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Oliver was about ninety percent sure that his child was fucking with him. Which, when he texted Mikkel about it had warranted a text that just consisted of “HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA” and about sixteen of the laughing till you cry emojis, something Oliver found completely not necessary. It was nap time. Sebastian had made that clear not only by the actions of rubbing at his eyes, fussing about like everything was made of drama, but also because well. It was nap time. They had a schedule. It was tacked up on the freaking fridge.
Yet, after basically being a little four month old zombie in his arms, Oliver had placed Sebastian in his crib and the kid had found his second wind. He’d done everything in the right order; turned on the white noise, off the fan, swaddled him, given him his pacifer AND the stupid plush Shane Doan that Mike had “hilariously” gave him.
It was nap time.
He’d rocked his first nap. This was just not fair.
But still the little box Oliver was staring at had an awake baby kicking and wriggling desperately to get out of the swaddle. The pacifier was long since spit out, the kid was just not getting this rule.
And Oliver? Oliver needed nap time. He hadn’t slept well the night before. Mikkel was off doing press advocating for carrier rights. He’d been with Sebastian all morning. He just needed a break for the love of all things holy.
“He’s doing this because you aren’t here.” He texted Mikkel.
“He doesn’t have that high enough brain function to notice, Oliver. He fights it sometimes. Chill.”
“He knows, Meeks. And he is punishing me.”
“Dude, inhale.”
He had to remind himself, just for a second, that he loved his partner with all of his stupid heart. That the time he’d spent without him had been devastating and horrible and he’d missed him with every fiber of his being. Because, well. Mikkel was totally making fun of him, his son was fucking with him. This was not fair.
It was only slightly annoying that Mikkel had the one up on him when it came to their son. That the fact that Mikkel had carried him made it so that Oliver was pretty much second fiddle in the game of ‘Which parent does Sebastian want?’ There was only ever one answer and that answer was currently across town at a stupid presser that wouldn’t be done till almost dinner.
After another ten minutes he gave in with what little pride he had and called Shane, who would have to take pity on him. Captainly obligation.
“You couldn’t have made it another hour?” Shane said, instead of greeting him.
“Excuse me?”
Shane sighed. “Mike said it would be before one. I said you could at LEAST make it till two. Now I owe him a night feeding.”
Oliver looked at the clock. How the fuck was it only 12:30? It felt like midnight. Though he was oddly proud that Shane had faith in him… but that was for another time.
“What do you need?”
“Bastian won’t sleep.”
“Swaddled him?”
“Yes.”
“Pacifier?”
“He spit it out twice, but yes.”
“Did you give him Mini Me?”
He gritted his teeth, hearing the amusement in his captain’s voice. “Freaking yes.”
“Well then… Do you have a shirt of Mikkel’s?”
Oliver hesitated, not entirely sure what the hell that had to do with anything. “We share clothes mostly.”
“Go into the hamper, find a shirt Mikkel’s worn in the last few days. Put it on and grab Sebastian. Trust me. Works every single time.”
Oliver thanked him, even though he half wondered if there was a camera set up in his house. It would just about fit with the day he was having. But whatever, he looked at the monitor and saw that Sebastian was working himself up and might actually start the eternal sob of terror (™) soon. This was actual desperation territory.
He found the Henley that Mikkel had worn to sleep that night and quickly switched out of his own shirt and into it. It felt strangely loose on him, even if he remembered it was his to begin with. It didn’t matter, he wasn’t wearing it for his own sake.
He slipped into the nursery and found Sebastian’s face scrunched up and red. He picked up the pacifier and put it in his mouth, holding it there until he gave it a few sucks and seemed to have a decent grip.
He hadn’t quite made it out of the swaddle but Oliver resituated it just in case. It was clear from his face that Sebastian had no real desire to be confined but Oliver wasn’t being talked down by a four month old. He lifted his son to his chest and was shocked by how quickly the gentle mewling settled into nothing but soft whimpers.
“We aren’t telling your Far about this,” Oliver whispered as Sebastian took small snuffling huffs of the shirt. He knew it was a conspiracy, he knew it.
He paced a little, humming snatches of lullabyes he half remembered from his youth. He had asked his mom to send him titles so he could look it up on youtube and she had actually sent him links, but between Sebastian’s sleep schedule, the season starting and the fact that he occasionally liked to spend time with Mikkel… well. It fell through the cracks.
After the humming got a little boring, he started to go through his brain for the first song he could pull out of his brain. Embarrassingly enough, the only thing that popped into his head was … well. ABBA.
Which he had started telling the press as a joke, a huge sign of just how little people knew about Sweden but hell, the music was good. He HAD heard it a lot growing up. It reminded him of his dad and their kitchen and all of the times he’d helped him clean up after dinner.
He lifted Sebastian up to his shoulder and patted slightly on his bum.
“I’ve seen you twice… in a short time. Only a week since we started…”
A few snuffles and Sebastian turned his face into Oliver’s neck as he sang.
“It seems to me, for every time I’m getting more open hearted…”
The one tactical mistake though, was he had no way of seeing Sebastian’s face. So he could be fast asleep or just chilling out against his neck. He wouldn’t risk putting him down if he wasn’t actually asleep. He bounced him a little and looked around the room, eyes settling on the tiny little mirrored shapes in the corner. (Thank god for Duke’s weird penchant for getting quirky baby gifts.)
He found the biggest shape, an elephant head and gently ducked his body to get Sebastian’s face centered. Eyes closed, thank everything holy and good.
“If I trust in you, will you let me down? Would you laugh at me if I said I care for you… ”
He walked back to the crib, gently pulling away from himself the warm body. It always amazed him how in such a little time his body would be covered in tiny baby sweat stains. Sebastian was just about hovering over the mattress when his eyes started to open and he began to wiggle again, the pacifier directly falling out of his mouth as he let out a moan of disapproval.
“Fan,” Oliver muttered, bringing the baby directly back to his chest. “Shh, shhh, Apa, shhh..”
Sebastian let out a wail of sadness and one of his tiny little fists wiggled free from his swaddle grabbing onto the neckline of the Henley. After a moment of breathing in and out though, it was clear that the shirt was the key.
“Come on little dude,” he sighed. “I miss him too. But he’ll be back. I promise.”
He leaned his head to one side and found his son looking up at him, grasping the shirt desperately and giving him a very concerned face for such a small kid. He debated calling Mikkel and asking him to just talk for a bit, maybe hum something. But Oliver had left a lot of the brunt of the work on Mikkel. It wasn’t fair, exactly, but it really had been mostly Sebastian’s choice.
He could take this. He could do this. He kissed the feathery hair on the top of his son’s head and whispered against his scalp. “Okay Bastian, you and me. We can do this.”
To say Sebastian was dubious at best was a complete overstatement. He had Mikkel’s concerned line in the center of his forehead, something Oliver had catalogued before in the million hours he’d spent wondering at just how his DNA had mixed with Mikkel’s to make such a cute little face.
It was clear that the idea of him getting a nap in the crib was completely out of the question, something Oliver only slightly mourned. He picked up the pacifier from the crib and an extra blanket from the back of the crib.
They had given in and bought a full (gaudy as hell in Oliver’s opinion) LazyBoy for the front room, but he cherished it even in its ugliness. It provided the most comfortable spot to sit when Sebastian was being ornery. He leveled himself back, rocking it slightly.
Sebastian was still awake, still looking at him like he should have some kind of answer. (Mikkel laughed when he said that, said he was projecting, but damn if those baby blues didn’t have all the concerns in the world behind them. He was what Oliver’s grandma would call an old soul.)
The TV had the hockey network on, talking shockingly about the Caps and the Penguins and how amazing those teams were. He’d long since learned to give up on any actual coverage of his team on anything other than FSN Arizona, why would anyone bother when there was the East Coast to report on twenty four hours a day?
“You see that guy Bastian? His name is Sidney Crosby. We’ve talked of him before. He is a center, so he doesn’t matter to you. And neither does Ovechkin. He is a winger. You, my little Apa, will be a defenseman like your Pappa.”
Sebastian let out a snuffle which Oliver decided to take as an agreement. Of course his son was going to be a defenseman, that was just a given. (As long as you didn’t ask Mikkel.)
“I can’t wait to take you on the ice, Bastian,” he said.
(They had, actually, once. For about three minutes before Oliver felt like he might actually have a panic attack. Mikkel, who’d been wearing Sebastian in a baby bjorn, had looked at him like he was crazy but skated off because he loved Oliver enough to deal with his crazy.)
“When you’re older,” Oliver amended. “Old enough to go on your own skates. Far will show you how to skate in the beginning, he’ll be a little calmer, but I’ll show you how to play hockey. You’ll be a real bruiser, you’ll knock em all down, right?”
He went to look at his face but found, to his astonishment, Sebastian had fallen right to sleep. His body was relaxed except for his grasp still tightly on the neckline of the shirt. Oliver risked moving one of his hands to run one finger along the tense line that still stuck in the center of his son’s forehead. Sebastian grunted in his sleep but didn’t rouse, his face easing.
Feeling brave he used his free hand to ease the bar on the side of the chair and pull his legs up. It felt heavenly and anything he held against the chair flew out the window as he resituated his son and lay his head back.
Somewhere between updates on the states of a few different trades, Oliver fell fast asleep.
*
He woke to a pair of hands sliding under Sebastian and his whole body jolted up at once.
“Shh, shh, Oliver it’s okay, it’s me.”
Mikkel’s voice. He blinked a few times and found Mikkel’s face a few inches from his. He sunk back, his heart beating so rapidly it felt like it was coming out of his chest. He let go of Sebastian though, enough that Mikkel got him in his arms without the child waking up.
“What time is it?” he half slurred out. “How long did we sleep?”
Mikkel let out a soft laugh. “It’s not even three yet. We called it early, I was kind of homesick and Mike wasn’t much better.”
Oliver didn’t tease Mikkel as he did his usual routine of rubbing his face along the fine hair on top of Sebastian’s head, roughing it up and then sniffing it a little. It was something he’d watched a thousand times and if he was honest it was just another reason he loved his partner.
“We were talking about hockey while you were out.”
Mikkel hummed.
“Sebastian is in total agreement. He’s a defenseman through and through.”
“And how is he going to do that when his Pappa won’t let him on the ice for more than a minute?” Mikkel teased.
Oliver stood up, but kept his voice low. “The ice was too wet. You might’ve fallen! You’d just had surgery…”
“Three months before hand.”
He leaned in and pecked Mikkel on the lips. “I was protecting my family, is that so wrong?”
Mikkel looked at him with the distinct look of a man about to call bullshit but smiled and kissed him back instead. “Of course not.”
Oliver set his head on Mikkel’s shoulder, face close to Sebastian's back. He felt at home in a way a year before he would have never guessed.
“... Wait, is that my shirt from yesterday?”