Work Text:
Nick had just moved into hour two of staring at his laptop, trying to finish one scene before the day ended, and then his phone went off. John's number flashed on the caller ID.
Nick picked the phone up. "Hey."
"Hey," John said. The baby was wailing somewhere in the background. "How's it going?"
"I'm trying to make this not suck," Nick said. "What's happening over there?"
There was a hesitation on the other end and then John plunged ahead. "After you and Lily had the baby, was there like a time limit on the crying, or did it vary?"
The wailing in the background continued. Nick said, "Is there a problem, Mulaney?"
It was like John had been waiting his entire life for Nick to ask him that question. "The baby won't stop crying! It's the nanny's day off and Olivia's at work and I can't calm this kid down!"
There was a faultline of panic in John's voice threatening to widen irrevocably. Nick said, "Do you need me to come over?"
"Yes!"
"Okay," Nick said. "Take some deep breaths and I'll be there in a minute."
"Oh, I'm sure breathing will work wonders," John said, somewhat nonsensically, and hung up.
Nick went to tell Lily he was going out. She was drafting sketches in the living room while the baby sat at her feet, playing with his bead maze.
"The little one's having a fit over at Mulaney's," Nick said. "I'm going to offer moral support."
"Poor little thing," Lily said. "Let me know if you're going to be late, okay? We have to make dinner."
"Yes," Nick said and pressed a kiss under her jawline. She made a distracted, pleased sound and went back to work. Nick was tempted to swing his kid up in his arms for a hug, but he was completely absorbed in moving his beads back and forth on the maze, so Nick settled for kissing the top of his head and then leaving quietly.
After he'd rung the doorbell, Nick rubbed sanitizer over his hands (neither he or John were really germophobes but better safe than sorry). John answered the front door with the baby in his arms, trying to block the dogs from charging the front door with his foot. The baby was purple-faced with exertion, back arched and legs kicking wildly. The skin around John's eyes was tight and gray with exhaustion.
"This has been going on for half an hour," John said. "I tried the bottle, I tried toys, I changed the diaper, I've walked all over this goddamned house and it doesn't work. If I thought standing on my hand and singing 76 Trombones would help, I'd do it."
Nick looked at him. John winced and blushed. "Hi, Nick. Come on in."
Nick had a sudden memory of standing over the crib with Lily, desperately asking each other if they had any idea what to do. He petted the dogs and let John lead him into the house.
John remembered his manners halfway through the living room and asked Nick, "You want some water or anything?"
"Let's deal with this first and then we can talk," Nick said. "Maybe sit down. How long have you been walking?"
John shrugged but sank down on the couch. The baby startled at the sudden change in altitude, looked around, and then resumed howling. John caught a tiny foot in one hand and glared at it like it was going to start talking to him.
"I don't think it's a virus or anything," John said. "There was a normal temperature on the thermometer. Unless there's some weird mystery illness that I haven't heard of yet. Do you –"
"When they're sick, they either shit or puke all over everything," Nick said. He'd dealt with a stressed out Mulaney a few times over the years and a good general tactic was to deal with concrete information rather than brain demons. "You'd smell a lot worse if any of that had happened."
John didn't seem convinced, but he said, "Okay."
"Are there any new teeth coming in?" Nick said. "When the little guy first started teething I think he screamed for a solid week."
John looked miserable. "I didn't check."
"Couldn't hurt to try," Nick said. "Get a towel and run it under water for a few minutes. Cold tap."
"I'll get a wet towel," John said. "Can you –"
"No problem."
"Right," John said. "C'mon, sweetheart. Go to your uncle Nick." He passed the baby over. The baby yowled in indignation but immediately stopped kicking.
Nick looked down at the tiny, furious face and wondered at how quickly it had taken him to forget the time just after his son had been born, when the days passed in a blur of sleep deprivation and at least one person crying. At one point, the only way he could get the kid to settle was to lie on his back with the baby against his chest, the baby a warm weight over his heart, and once the noise stopped he couldn't do anything but wonder just what was happening in the mind of this tiny person he'd helped create. To cover the sudden lump in his throat, he said, "You know, I've found that a couple crushed up Xanax in the formula works wonders. Most mellow baby in the world."
"Yeah, because keeping bottles of Xanax around the house has worked out so well for me in the past," John said. "I'm going to get a towel."
"Just sharing my experience," Nick said. The dogs followed John out of the living room.
Nick looked down at the baby. He thought he could see the beginnings of John's dimples and cheekbones on the tiny face, but it might have been too early to tell. He took his glasses off and peered into the baby's squalling mouth, looking for any redness around the gums but his eyesight had apparently gotten worse over the last year because it all just looked like a pink blob. He put his glasses back on, checked that his hands were still sterilized and gently put the tip of his index finger into the baby's mouth, feeling for any heat.
The baby startled at the sudden intrusion and then strangely began quieting down, intrigued by the new sensation happening. Nick watched bemusedly as the baby stopped crying, grabbed Nick's finger in two chubby pink fists and began chewing on it.
John came back in the living room. "Why we don't have more hand towels I'd never know. I don't really think LA tap water is the best option right now but what the hell did you do?"
"What?" Nick said. "I didn't do anything."
"How'd you get the baby to stop? I've been killing myself for almost an hour and you're here for fifteen minutes and everything's fine? What the fuck kind of voodoo have you done?"
"It's the teething," Nick said. "These gums in the back feel pretty warm. And there's drool everywhere. My finger is saturated."
John gave him the wet towel and flopped onto the couch, looking defeated and worn out. "I don't know why I didn't think it was teething. The pediatrician's been saying the teeth are going to starting coming in any day now."
Nick switched his drool-soaked finger out for the corner of the wet towel. The baby sucked happily on it. "Maybe that's because you haven't slept in three months, Johnny?"
"I guess." John stared at the baby. "I really tried to be a good dad, you know."
"You are a good dad," Nick said. "There's a difference between good and perfect."
"I'm pretty sure I'm not enough, Nick," John said.
The most frightening thing about being a parent was the absolute certainty of not having or being enough to give to another person. Nick had sat up nights watching his kid sleep and thinking Oh please don't ever find out what a fuckup your dad is. The thought still stung. "Join the club," Nick said. "C'mon, take your kid. If the wet towel thing stops working, you can throw a paci or a spoon in the fridge for a while and try that. And don't sleep on the baby Tylenol."
John took the baby, who squeaked happily and then snuggled into John's arms. John was quiet for a minute. "Weird how much you can love someone even when they're driving you crazy."
"I've been saying the same thing about you for years."
"You shush," John said. "I'm going to put this little one in the crib. You want to stick around for a bit, have some coffee? Dad to dad?"
"I'm supposed to be writing this thing," Nick said. "It sucks."
"What isn't working, do you think? Want to spitball some ideas for a while?"
"Yes."
"Okay. Thanks." John rested a grateful hand on Nick's shoulder for a second before taking the baby upstairs. Nick heard a door open and close, John's voice, the baby's laughter.