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“I don’t want him.” The words are said so nonchalantly that Edwin almost thinks he’s dreaming, because certainly she - a woman he hooked up with once - couldn’t actually say that. Truth be told he didn’t want the baby either. Money’s tight and he has David to worry about, not to mention that this child isn’t part of his Fiona. Not that it makes the baby any less deserving of love, but he can’t be the one to give him a home.
“I can’t-”
She cuts him off, “I. Don’t. Want. Him.” She stares him down, one foot in the door. The small bundle wriggles in her arms, whining. The woman grimaces. “Take him,” she urges, pushing the bundle into Edwin’s arms. “Take him to a fire station for all I care, but I can’t do it.”
Before he can ask another question, the woman is gone, running off into the night.
“Shit,” he curses under his breath.
“Daddy?”
Edwin straightens, closing the door with his foot. The baby in his arms continues to whine. This isn’t good. He thought he might have a few hours to figure out how to break the news to David, or take the baby to the fire station before he realizes there’s a new person here. But he’s never been that lucky.
Behind David, with two recently crafted legs and a voice box, Mimic stumbles in. It’s still getting used to movement and more often than not, falls. Especially when David stops suddenly, which happens even more than Mimic falling.
“Daddy?” David asks again, tugging on his shirt. “What’s that? Why’s it making noise?” His son’s big brown eyes light up. “It sounds like a baby?” He looks at Mimic and cradles his arms. “A baby is like a tiny human,” he explains, always so bright for his age.
Edwin blanches. This is all happening too fast, but there’s no use hiding the baby from David. Even if- when (not if, when, he reminds himself) he takes the baby to the firestation, he’s sure his son will understand. Besides, he already has Mimic to keep him company. Babies are loud and take loads of attention. His son will be glad to be rid of the baby.
“Yes,” he says with a lump in his throat. He doesn’t know why he wants to cry. Maybe it’s the big brown eyes that stare up at him in two directions. He ignores the ones peering up from a swaddle to address his son. Carefully, so as not to jostle the baby, he bends down to David’s height. “Come say, ‘hi.’”
David looks at the baby with a million stars in his eyes. He holds his hands together. “Daddy!” He shouts, startling the baby. His son frowns. “Oh. Sorry, baby.”
Edwin chuckles, ruffling his son’s hair.
“What’s his name?” David asks, reaching out to poke one of the baby’s pudgy cheeks.
“Um…” Edwin trails off, digging with one arm in the bag the baby’s mother left. Assuming the baby was born in a hospital there should be a birth certificate, and he does find one. Unfortunately, it’s blank in the one spot he needs filled out. Her name, his name, date of birth, time of birth, and even the baby’s birth weight and height are on it, but where the baby’s name should go is totally blank.
He mentally curses.
If David wasn’t so insistent about his questions being answered, he might try to distract him with something else. But his son is his son in more ways than one, and no amount of distraction will ever make him forget.
“Gregory,” he says, thinking of the first name that comes to his head. His wife’s father. A kind man that treated Edwin like family up until his death.
“Gregory,” both his son and Mimic repeat. David in awe and Mimic in Edwin’s voice. He cringes a little, still unused to his creation’s full abilities.
David giggles. “He’s small.”
“Most babies are.”
“Was I?”
“No.” And that’s always been true of his son, which is something his genes cannot take credit for. “But you were smaller than you are now.”
David smiles. “Really?”
“Really. Now, go play for a little while. Daddy has to take care of the baby.”
David hums, rocking back on his heels. “But daddy,” he whines, “I want to play with Gregory.”
It shouldn’t shock Edwin that his son has taken to the baby, but allowing David to play with him could further complicate things. Not to mention how fragile babies are, and well, Mimic and his son aren’t the gentlest beings. One is a seven-foot robot with the grace of a newborn gazelle, and the other is a hyperactive four-almost-five-year-old. Even with all the best intentions in the world, Edwin knows he can’t leave Gregory alone with them.
“Not right now. Maybe later.”
David sucks in his bottom lip, thinking. “Okay, daddy,” he says. “But can we play later?”
By then, Edwin thinks to himself, the baby will be gone.
“Sure,” he says, ruffling his son’s hair once more, sending him off to play.
-x-x-x-
Gregory, as opposed to David, seems to be remarkably quiet. Outside of some whimpers and whines, he stays silent as Edwin checks him over, making sure he’s clean and taken care of. There’s no telling what that woman did or didn’t do.
His s- Gregory is already a week old, and she didn’t exactly seem eager that he exists. Which begs the question, why did she wait so long? It’s not like he’s hard to find.
He makes a makeshift crib in the center of his bed. It’s not like the baby can roll off anyway, and Edwin needs his hands to change and clean the baby. (He still keeps a hand on Gregory’s chest whenever he has to look away.)
Gregory is not dressed for the weather, wrapped in a threadbare blanket with a diaper and a onesie one size too big. It can’t possibly be keeping the baby warm enough, and sure enough when he gives a gentle squeeze to Gregory’s foot, it’s cold as ice.
“Brrr,” he jokes, rubbing his hands together. “Your mommy must have gotten the weather report for Florida.”
The baby’s mouth did something funny then. The corners raise as if turning into a smile, but it stops short of an actual smile.
“What?” Edwin asks, mock offended, hand on his hip. “Not up to your standards?”
The baby gives another almost-smile again. His big brown eyes, which look so much like David’s (and by proxy, Fiona’s) stare up at him with so much misplaced love and innocence and radiance. The lump in his throat is suddenly there again, and the moment is over.
He uses some of David’s old baby clothes to dress Gregory. They should be warmer than the ones his mother provided.
Edwin goes to pick the baby up, but he finds that in all the hustle and bustle of his own whirling thoughts and maneuvering the baby around to get the clothes on, Gregory has fallen asleep. His breathing is even and he looks peaceful.
“Damn,” Edwin swears.
“Daddy!”
He jumps. How does his son do that? But if he’s here than that means….
Not a second later, there’s a clatter as Mimic knocks into a side table. Edwin can feel a headache coming on. He pinches the bridge of his nose.
He shushes his son. “You have to be quiet; the baby’s asleep.”
David frowns. “But I wanted to play with him.”
“Maybe later.”
“But you said that earlier.”
Edwin grinds his teeth. Sometimes he thinks he wasn’t meant to be a father. The impatience that comes with an intelligent four-year-old makes him feel a bit crazy.
“He’s napping,” he explains, hoping his son might understand.
And he does - kind of. “Can I nap with him?” David’s eyes light up like they do whenever he gets an idea. “Or he can nap with me.” He tugs on one of Edwin’s hands. “ Daddy , Gregory can sleep in my bed. I’ll even let him hold tiger if he wants.”
Moving Gregory probably isn’t the smartest move, but he really needs to get back to work and his son’s cot is a better option. It’s smaller, not that high off the ground, and if his son is serious about taking a nap, Edwin won’t have to worry about checking in on the baby so often.
“Are you sure?” He asks, knowing how fast a child’s mind changes. “Your nap isn’t for another hour.”
“Mhm,” David says, nodding. “I’ll watch my brother.”
The blood in Edwin’s veins turns to ice. Cold, cold ice.
“Uh…Gregory’s not your brother.” He isn’t, because that would make him Edwin’s son. And that means he betrayed Fiona, and more than that it means he can’t give the baby up without thinking about the ‘what-ifs.’
What if he raised Gregory?
What if Gregory’s adopted by an abusive or neglectful family?
What if he’s adopted by a good family, and he grows up never knowing his real father and brother?
For some inexplicable reason it’s the latter of the three that raises his blood pressure. Not that he ever wants his so- Gregory (not his son. Not his son. Not his son) to be put in a situation that would cause him harm, but something about being forgotten hurts. To be a ghost of a memory in Gregory’s head - if that.
David tilts his head to the side. Mimic does the same.
“Yes, he is,” his son says, steadfast. “We have the same eyes. Mommy’s eyes.”
Edwin almost chokes. The air is knocked from his lungs with two words. When he showed David his mother’s picture, he didn’t think it would lead to this.
The memory of Fiona burns at him, reminding him of his own betrayal to her. One that wasn’t worth it in the end. He bites back his anger, heading for the door before he does something he might regret.
He stops in the doorway, “if you want to nap with the baby, you can do it in my bed. Have Mimic help you up. I’ll be working so don’t bother me.”
David nods. “Okay, daddy!”
-x-x-x-
Edwin clears his workbench of all the loose papers and tools, sending them crashing to the ground. Kicking his chair over, he screams and screams, and screams some more.
He bites his arm, leaving behind indents.
“Fuck!” He yells. “Fuck! Fuck!” Tears sting the corners of his eyes. “What do I do!?” Everything around Edwin only serves to piss him off more, reminding him of his past, back when he had it all. Back before Fiona-
He falls on his hands and knees. Warm tears fall on the back of his hands, but he hardly notices.
“I’m sorry,” he sobs. “I’m so fucking sorry.” He doesn’t know who he’s apologizing to - Fiona for what he’s done or Gregory for what he’s about to do - but it doesn’t matter. Not now. Not here in the sanctuary of his workshop.
“I’m…sorry…”
Something hits his head, almost startling him enough to stop crying. He looks up to find a photograph has fallen off his main workstation. The one where he keeps all his most important paperwork and photos of his family.
This particular one was taken several years ago, before David was born. It’s a picture of their first wedding dance. Fiona’s princess-esque wedding gown, puffy sleeves and all, and his tuxedo and bowtie really showcased the type of people they were. Eccentric and uncaring of what people thought.
He sniffles, clutching the photo in his hand. If he knew what would come next, he would have stopped time.
Tears drip on the page. Edwin hurriedly wipes it off, not wanting the paper to warp.
He misses her, everyday, but especially now. He can’t do this again without her. He could barely do it the first time.
“Fiona, please,” he begs, even though it’s futile. Death is final. No returns, take backs, or second chances. But he needs her. “Tell me what to do.”
As if an answer to his prayers, another photo is knocked off the table. He grabs it.
This one is of David and him, about two years ago. They’re smiling, and his son is obviously laughing, looking up at Edwin with bright eyes. The same eyes that Greg-
He frowns. This can’t be a sign, can it?
But that radiance…that love that’s so persuasive.
Edwin breaks down, holding both photos to his chest. He knows what he has to do now.
-x-x-x-
By the time he returns to the bedroom, everyone is asleep. And when Edwin says everyone, he means everyone .
Gregory is in the center of the blankets right where he left him. David’s curled up around the baby, arms thrown over Gregory, and Mimic has taken to curling around both the baby and David, long arms covering both the children.
Edwin stands in the doorway for a second, face still wet with tears.
David wakes first. He blinks blearily up at Edwin. “Daddy?” He asks, still groggy with sleep. “Are you okay?”
Edwin walks over to the bed, and soothes his son’s hair back. “Yeah, I’m just fine.” He reaches over to his other son, soothing his hair back too. “Thank you for watching your brother, you’re such a good helper.”
If David wasn’t awake before, he is now. His eyes widen, and before Edwin can think to stop him he shouts, “Yay!”
The baby wakes up, crying.
“Sorry, daddy,” David murmurs, fidgeting with his fingers.
Edwin laughs. He’s no stranger to babies crying. “It’s alright. I think we’re all going to be just fine.”