Chapter Text
The letter in the envelope is short.
Today is Tuesday, it begins, followed by a date. The ink on “Tuesday” and the date is slightly darker than the rest of the letter. It isn’t quite as dry.
Tomorrow morning, Martin has work at the bank. You’ll find his employee ID in the pink folder, along with everything he needs to know. Computer passwords and the like. Read your emails and messages on your phone to get an idea of your current project list.
I’m sure you’ll figure everything out quickly! After all, it won’t be your first time pretending you know exactly what you’re doing, and the stakes are so much lower here.
Jon, you get to be a stay-at-home father. Don’t worry, there are PLENTY of books in the office upstairs!
Your joint bank account is accessible through an app on both of your phones. Our dear friend Peter Lukas has an alternate self in this universe and I took a donation from him. He’ll never miss it.
Your laptops are in your office (top floor). Don’t lose the master password sticky note on Martin’s laptop. It works for your shared password manager.
Enjoy domesticity, boys! ;)
Annabelle Cane
P.S. your wedding rings may need to be re-sized. There’s a lovely, discrete jeweler just down the road who’s expecting you tomorrow afternoon.
“I work at a what ?” Martin exclaims. “A bank? I work at a bank ? This is going to be our first year in the archives all over again—”
“Well, I hope not. Your new boss ought to be less of a bastard than I was,” Jon smiles. “Annabelle’s not wrong, you have quite a lot of experience with picking things up quickly and maybe the admin you did for Lukas will help?”
“I did balance his checkbooks,” Martin says, “and did the payroll.” But just as Martin’s beginning to smile back at him, however, Jon’s smile drops.
“I, on the other hand, haven’t the slightest experience with anything that could translate to childrearing. What if I break her? Oh dear lord, we have a baby. She just gave us a baby. Martin,” Jon turns to his boyfriend—his husband, now—eyes wide, “we’re married in this universe. We’re married and fathers. I don’t know how to change a diaper.”
“Oh! Well, I do, actually, I had a cousin who had a baby. Margaret. The cousin, not the baby, the baby’s name was… John, funnily enough,” Martin says, “but with an H.” The two are quiet for a moment, Sasha blowing spit bubbles from Martin’s arms. “This really is rather a lot, isn’t it? But, like you said, I have experience with picking things up quickly, and so do you, and we both have experience with things being… rather a lot. Are you, um. It’s not been very long, a bit early to be married, are you… disappointed?”
“Martin,” Jon replies, drawing him in. “We'll have to get properly married at some point. Have a wedding, or renew our vows at the least, since everyone will think we've already had one. But for now… I can’t be disappointed." Jon tips his head against Martin's shoulder. "This is far more than I ever thought I'd have. It’s only been a few hours since I expected to die, so while I wish we could have gotten married of our own volition, I can't say I'm upset to be married to you. I know it hasn't been that long, but I still want to spend the rest of our lives together. Even if the rest of our lives might be decades, now. I really do. I can’t imagine my life without you. I love you."
“That’s—you’re going to make me cry,” Martin says, and readjusts Sasha into one arm so he can wrap Jon in a hug with the other. “I love you, too.”
“Alright. Well.” Jon tilts his head back to press a quick kiss to Martin’s lips, then twists in the hug to look at Sasha. “Hello there, sweetheart,” he says, “we’re going to take good care of you, I promise.” He thinks for a moment about the date on the letter and on the adoption certificate. “You’re so little. Martin and I are never going to let anything happen to you. She’s four months old, Martin. Good lord, how can someone be four months old? This Sasha has only existed for four months. How does that even work. Four months old, Martin!”
“Yes, that’s how babies work,” Martin laughs, pressing another kiss to the top of Jon’s head. “Annabelle’s letter said something about books? Should we go look at the office?”
“Yes!” Jon nods, pulling away from Martin in order to climb the steps two at a time. Martin follows at a more sedate pace.
The office is quite large. The staircase leads them directly into it. There’s an open door to the right, showing the attached bathroom, and bookshelves across the entire wall to the left. The wall in front of them has a single large window, under which is a desk. There’s another wall connected to the archway where the stairs had opened up. That wall goes backwards, connecting to a sharply angled ceiling—the roof tilts downwards, making the final wall only about as tall as Martin’s knees. There are two windows in it, which cut through both the wall and the angled section of ceiling.
Along the wall which was parallel to the staircase, there are two very squashy-looking recliners. Between them is a tiny bookshelf with seven picture books and a little wicker basket filled with toys. Most of the floor space in the room is open, except for a rug filling the area between the recliners and the wall shelving. On top of the rug is a playmat, which is woven of some sort of thick natural fiber. It has a mobile in neutrals arcing above it.
Jon stands in the middle of the room, gaping at the bookshelves. The top three shelves of one of them contains nothing but parenting books.
“I need to read all of these,” Jon says, “I have to know everything about taking care of a baby. Where do I even start?” He strides over to the shelf and stands on tiptoes to reach the tallest shelf, running his fingers across the books’ spines and muttering the titles to himself. At the end of the row, he hums and nods and pulls down a thick book. What to Expect: The First Year. “This should be a good first read, right?”
“Um, yeah, I think so,” Martin agrees, “I know I’ve heard of that series before? So it’s probably pretty popular?”
“What is popular is not always right,” Jon mutters absentmindedly while plopping down in one of the armchairs with the book, “but if I read all of these then that should be enough.”
“You’re just going to read it right now?” Martin asks, shifting Sasha to his other arm. Babies are heavy . He’d consider himself fairly strong, if pressed, but there’s something different about the weight of a wriggly infant as opposed to a bookbag or something.
“Yes?” Jon replies, already having cracked open the book and skimming the first page.
“What about, er, everything else? We haven’t even… showered.” Martin wrinkles his nose, suddenly realizing that both he and Jon are still caked in filth and blood and some of it has gotten onto Sasha’s onesie. “Or looked at the laptops, or phones, or sorted through all the documents, or checked the fridge!”
“I have to take care of her all day tomorrow,” Jon says, frowning as he flips pages, “I have to be ready.”
“Jon,” Martin frowns, then repeats himself when Jon doesn’t look up. “ Jon! You can’t just… leave me to deal with all of this by myself while you read a book. I’ll call off sick tomorrow, alright? Then we can get everything settled together and I’ll walk you through some of the basics I remember.”
Jon has the decency to look abashed when he forces himself to tear his gaze from the page.
“You’re right, of course,” he says. He sets the book down with some reluctance. “I’m sorry, Martin.”
“It’s fine,” Martin sighs. “Let’s just go tour our new house, yeah?” He reaches a hand out and smiles when Jon takes it. “Hopefully there’ll be some clothes we can change into somewhere, then we can take turns showering.”
“God, that sounds good,” Jon groans. “A hot shower. Clean clothes.”
They explore the house together, level by level.
The primary bedroom has a walk-in closet full of hanging clothes. The right side, it appears, belongs to Jon, while the left side belongs to Martin. This is only determinable by size; the left side is comprised of button-ups and trousers. The two small baskets of undergarments and accessories include briefs , which Martin hates, and suspenders , which Martin has never worn.
Jon, at least, gets boxer briefs. However, Jon’s side of the closet also has more skirts than trousers, and Martin wonders for a moment whether they’ll have to go shopping soon.
But Jon beams and runs his hand through the skirts and flutters his other hand by his side. It’s a motion Martin hasn’t seen Jon do before, but had seen on a friend he had had in his early teens. Jon is happy flapping.
It makes something in Martin’s stomach hurt, to know Jon does that, but hasn’t ever had enough reason to in front of him before. It makes something in his chest warm, to know he’s happy and safe enough to do so now.