Work Text:
“D-Djj-”
“Keep going. You can do it!”
“Mmm. Mahm-”
“Say dadda. Say daddy, sweetheart.”
“Mmmmm-Mahco!”
“…what?”
“Maahco!”
“….”
“Did he just-”
“I think he just did.”
“He just said Marco.”
“Has-has he done that before?”
“Marco. He hasn’t even fucking said dad yet, what makes you think he’s said your fucking name before?”
“Well I don’t know he’s not my kid. I barely even come over.”
Slamming my head in my palms as I sit cross-legged on the floor of my apartment, I groan loudly into my lap. Sumner was nearing 11 months and the worry hanging over my mother’s head which had transferred straight onto my shoulders once she returned back to the family home had been lingering at the back of my mind like a plague. He hasn’t said a coherent word and the unpleasant feeling of not hearing a “dad” from him was poisonous on my resolve. The constant worry that he was somehow mentally behind compared to other kids his age worried me straight to my bones. The night spent thinking about how hard it would end up being for him if he went to preschool not even capable of holding a proper conversation with his fellow monsters.
I was definitely reaching and grasping at straws in my head but the thoughts still lingered when the dead of night came and all I could hear was the soft sounds of his heavy breathing through the crack in my bedroom door. So for the last month or so, I’d dedicated every second outside of work when I was at home with him to figuring out how to get him talking a little more.
I would never allow my own to fall prey to any kind of bullying. Not when I was still there to stop it.
His mother wasn’t with us anymore, a story I never liked to tell but consisted of many hospital visits right after Sumner was born and an empty bed with a crying newborn, but I had promised her – a second vow – to take care of the little rugrat with all of my being no matter what happened. And I’ve done just that, both by myself and with the help of my mom and friends. I’m proud of how far I’ve gotten in not dropping and hurting the boy and I’m sure his mother would’ve felt the same but getting him to say words before his first birthday was always on the top of my mind.
That wish finally come true in the company of an old, old acquaintance. An old friend. An old….
And it’s not like I wasn’t proud of his first words. I was ecstatic! He finally pulled together his syllables and mumbled them into a coherent word.
A coherent name.
Marco’s name.
Not mine.
But it’s not like I’m bitter of course. Not jealous of Marco Bodt getting the attention from my own son.
Okay I’m totally a bitter fuck but c’mon. My own son just swerved away from saying “dad” and turned his blabbers into Marco’s name like it was a piece of cake.
A name that’s only ever existed in that little head of his for like two months. I haven’t been readjusting to the guy long and there’s no memory of mentioning or rambling to a baby about my night out with the guy I’d met at a bar after being dragged out by Armin.
Armin. Why couldn’t he have mumbled a tiny “Armin” or even an “Armout”? Sumner has definitely seen more of Armin then he has of Marco who I finally introduced when he was just 9 months old.
Why did it have to be some guy I’d once gone to high school with and had lost connections with and not my own damn best friend?
I groaned harder into my hands, my throat scratching as I tried to scratch through the meaning of this and find out what the hell made my kid say Marco’s name.
“Jean. Hey you okay?” I hear Marco ask. His voice is quiet but I can tell by its high pitch and light airiness that he’s attending to Sumner’s small babbling and wild hand movements. The kid can barely walk when his hand is being held but holy shit does he have a throwing arm when he’s holding shit that are likely to break on impact.
I snap my head up as I hear the toy phone Mikasa had bought him for Christmas clatter onto the ground, wincing at the supposable dents I’d have to explain to the landlord sooner or later. Staring at the back of Marco’s head as he holds out his hand to let Sumner grasp on with little chubby fingers, I watch at the sheer admiration sparkle in the baby’s eyes as he brings his other hand up to slide across Marco’s face.
Damn freckles.
“So what did you do to him?” I ask quietly. I bring my knees up and wind my arms around them as I hug myself. I can’t let the guy know how much it stung to hear my son’s words be a stranger’s name. Well a stranger to him at least. I can say that I know Marco…quite well and those memories probably should’ve left me the second we walked across the stage so many years ago but things couldn’t be helped.
Marco turns back around to me, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion and maybe was that apathy but I let it forgo the moment as I stare back with an unwavering gaze. “What do you mean “what did you do to him”? I didn’t do anything.”
“Well you must’ve done something to get my son to become so enamored with you to squeal out your name before even saying “hi dad”.” I know my voice sounds bitter and I can see the bite reflect straight off as Marco flinches slightly but the fucks are gone and I’m just curious at this point.
Marco turns back to Sumner and I watch as my son grasp at fingers and press the buttons on his little phone while keeping his eyes set on the iPhone right next to Marco’s knees where he’s crouched down to give the baby more access to lithe fingers.
Sumner coos at the music that plays out of the small, mediocre speakers of his toy, dragging it up to show me where I’m sitting a step away and I smile back at him as I press a button and hand the toy back to the sounds of wild laughter.
I can feel Marco’s eyes on me, his gaze analyzing me just the same as he used to back in English class all four years of high school. When I feel the heat of his eyes leave and he turns back to watch Sumner, I turn to glance back at him for just the second before I bring my attention to Sumner who’s trying to crawl his way to the pile of gifted toys he’d gotten over the past few holidays. Most of which came from grandma (thanks mom).
“Maybe it runs in the family,” Marco mutters quietly. If I wasn’t sitting so close to him, our knees basically touching in the small floorspace of the living room, and if I hadn’t gotten distracted by the incoming text from Armin about grabbing coffee and catching up sometime soon, I probably wouldn’t have heard him. But sitting there with my eyes locked on my phone in my hands and the sounds of Sumner settling back down with a different, more quieter, toy in hand, it felt like it was being air-horned into my ears and projected out to the entire city of Trost.
I don’t dare turn back to look at Marco. He probably didn’t expect me to hear his reprisal of buried memories – some of them too bitter for both of us – and when I don’t feel the heated gaze anywhere near me, I let it slide past us and I scuffle over to where Sumner is and pick him up.
He jiggles around in my arms for a second before I hand him back the small puppet figurine he’s gotten from Eren that he always loved to hold and settles back into my arms with a content sigh that makes me smile. The kid’s got it so easy. No worries about the impending tension radiating from the floor about 3 feet away. Or the fact that I already know that I left the screen of my phone unlocked and open when I was just sat – the message from Armin still lit large and wide.
The second Sumner’s head lands harshly on my collarbone, his hands clutching for dear life onto the puppet to his chest, I chuckle quietly and bounce him in my arms. “Is someone tired from all that yacking? It looks like it’s time for little man to have his afternoon nap, huh sweetheart?”
There is no obvious response, nothing vocal at least, but the way he snuggles closer to my chest warms up everything inside of me and I pull him closer to me and place the smallest kiss to the top of his head. The little precious really knows what buttons to push to turn me into a pile of mush and I accept it with open arms because who the hell could resist a chubby fluffball with the sweetest smile.
Marco stands up and keeping himself a distance away, he waves at the fluttering eyes Sumner’s giving him as he sucks on the hand of the creepy little marionette. I’m going to have to smack Eren in the back of his head for handing my child the creepiest thing in the world. Marco keeps waving and the quiet “Mmm” that Sumner grumbles out stakes the fire in my chest a little hotter as my words stick to the roof of my mouth and tastes bitter against my tongue pushing into my cheeks. I can’t be upset over something so stupid but I can feel my eyebrows furrowing as I stare at the puppet’s head wobbling around in his tiny grip.
“I should probably get going. He’s tired and you probably have things to catch up on,” Marco says. I look up to watch him and find that his eyes are glued to the floor, a small blush spreading on his cheeks. Shit.
“You don’t have to leave. It’ll only take a bit to get him settled down and I’m sure he’ll it if you were there.”
“Jean-”
“What?” I cut him off, my voice rising enough to make the baby in my hands squirm in discomfort.
Mom did say babies are really good at accessing the room’s tension.
I take a breath – in and out – and turn back to look at Sumner’s eyes slowly closing. I look back up at Marco and seeing him watching me with something sparkling in his eyes, I drop it all.
Marco gets it. He always has. Even when we were younger and I could see the different things scratching away and hitting the vulnerable points of our friendship – our relationship – and knowing when things were slamming harder into me than the others, he saw through it all. He saw through the lies and barriers I started putting up once graduation had started approaching.
Marco understood what made me tick and even with seven years between us when we never spoke let alone saw each other, he was still the same.
I have Sumner now but both Marco and I know nothing’s actually changed. I’m still the self-conscious, hyper-aware little shit that he first met back in freshmen year.
“You don’t have to go anywhere, Marco,” I tell him. He blinks at me, his face showing nothing. I can feel myself knees starting to shake and I look down at the almost-asleep baby in my hands and I slide my lips across the top of his short dark brown hair, something Sumner definitely inherited from his mother. The memory of the thin hair between my fingers still fresh in my head, something I had a chance to smother my face in not even a year ago, makes me pull the baby even further into me – refusing to let him go but knowing I’m going to have to someday.
I close my eyes and rub my hand on Sumner’s back as I rock on my toes, trying to rack my head into something to say. “Just stay,” I whisper.
When I open my eyes, I watch Marco and how his eyes flitter across my face, trying to figure me out just like he’s always done.
Nothing’s changed.
Things are different but nothing’s really changed.
His eyes land back on mine and we lock them in place for a few seconds before he nods his head, a small smile growing on his lips as he steps forward and raises a hand to run it through the dark locks on a sleepy baby’s head. Sumner reacts to the touch and slides closer to my warmth.
This is good. The warmth coming from Sumner and Marco mingling with his felt nice – comfortable.
Maybe something’s didn’t have to stay the same.