Chapter Text
“Are you ready?” Mycroft was still ever so slightly distant. They hadn’t spoken of the baby in the days since the pregnancy was confirmed. She’d thanked him for his gift, but beyond that, the pregnancy was not acknowledged. He’d thought of fatherhood late at night when he was a teenager, but when he failed to protect his siblings, a stern line was drawn in his mind. If he couldn’t protect them, how could he protect a child. And now, in some cruel twist, mere months after his failures came to light, his wife was pregnant with their child. He knew he was hurting her; he wasn’t daft. Only one night was spent at Sherlock’s. She’d come home the next morning, smiling gently and steadfastly ignoring the pregnancy when he was home. He was proud to have given her the little things that helped, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak of the pregnancy.
“Yeah,” she said, and he hated the way her gentle smile didn’t reach her eyes in the way he loved so. It was his fault. He offered his arm but kept her at a distance. He was afraid that feeling any part of her torso on his would make the reality that she was pregnant too real. Twelve weeks, the doctor had said. Isabelle had been under such stress- yet again his fault- she’d attributed symptoms to that, not realizing there was a baby growing in her womb.
He was relieved when Elizabeth had sat them in a section of the table that found Isabelle another museum educator and left Mycroft to give tight smiles to some up and comers from MI6. He introduced her as his wife, Isabelle Holmes, proudly when the younger man noticed the blonde beside him. Even when things weren’t good, he felt disgustingly proud to be able to say she was married to him. He wanted to announce that she was pregnant, and they shouldn’t be pretending all was all right to ring in the new year.
He should have known Elizabeth would have the end of the party be cocktails and dancing. Wanting to drown the guilt as Isabelle seemed to expect him to ask her to dance as they always did, he drank. It was getting harder to feign dignity, and Isabelle knew they had to go when she saw him roll his eyes at the younger man just trying to get his approval. She went and booked a room, marching back to where he was. It was a half hour from midnight when she took him by the arm, jaw tight.
“You’re drunk.”
“No more so than everyone else.” Mycroft Holmes utterly trashed was still seemingly dignified, but the way he swayed gave it away, as did his inability to hide his disdain.
“You’re unsteady. I got a room. We can go.”
“I didn’t even want to come.”
“You had to. Elizabeth is a colleague and becoming a friend.”
“I don’t wish to go. I want to stay and talk to Thomas.”
“His name is Jeffrey,” she said, rolling her eyes. “We’re going to bed.”
“You don’t want to ring in the new year? It will be so full of joy ,” he said more bitterly than he intended as he let her pull him out and down the hall. He saw the way her mouth twitched, and he knew he was being needlessly cruel. Yet, he couldn’t stop himself. Maybe if he was cruel she’d leave him and he wouldn’t have to watch himself fail her and their child.
“So you’re finally going to talk about it?” she bit out, jamming the elevator call button. “What perfect timing.”
“You know I don’t-”
“I don’t wish to be a father, Isabelle,” she mimicked, mirroring his stance and acting as though she was adjusting cufflinks. “And now that you are pregnant, I’ll treat you like shit. Really make this difficult time better by being more distant than I was when no one knew I even had a wife.”
“Do not mock me,” he sneered.
“Just say it.”
“Say what?”
“Don’t just say you don’t want to be a father. Look me in my eyes and say you don’t want our baby. You used to talk about our baby when you were barely awake or terribly drunk. The only time you told me you didn’t was at the peak of Eurus issues in the background. But now, things are good and safe and happy . You could be a father now. So look me in the eyes and say you don’t want our baby. I need to hear you say it. Otherwise I’m going to have this disgusting hope you’ll come around.”
“Isabelle-” he jaw was tight, clenching and unclenching as he held her gaze. He opened his mouth, intending to say it, but he found he literally couldn’t. His voice caught in his throat each time. She huffed, tears falling now as she fumbled with the key card and stormed to their room.
“Of course. Because you know that’ll keep you from having your perfect little life. I’m pregnant Mycroft. I’m raising this baby with or without you.”
His mouth dried at the idea she’d leave. Suddenly he pictured his home empty again, and Isabelle in a flat holding a little bundle with her wide eyes and his auburn hair. He longed to be adept enough to say how he felt; fatherhood hadn’t been an option for him for so long, he couldn’t quickly feel as though he was allowed this. Still, he remembered listening to “Kooks” and “Beautiful Boy (Darling Boy)” when he was young and imagining a future where he wasn’t so terribly lonely. One where he’d met a person who loved him despite his eccentricities and he loved them too. In it, he always knew he wanted to have his own children. Then Rudy had convinced him he couldn’t . His family had convinced him all he’d done was fail his siblings so he shouldn’t . And that found the dreams of a marriage and a life pushed far, far away, so far that he didn’t think it was a plausible option at any point.
And then he met Isabelle, his beautiful wife who did love him despite all his eccentricities. Now she was pregnant with their child, staring out the window with her arms wrapped tight around herself as she cried, shoulders heaving with each choked sob. He’d gotten drunk enough that his mind was slowed, and that meant he couldn’t string together the words to explain himself. He could barely articulate his feelings when sober. He’d missed the sweet spot where the alcohol killed the careful filter but didn’t dull his mind.
“Don’t go.”
“You don’t want them, Myc. I can’t do that to a baby. Please, just say it.”
“I can’t-”
“Please, Myc.”
“It’s not true.” She stared at him, sobs having subsided, but now her chest was heaving from the effort.
“Then why won’t you come near me?”
“I’m near you.”
“Mycroft, stop. You’ve been acting like an absolute prick. Please. Just tell me. I won’t be angry if you want to leave me. I just-”
“I am afraid,” he roared finally, unsteady on his feet as he’d never been before. He stayed unsteady, palm flat against the wall and messy in a way she’d never seen. The words came quickly when he realized he may truly lose her this time. “When I was a boy, I dreamed of this. I dreamed of being a father. But Eurus-- Isabelle, the child in your womb shares half of its DNA with me. Genetics that have produced an addict. That alone, I can handle. But what if our child is like Eurus? What if they murder their playmates? Harm themselves out of sheer curiosity? I cannot fail another child.”
“You didn’t fail a child, Mycroft. You were a child. Eurus is an anomaly. And if our child kills another child, we certainly won’t just keep her in the house. We’ll seek treatment. But the infinitely rare possibility they’re like Eurus shouldn’t rob you of being a father. I know you said you didn’t want this, but apparently, you did once. If you still don’t, divorce me! I can’t not keep them. I can’t.”
“I never suggested you give them up.”
“You won’t touch me! You don’t talk to me! I get that stupid fake smile. I’ve essentially lost my husband, Mycroft. You don’t have to say it. I’m not stupid. You’re disgusted by me now. You don’t have to say it.” Suddenly, he was inches from her, his hand halting millimeters from her stomach.
“If I touch you, if I feel you close knowing our child is between us?” A muffled, drunken gasp escaped him as he covered his mouth, staggering back against the bed as he sank down to the ground. “There is no one I have not disappointed, Isabelle. My handling of my siblings disappoints my parents. My insistence he remains alive disappoints my brother. Eurus is near catatonic. I’ve been an atrocious husband. And now you wish to raise a child with me? We created a child, and I cannot bear them knowing how emotionally inept I am. To see the way I hurt their mother time and time again. They’ll come into this world untainted, and be greeted by the news that I will be their father.”
Isabelle dropped to her knees in front of him, the sparkling New Year’s dress digging into her thighs. She cupped his face, forcing him to look at her. Her husband was sloppily drunk, something he only did when the latent insecurities came roaring to life. He hadn’t done it often since coming to believe after two years Isabelle wanted him there. Now his eyes were watery, bloodshot, and rimmed in red as he tried to fight the tears that wanted to come. They were the only giveaway on his face, features locked into place.
“Mycroft Holmes, you’ve never disappointed me,” she whispered, and he scoffed. “ No , no derision. Anything I’ve done is because I know you are perfectly capable of being a good husband. You’re an amazing husband. You’ve grown so much since I met you. This was a step back, but you usually tell me how you feel now. For fuck’s sake, Mycroft, you sang to me as we danced at a party thrown by one of your colleagues. I am so proud you are the father of my child. A fiercely loyal, intelligent, loving man. You simply do not know how to express it.”
“You will regret this,” he whispered. “I’ll hurt you again. I haven’t managed to stop, have I? Not for any meaningful time period. Or I’ll be such a disgustingly distant father that they hate me and they’ll end up-”
She hushed him, dropping to sit on the floor before him. Her dress rode up as she scooted close, feet planted firmly on either side of him as though to stop him from running. Isabelle took his hand and placed it on the slight swell of her abdomen. His eyes were wide as skin touched skin, and he felt amazed at how the bump had begun in the last week. He hadn’t seen her undressed since he realized she may be pregnant. And now the little one had caused her to start to grow.
“They’re the size of a plum,” he whispered hoarsely, hand not moving as he watched her stomach, as though he’d get to see more proof of their child. “The chest walls are forming, so they’re breathing, swallowing, and hiccoughing. Their fingerprints are developing too. Next week, fingernails .”
“How do you know that?”
“I downloaded an application.” He gestured vaguely where his phone sat. “The day we realized you might be. Then we learned how far along. I read it each night when you’re asleep.”
“We need to go to bed. I need you to talk to me about this when you are sober, Mycroft. I believe you. But I can’t count on what you’ve said in this state.” He was suddenly clingy, pulling her down into his lap carefully and looping his arms around her.
“Don’t leave me. Loneliness was difficult enough to bear but now I know what it is to love and be loved. I cannot return to before.”
“There’s a child involved. If we don’t work to break these patterns, it’ll hurt them.”
“I’ll go to counseling together. I’ll go alone again. I’ll go with my parents.” A shaky breath as he looked up at her. “Just don't leave me.”
“I’ll give you a chance, but you’ve got to come to bed.” She managed to untangle herself from him, getting him stripped from the tux and sprawled beneath the comforter. She washed her face, and he was snoring by her return. She climbed in bed beside him, and when she woke, his hand was resting on the slight swell of her abdomen. Much to her surprise, he was awake, staring in reverence as his fingers spread over it protectively.
“Do you feel okay?” He looked at her pointedly, the pallor of his face telling her all she needed to know. “Silly question. What do you remember?”
“I am cursed with the inability to forget, even when drinking.”
“Why is it a curse?” Suddenly, she felt vulnerable, as though he’d say it was all a lie to keep her from leaving him. Instead, he rolled his eyes.
“I do not enjoy remembering making a fool of myself. If I’d been sober, I could have explained myself far more elegantly.”
“I like knowing my husband has feelings. Makes him far more human.”
“I meant it,” he whispered. “I dreamed of the opportunity I’m being given. And I’ve been so afraid for so long. But I want this. I am afraid of each way it could go wrong, and now that you’ve forced me to confront it, I want to raise our child.”
“I think you’re going to be an amazing father,” she assured him, cupping his jaw. He still couldn’t quite bring himself to look at her. She tugged him to look at her, and Isabelle was overwhelmed at the emotion on his face. “You have to tell me these things before they build, okay? I think you’ll be amazing, but you have to tell me when you’re afraid and what you’re afraid of. It doesn’t make you anything but human.”
“Disgusting,” he said, but he kissed her gently. He seemed overcome with worry when he spoke again. “It won’t make you love me less to see me in such a state?”
“It makes me love you even more. Aren’t you supposed to be the smart one?”
“I’m being vulnerable. Please make no attempts at humor.”
“I will never love you any less for being human. I will only feel like I understand you better and love you more. When you shut down, I think you no longer love me. I just begin to feel insecure.”
“You think I could ever stop loving you?”
“Yeah. I thought you stopped these last days,” she whispered, eyes welling up.
“Daft girl,” he murmured into her hair. “You know more of me than anyone else. No matter how I wish I could stop loving you, I can’t. I will always be tethered to you. I will always be caring for you. But I will always wish for your truest happiness before all else. I fear, at times, that I cannot lead to that. But I will strive to do so.”
“Keep talking to me like this. That’s what makes me the happiest. I love when you’re communicative and vulnerable.”
“I will work to do better.”
“You will be a phenomenal father, Mycroft Holmes.”
“You say this with such conviction that I can only hope it’s you who is the smart one.”