Work Text:
It was moments like these that broke Greg's heart. Mycroft, when someone gave him a gift. When Greg gave him a gift. The first time he got to witness such a moment was on Mycroft's 45th birthday. They had just taken their relationship to a fragile next level. Shy first dates, dinners in hidden little places in Chelsea, Saturday afternoon walks in the park. Greg felt he had to have staying power. And he knew he was worth it. Mycroft was a jewel. So precious that he would do anything not to lose it. That he had even come to know about his birthday was thanks to Anthea, who had supposedly mentioned it in passing when Greg had picked him up from the office one Friday evening. Greg hadn't had to think twice.
It was a golden October day, a Saturday. The temperature was mild and the slowly changing leaves on the trees were a lovely, perfect backdrop. They had arranged to meet on Hampstead Heath, at the northern end near Kenwood House, a favourite of Mycroft's. He loved these old mansions, especially when, like Kenwood House, they had an extraordinary collection of paintings and antiques.
Greg had spotted him from a distance as he entered the park. And immediately the corners of his mouth moved upwards. There was nothing he could do about it. There he was. Mycroft. He was sitting on one of the park benches, his back turned to him, absorbed in the view. Cautiously, Greg approached. He didn't want to startle him.
"Happy birthday!"
Mycroft turned his head towards him. He, too, was not in control of the corners of his mouth. But this time there was something else. Surprise. Embarrassment. His birthday had always been a day like any other.
"Thank you?" It was more a question than anything else.
Beaming all over by now, Greg took a seat next to him on the wooden weathered bench.
"A little something." He handed Mycroft a small packet, rectangular, flat. A book? It was wrapped in dark blue glossy paper with fine white stripes. Pinstripes? Mycroft took it. His hands trembled a little.
Mycroft looked at him questioningly. "For me?" he whispered incredulously.
"It's your birthday."
Before Mycroft set about removing the paper, his gaze lingered on the gift for half a minute.
Greg watched him carefully undo the tape. The trembling now quite obvious. His ears were bright red.
Greg held his breath as the contents of the package were revealed. It took a moment - a minute, two - for Mycroft to stir and look up. His eyes wide, tear-filled, in disbelief. His chin trembled, his larynx bounced up and down.
Greg looked at him. Uncertain. What did that mean?
"That was my biggest wish for my fifth birthday," he said haltingly. Tears were rolling down his cheeks by now.
"I know. I know, darling, and you never got it." Greg moved closer to him, cupped his face with his left hand and stroked the tears away with his thumb.
"I'd like to give you all the things you've always wanted, Myc."
Mycroft hugged the gift - a first edition of Dr Seuss' One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish - to his chest with both hands, knowing that with Greg, happiness had finally entered his life.