he’ll do the same with Sam. Babies have the tendency to do that, turn you all warm and gooey. Take me, for example. You’re not going to believe it, but before I had kids, I could be kind of a bastard at times.”
“No!”
“You’re shocked, I can tell. But they’re pretty amazing little buggers, aren’t they? Can’t do anything but cry and drool and we’d still carpet bomb the Grand Canyon to keep ‘em safe.”
At this assessment, Matt lets out a startled huff of laughter.
“Since we’re handing out advice, I’d recommend if you ever run for another public office, don’t mention that in any campaign speeches.”
Matt wakes up after sleeping a grand total of exactly 6.3 seconds, stumbling and straining to escape the tangle of blankets. In the dark, he not only stubs his toe but also bangs his elbow on the doorframe and by the time he picks Sam up, red faced and howling, he wants nothing more than to cry himself.
He murmurs what he hopes is soothing nonsense, rocking Sam as the little guy shakes his fists and screams his lungs out.
When the bottle finally warms, instead of taking it, Sam pulls away from him and cries even louder.
“Oh, come on now, little man…is that how you’re gonna be? Are you going to make me ask nicely? Alright, but don’t let anyone else know I’m such a push over. Come on, Sammy…drink your bottle so I can get an hour of sleep before you wake me up needing to be changed…come on, don’t be so stubborn, buddy, you’ll feel much better once you finish your bottle…there ya go, not so fast…you’re getting it all over yourself…it’s supposed to go in you, not on you.”
Sam doesn’t seem at all eager to take his advice, greedily slurping away so entusiastically that he spills formula down the front of his shirt and into the creases of his neck. When Matt tries to shift slightly, Sam squirms and kicks at the underside of his arm.
“Okay, fine then, we’ll do it your way. You know for someone who hates baths, you sure do enjoy getting messy.”
After Sam finally finishes his bottle, Matt shifts him to his shoulder and pats his back, eliciting a burp that would make a frat boy blush.
“Hey, that was very impressive. You scored a 9.8 from the Russian judges.”
As he settles the baby back into his crib, Matt realizes two things. This is the first time he hasn’t panicked at all during one of Sam’s midnight feedings and that Sam actually appears to be smiling at him.
“Wow…are you…is that just gas? You know what, if it is, don’t tell me, I’m just going to pretend you are smiling…so, this is what you look like when you’re not crying. You’re kind of cute, actually. Mohinder’s going to love you…”
He straightens Sam’s blankets and runs a hand along one chubby little cheek.
“But don’t worry, even if he doesn’t, I've got your back. You and me against the world, I promise. How does that sound to you?”
It must sound pretty good, because Sam is already asleep again, Matt’s fingers clenched tight in his hand.
The day Mohinder comes home, Matt doesn’t eat anything for breakfast, throws on the first thing he can find that doesn’t smell too overwhelmingly of baby puke, and then spends almost half an hour picking out Sam’s outfit.
By the time they actually get to the airport however, the blue sweater with yellow ducks on it that Molly insisted was perfect is stuffed in the diaper bag covered in snot and formula and Sam is much more casually dressed in a plain white undershirt.
And then it’s a blur of Molly screaming “There he is!” running forward to hug Mohinder and dragging him over. Mohinder is thinking about running off to Fiji which has Matt thinking about throwing up, but eventually he kneels down and Sam stares up at him, wide eyed and seemingly extremely curious to learn what all the fuss is about.
You. You’re what all the fuss is about, little man.
And maybe Sam hears him or maybe he instinctively realizes this is his big moment, Matt can’t be sure, but the why doesn’t matter when Sam grabs Mohinder’s fingers and shoves them into his mouth.
Mohinder smiles. Mohinder’s grinning, Mohinder’s looking up with an expression of complete and total wonder, an expression Matt usually only sees when he’s somewhere in the vicinity of a microscope.
He thinks he says something, he can’t be sure, but he’s very sure of what Mohinder’s response is.
“He’s perfect. He looks just like you."
He’ll love Sam because he’s yours.
A equals B. Just like that, it’s that simple. Mohinder, genius that he is, has found the equation.
Matt can’t speak, can’t breathe, can’t swallow around the fist sized lump in his throat, but he can move, he can step forward and pull Mohinder into a desperate rib-cracking embrace.
After the frantic blur of activity that is the move to Queens, things settle into a comfortable routine much faster than Matt would have thought possible. He’s back at work, Mohinder, after telling Bob to accept it or find another scientist, is working from home until they can make more permanent child care arrangements. Bob ends up blinking first and soon there is a very expensive computer in the study with video conference technology, twelve different password encryptions, and a high speed DSL the Company is paying for which kind of freaks Matt out.
But there’s also taking Molly to Girl Scout meetings and ballet lessons and Nathan coming over for dinner at least once a week for what he refers to as meetings of the I Got Shot in the Chest and Lived to Tell About It Club, and Sam beginning to crawl which has Mohinder obsessively baby-proofing everything in sight-“Why aren’t you the least bit concerned? What are we going to do when he starts walking? There are corners everywhere, Matthew! We live in a death trap!”
It’s on a Sunday exactly two months to the day since the phone call from Janice that started all this and Matt wakes up to the not very pleasant sensation of an early morning sneak attack from the dreaded Slime Faced Baby.
“Nhguuh!”
It’s six a.m. and Sam is enthusiastically chewing on his ear while Mohinder watches. When Matt picks him up and settles him between them, Sam wastes no time to begin gnawing at the hem of his t-shirt.
“Okay, I think the time has come for you to learn to tell time. See this?” Matt holds out the alarm clock for Sam to inspect. “This says it’s way too early to be up on a Sunday.”
Mohinder yawns an explanation. “I tried to explain it to him, but he’s just too stubborn to listen to any sense.”
“Is that what you are, Sammy? Are you stubborn?”
“Like a bloody mule.” Mohinder’s smile when Sam reaches for the alarm clock hints at a newfound fondness for mules. When playing with the alarm clock turns into gumming at it, Mohinder reaches over and untangles the cord from tiny little fingers.
Matt watches all this unfold, running his hands through Sam’s hair as he tries the name out for size.
“Sam…Samuel…Sam. Mule.”
When Sam looks up at him and gurgles something likely quite profound, Matt taking it as a sign, reaches over to settle him on top of his chest.
“I dub thee, Mule Parkman! There, now you have an M name. Molly will be very relieved. But we’ll wait til she wakes up to tell her, won’t we? We want to be considerate.”
Mohinder covers his face and groans. “Mule? Oh, because that won’t lead to him hating you when he’s older.”
“Aw, you like it, don’t you, buddy? Tell your Appa not to worry so much.”
Mohinder instantly rolls over onto his side and stares at Matt.
“Appa?” He repeats.
“Yeah, Appa. Is that-I mean, did I say it right?”
With Sam nestled between them, Mohinder leans over to kiss him.
“Yes. You said it just right.”