Work Text:
The house was blissfully quiet when Lydia walked in at 7:00 on a Friday night. She shuffled out of her work heels and hefted her computer bag higher on her shoulder as she padded down the main hallway towards the living room and kitchen. There was some dinner-related debris in the sink, and Lydia smiled with a little eye-roll as she saw the cold serving of pasta and marinara set out for her, covered in saran wrap with a little sticky note on it that read, Hi Mommy, I convinced Daddy to save you some dinner even though he wanted to eat it all. We’ll be in my room. Love, Ollie :)
Lydia smiled at the note and her husband’s messy scrawl. While she loved her work at the particle physics research lab, it was painful being away from her baby boy for such a long time from Monday through Friday. She took some comfort in knowing how easy it was for Stiles to weasel in plenty of time with their son since his job as an editorial writer allow him to work from home, but she often worried about her own parenting abilities and the connection she was forging.
It was going to be alright, though.
She had to remind herself of that daily. It had been her choice to go back to work when her maternity leave time was up. And she’d be damned if all the boys at the lab thought that they could get rid of their boss so easily. She took such pleasure in running the more complicated and prolific research experiments while assigning more menial projects to men ten or twenty years her senior. Being a mathematician and physicist was as natural as breathing to her. Sometimes she worried that it might have felt more natural than being a mother did.
It was going to be alright, though.
Forgoing the dinner set out for her, Lydia stopped in the master bedroom to drop off her work bag and change into something more comfortable. She chose some soft pajama shorts and a well-worn Mets t-shirt she had commandeered from her husband years ago, letting her hair down out of the practical bun she had been keeping it in. Just as she was moving to make her way out of the room, she heard the light, unsteady gait of little feet on the hardwood of the hallway. Kneeling down in the door frame, Lydia popped her head out into the hallway to be greeted by a screech of delight from her son.
“Mamamama.” Oliver’s words ran together in the repetition of the same syllable, his joy apparent in his giggling shrieks. His pacifier had been dropped somewhere a few yards back, and his blue-green onesie was coming unzipped at the top, but he looked blissfully happy. He wobbled into her arms, reaching up towards her neck as he tried to climb up onto her lap.
“Oh, what a nice hug, thank you!” Lydia cooed. Her son just nuzzled into her, wrapping one arm around the side of her neck and letting the other drape over her shoulder as she lifted him up into her arms. The soft tuft of his dark brown hair smelled clean and it tickled against her neck.
“Who did you find, Ollie?” Her husband’s voice echoed down the hall, and Lydia peered out of the door frame to see him approaching from Oliver’s room. “Did you find Mommy?”
“Oh yes he did, and he gave me such a big hug,” Lydia said in a baby voice, lightly scratching his back with the tips of her fingers before trying to set him down. The attempt to set him down only resulted in a warning whine from Oliver, who gripped onto her even tighter.
“Looks like someone missed you,” Stiles said, rubbing at the side of his face with a tired, but satisfied smile. Lydia decided to give up on separating herself from her nine-month old son; instead choosing to sit back from where she was kneeling, keeping him in between her chest and her knees as she braced herself in the doorframe. Stiles sat down in the hallway, his back against the wall opposite their bedroom door, his legs sprawled across the hardwood, feet underneath the bridge of Lydia’s legs.
“You gave him a bath?” Lydia asked, fingers running soothing circles over Ollie’s back. Stiles nodded.
“All by myself.”
“How ever did you manage?” Stiles kicked at the underside of her calves in playful retort.
“Oh very funny, I’ve bathed him more than you in the last six months.” Lydia ignored the way that his comment stung like a barb in her chest, instead choosing to fiddle with Oliver’s hair until he pushed back away from her chest to stare at her.
“Hello, Mr. Oliver. How was your day?” Lydia asked her son, smiling down at him. “Did you spend some time with Grandpa?” His face twisted into momentary confusion before it spread into a grin again, and he babbled at her.
“He’s always so chatty around you,” Stiles commented, looking fondly at the pair of them.
“You always are too,” Lydia said with a smirk. “The Stilinski boys just seem to have a way with words. Don’t you, Ollie?”
“Oh I wouldn’t do that. Could you imagine? With my mouth and your brain…” Stiles trailed off and pretended to look at Ollie in horror. Lydia laughed at that, and Ollie looked taken aback by the sudden sound. The three of them all paused then, silent and curious as to what the others might do until Ollie busied himself climbing out of Lydia’s lap, breathing heavily in little gasps and hiccups as he struggled to find his feet. Lydia helped him along the way before glancing up at Stiles.
“Where’s Flo?” She asked. Their pure black German Shepherd was nowhere in sight, and it was unusual that she wasn’t already curled up on top of Lydia or trotting around after Ollie.
“Oh shit- shoot.” Stiles winced under Lydia’s gaze. “She’s out back, I’ll go let her in.” Stiles stood up carefully, making sure not to bump Ollie, who turned back quickly to look at him. At the sight of his dad moving away, Ollie started to whine, his face scrunching up in preparation of running the waterworks. When Stiles looked back down at him, Oliver raised his arms up in a demand to be held.
“Want to take him to go get Flo?” Lydia asked, looking pointedly at her son. “Spare me the blown-out eardrum?” Stiles paused for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly into a question, but Lydia didn’t hold his gaze, choosing to stand up instead.
“Yeah, okay,” Stiles said, reaching down to pull his little doppelganger up into his arms. It was striking how much Oliver resembled his father. Stiles said that he could see Lydia’s mouth or nose on the little dude’s face, but Lydia never had. It was just a little Stiles, and almost all the time, she was okay with that. But every once in a while, she wished she could see a trace of herself in him
“I’m actually going to take like a five minute shower,” Lydia said, turning back into their bedroom and taking off her t-shirt.
“Gotcha,” Stiles said. He turned reluctantly away from the bedroom and headed to the back of their ranch-style house to let the dog back in. As he passed through the kitchen, he noted the untouched bowl of food and sighed. Her mood was making more sense. They’d been through this same song and dance close to twenty times in the past nine months.
“Mamamama,” Oliver babbled intently, reaching for the spirals of pasta.
“Not for Ollie,” Stiles said distractedly, taking the bowl and putting it in the refrigerator with the post-it still on top.
Flo bolted past Stiles when he had opened the door to let her in, clearly aware that Lydia was home. He hoped that the dog would be able to help her chill out a little before he got back with Ollie. That was kind of why they got Flo.
Lydia had been negatively affected by pre- and postpartum depression while carrying Oliver, so they’d taken in a rescue dog at Scott’s suggestion. Since he was the head veterinarian at the local animal clinic, Scott had been bugging Stiles and Lydia to adopt a dog, citing all the good it could do for them and how it would be such a happy addition to their household. When Lydia was struggling during pregnancy, Stiles was desperate enough to let Scott take him to the shelter to pick out a dog.
Stiles had opted for a mature, adult German Shepherd who was brought in months earlier from an abusive home. She’d been gentle and calm and Scott told him about how affectionate this particular dog was. The evening he first brought the dog home, Lydia was nearly in hysterics about we can’t handle a baby and a dog, she’s beautiful but we can’t, we can’t, we can’t.
That night, Stiles woke up in the darkest hours of the morning to an empty bed. In a panic, he bolted out of the room, only to skid to a stop at the entry to the living room. Lydia was on her side on the carpet with the dog curled up around her big, pregnant belly. Both were sleeping fitfully.
When he’d tried to pick up Lydia to carry her back to bed, the dog had growled at him menacingly, rising to stand over Lydia. This in turn had woken Lydia up, and she patted the new dog on the side dazedly.
“It’s okay, Flo. He’s cool, it’s okay,” Lydia had muttered. To Stiles’s shock, the dog had backed off entirely, licking Lydia’s arm before allowing Stiles to pick her up, and he did so slowly, holding her bridal style against his chest.
“I thought you didn’t want a dog,” he’d whispered smugly on the way back to the bedroom.
“I don’t want a dog,” she murmured sleepily. “But Flo can stay.”
“When did you go out there?”
“I was already awake, but she was crying in her crate, I think it scares her,” Lydia hummed, nearly asleep again. “So I let her out and she just wanted me to pet her, so I did.” Stiles looked down to see the dog trotting along faithfully behind them.
“So she’s staying?” He asked.
“I gave her a name,” Lydia had scoffed. “Of course she’s staying.”
Flo had slept in the bed that night, guarding Lydia’s front as she fell asleep spooning with Stiles.
So they had ended up here, with a seemingly significant divide between the men and the women of the house. But Stiles knew how much Flo helped Lydia, so he was glad enough to have the dog around anyways.
Stiles puttered around the kitchen and living room, picking up dog toys and baby toys and trying to tell the difference between them. Eventually he just gave up and threw them all in the same basket, carrying Oliver around all the while.
The water had been shut off for several minutes before Stiles dared re-enter the master bedroom. Lydia and Flo were curled up together on Lydia’s side of the bed while Lydia’s wet hair soaking her pillows. Ollie took a serious interest in seeing both his mom and the dog in the same place together, and he squirmed in Stiles’s arms to get to the bed.
“Got room for a couple of good looking guys over there?” Stiles asked. He looked at Lydia plainly, and she knew very well that they were going to have to go through their parenting support and adequacy talk again.
“Flo says no, but I’ll allow it,” Lydia said, smiling slightly at the little guy already crawling across the bed to reach the dog. He cooed at Flo with wide eyes and an outstretched hand.
“How do we pet the doggie?” Lydia asked in a singsong voice. Ollie looked at her. Lydia reached over to gently stroke the fur on Flo’s side in demonstration. Oliver grunted excitedly at this new development, and reached out again, hitting Flo’s side in a surprisingly impressive attempt at petting her.
“Nice job, little man,” Stiles said, dive-bombing the other side of the bed. When he landed on the blanket next to Oliver, the baby started, turning around wide eyed. “Yeah, I’m talkin’ to you.”
“I like having two pairs of your eyes to look at,” Lydia said, glancing between her husband and her son. Stiles looked at her with a reserved smile.
“Well, it’s the next best thing to having Mommy’s eyes, isn’t it bud?” He addressed the baby now crawling up on top of his chest, yawning sleepily. Lydia turned the TV on across the room before settling her head back down on her pillow, looking silently between Stiles and their son. As Oliver’s eyelids fluttered towards sleep, Stiles rubbed a hand over the baby’s back, calming him. He then looked up to meet the gaze of his wife who was practically hiding behind her big body guard of a dog.
“Are we going to talk about this?” Stiles asked quietly, gesturing to the baby and the dog. Lydia stroked Flo’s fur nervously, her movements nearly mirroring Stiles’s as he soothed Oliver.
“There’s nothing to say that hasn’t been said before,” Lydia said quietly. “I don’t feel like I can do this. I can’t be the mother he needs. He wants and needs you so much more.”
“Come on, baby,” Stiles said, eyes soft and sympathetic beneath contracted brows. “You’re a great mom. He loves you.”
“But I’m not here for him like you are.” Lydia said quietly, looking intently at the back of Flo’s neck. “I missed his first steps. I missed him standing up for the first time. What kind of mother am I? I’m never here because I want to keep working. But it feels like… it feels like I would need to sacrifice my identity and my dream to be here the way he needs me to be. I’m too selfish for that still…” Tears were leaking out of the corners of her eyes and she refused to look at her husband or son with her heart so full of shame.
“It’s not wrong to want to have a career. It’s especially not wrong because of how brilliantly talented you are, Lydia. You’re only a few years away from the freaking Field’s Medal, how could Ollie or I ask you to give that up?”
“But a few years is still a few years. Will I miss his first day at kindergarten because I’m at another one of those conferences out in Chicago or New York or Europe?” Lydia postulated.
“You can’t know that’s the case. He could be spending the summer in Switzerland when he’s three because you’re taking him to your big showcase presentation and lecture in Geneva.” Lydia smiled a little bit at that, but rolled onto her back, patting her chest as a command to Flo, who obligingly scooted over to rest her upper body on top of Lydia’s torso. It was an anti-anxiety measure, Stiles knew that. Gentle but firm application of weight onto a person's chest could soothe thrm. He’d even used Flo a couple of times in that way, but he couldn’t get that dog to respond to him the way that she did to Lydia.
“He’s my son. I already feel like there’s this distance between us, like there always was with my parents, you know?” Lydia continued, stroking her dog. “I don’t want to be the mom who’s never home, who never spends time with her kids. I don’t want to be that parent. The absent one, while you’re the present one. I don’t want to feel closer to my dog than I do my own son. No offense, Flo.” The big, black German Shepherd said nothing, but nuzzled her head down to settle on Lydia’s chest as she took a big, soothing breath.
“You’re a great mother, Lydia. I show Ollie pictures of you when you’re at work and he always grabs at them and gives them kisses. Whenever we hear the garage door open at night when you come home, Ollie stops whatever he’s doing and gives me this face-“ Stiles’s mouth pulled into a shocked “o” and his eyes were wide and excited. “Our son loves you, Lydia.
“This situation is never going to be perfect. You’re going to miss things, but so will I. Parenting isn’t this constantly-rolling photo op. Sometimes you see things, sometimes you don’t. That doesn’t mean that you didn’t help make those moments possible.” He reached over and brushed a tear off of her cheek. “I don’t care that you need to hear this every other week, because I want you to know that it really is true.”
Lydia glanced over at her son with a smile despite the tears still lingering in her eyes, and like Stiles had done to her only a moment before, she reached over and brushed the soft skin of Ollie’s cheek with the back of her finger, reveling in the softness of it. As she let her fingers comb through his shock of dark brown hair, she paused momentarily at a spot just behind his right ear.
“Stiles,” she whispered, her smile stretching wider. “I think our little guy finally started to inherit your moles.” Stiles adjusted Ollie on his chest in order to see where Lydia was pointing. Sure enough, a small, dark brown freckle sat just behind the cartilage of his ear.
“I know you’ve said before that he’s my carbon copy, but this… I think this proves that my DNA is actually so great that every gene is dominant.” He held up a finger to his wife’s lips before she could correct him. “Don’t get all scientifically correct on me now, Martin.” Lydia chuckled.
“It’s been a long time since you’ve called me that.”
“I don’t know why,” Stiles admitted. “It suits you. It reminds me of the crazy smart girl you’ve always been. Well… the girl that you’ve been since sophomore year of high school at least.”
“You’re lucky that my baby is sleeping on your chest right now, because otherwise I’d be smacking you.”
“Well you’re lucky that your bear, I mean, dog, is on top of you because otherwise I’d be pinning you down on the bed right now, Martin.”
Their eyes locked in a moment of shared understanding, and both grinned.
“I’ll put Flo in the crate.”
“I’ll put Ollie to bed.”
“Be back here in five, no clothes allowed.”
“Yes ma’am!”