Chapter Text
Reginald P. F. Nolan-Nune wasn’t your typical four year old. If you took one look at him there was only one way to describe him: A seventy six year old stuck in a body of a toddler. Some kind of Benjamin Button case, but without the wrinkles. His dark brown, ear length hair was neatly gelled and brushed to the side on his head, his piercing blue eyes endless depths of knowledge and wisdom.
Today, his outfit perfectly matched his inner senior citizen. He’s dressed in cream colored button up, beige shorts that were held up by bright red suspenders and white knee socks. Brown dress shoes adorned his feet and there was a red dotted bowtie around his neck. Looking at him, Reginald looked like the real-life version of Alfalfa from The Little Rascals—or perhaps a member of the von Trapp family—but with less gel in his hair.
Today was his fourth birthday and Reginald had spend the last six months meticulously crafting an idea in his head. Ever since his new mom had proudly declared that she was planning the ‘greatest kids birthday bash’ ever, he had pictured balloons, ponies, a bouncy castle and maybe even a piñata. But now, sitting on the stairs of their patio, Reginald watched in horror as he realized that Bailey definitely had a different concept of “kid appropriate” fun.
Bailey and John had adopted Reginald six months ago. Apparently he was found on the steps of a church one day two years ago, without a hint of his real identity. He was immediately placed with a fun, loving foster family that kept referring to him as ‘baby boy’, while CPS and the police, a detective by the name of Nyla Harper, tried to find out who he really was.
No such luck. It seemed he had appeared on those stairs out of thin air and all memories of his real parents had vanished. But through Nyla, he had met John and Bailey, who after months of debating and getting to know him decided to start the adoption process and now legally called him their son.
The only real downside in the beginning was his new name.
He scoffed to himself, looking up at the banner.
Reginald Percival Fitzwilliam? Come on.
But Reginald adapted to the name quite quickly, just happy to have a home and two people who seemed to love him. Bailey and John had fussed over him ever since they met him, and like any other kid, he appreciated the attention.
Things started to shift in the past few months. Bailey seemed to have grown into Super-Mom-Monster, reading books on a healthy lifestyle after John had a health scare (Which really wasn't one. He had chest pains that rooted from flatulence, not heart failure) and she was set on turning Reginald into the smartest, most nurtured child known to mankind.
It was those ‘Super Mom’ tendencies that caused him to end up sitting on the stairs of their patio with a grim expression, staring at adult guests mingling and kids running around. He had met many of them before, like detective Harper and Lopez. And he also recognized Wesley the lawyer and Smitty, the snack guy. He watched Jack, Emmy and Lila chasing each other, trying to entertain themselves by circling the harpist that strummed a song on her instrument.
If a harpist wasn’t strange enough…try a flautist waltzing around the yard, dressed as a fairy who only knew songs that made his ears hurt.
Reginald let out a sigh as he dug his foot into the stair, fingers curling around the post to hold him upright.
“You okay, buddy?” A strange voice asked him, making Reginal look up. He squints his eyes against the sun to get a better look, remaining quiet otherwise. “Doesn’t seem like you’re having fun.”
“Yeah, don't think this is my kind of party,” Reginald murmured and the man nodded, “Mine either.” He reaches into his jacket pocket to pull out a can of soda. He looks around before reaching in again, pulling out another can in a black sleeve.
“My wife is pregnant and she has this craving for anything fizzy…preferably sweet.” he hands Reggie the can of Pepsi. “Knowing your mom and her weird ass health kick, I assumed I should bring some.”
“Thank you, Sir,” Reginald said as his face lit up. He took the can and immediately took a huge sip, revealing at the sweet but forbidden taste.
“You can call me Tim,” he simply noted and cracked open his own can of beer, holding it out to Reginal who lifts his Pepsi and clinks against him.
“I'm Reginald…Unfortunately” he replies with a sigh, and takes another sip.
“Yeah, I’m not calling you that. Why’d they pick Reginald anyway?” Tim smirked, quirking a brow at him.
“Beats me.” Reginald shrugged. “Nolan picked it. I hate it. Who names their kid Reginald Percival Fitzwilliam?”
Tim sputtered and choked on his beer, “No shit—Percival Fitzwilliam? We don’t live in 19th century England.”
“You’re telling me.” He gestured, “Do you see what she put me in?”
“Tragic.”
“Exactly.”
“Alright well, since I’m definitely never calling you Reginald and you hate the name. What should I call you?” Tim asked and Reginald thought for a moment, but came up with nothing, so he shrugged his shoulders.
“Hmmm let me think,” Tim hummed and snap his fingers. “How about Reggie?”
“Uh yea, Reggie,” the boys’ face lit up and Tim nodded.
“Reggie it is,” Tim said and took a sip of his beer, looking around the yard.
“You’re cool,” Reggie noted as he looked at Tim, who flicked his eyes to the little boy.
“Not a word many people use for me,” he retorted. “Usually I get hardass or grumpy.”
“Nolan usually gets clueless,” Reggie chimed in and Tim actually huffed out a laugh.
“You mean your Dad?” Tim clarified and Reggie shrugged his shoulders.
“Yeah…that’s what Bailey makes me call him. Not a fan,” he sighs.
“Has anyone ever told you that you speak very well for your age?”
“Well, I've been talking since I was 2 and Bailey makes me learn three different languages besides English.”
Tim raised an eyebrow at that and pauses mid sip, lowering the can of beer as he stared at the kid next to him. “Three?”
“Spanish, French and German. She said if I do well she might get me a Mandarin tutor,” he grumbles.
“So you lowkey pretend you are not learning anything, but you picked up a lot?” Tim mused and Reggie giggled.
“Jap, deutsch ist einfach, et les français aussi,” he said.
“I don't know what you said, but it sounded right. You should talk to my wife, she speaks six languages and knows all of the ones you’re learning. I only know Spanish.” The little boy giggled and lifted the can in his lap to take another big gulp. Tim really was super cool and he might have saved the day by sneaking in soda.
“So, have you mixed your own juice yet at the Mixology station?” Tim asked. “Jack overused the ginger earlier and Wesley nearly threw up after he tried it.”
“No, I don't like the smell of tumeric,” Reggie answered and scrunched his nose.
“That’s too bad. You could probably make a mean mix and feed it to Bailey and John,” he snorted.
“Bailey would just smile and tell me I did a good job. She doesn't believe in negative call outs, only critical essays explaining her feelings.”
Tim nearly spit out his beer as he snorted and laughed at the same time. He hit his chest with his fist several times and tried to clear his throat. “Are you serious? Sounds like your parents are a handful.”
“They are okay—weird—but better than most. Nolan really tries, but Bailey is the one riding him hard, so he gives in,” Reggie said.
“Of course she is,” Tim mutters under his breath and has to stifle a laugh, making the boy look up at him up him confused.
“What's so funny?”
“Nothing kiddo, nothing you understand yet,” he grins and moves his hand to Reggie’s head, ruffling his hair a little.
“Angela calls me wise beyond my years,” Reggie argues and puts down the can of Pepsi.
“Old soul yes, but there are some things you don't need to know about this young,” Tim retorted and Reggie sighed. “It's not a bad thing to be a kid. Enjoy it.”
“Have you looked at me? I stopped being a kid when I moved here.” Reggie uses his hands to point up and down, Tim pursing his lips.
“Yeah, you look like my grandpa and he's been dead for 20 years.”
“Exactly and I'm sure he had a better name than me.” The boy sighed and Tim puts his lip to the can of beer, pausing for a moment.
“It was Ty, short for Tyson,” Tim said.
“See short. What's your dad’s name?”
“Tom, short for Thomas,” he replied and Reggie’s eyes grew wide.
“So Tim….Timothy?”
Tim's jaw tightens for a moment and he blew out a breath. “Yes, but only Angela can call me that. You don’t.”
“Only if you won't ever call me Reginald.” The boy lifts his hand with an extended pinky. Tim looked at him for a moment and does the same, the two linking.
“Pinky swear,” he promises and Reggie lets go, grabbing his can of Pepsi, taking a huge gulp.
“Hey there,” Lucy said as she approached Tim and Reginald, her face falling a little when she sees him sip her Pepsi. Tim notices and immediately reaches into the pocket of his jacket, retrieving another can to hand it to her.
“You are the best,” she grins and bends over to press a kiss to his cheek. She puts down the small poster she was carrying and opens her Pepsi. “So what have you two been up to?”
“Talking,” Tim answered ss Lucy took a huge. “You?”
“I spent some time meditating at the crystal station, it was fun, but Bailey dragged me away to make a vision board for little Bradford,” she grins and puts a hand on her swollen belly. She was six months pregnant with their daughter and happy as can be.
“That sounds….interestesting,” Tim mutters carefully as Lucy sits down next to him.
“Bailey made me one, it sucked,” Reggie chimed in and Lucy leaned forward to look at him. “I wanted a nintendo switch, crayons and candy, but she picked stupid jobs.”
“She wants what’s best for you,” Lucy tries and Reggie scrunched up his face.
“I want a snickers, not to be a doctor,” he retorted and Tim snorted. “Astronaut I can see, I’d be far away.”
That made Tim actually chuckle and Reggie gave him a smirk, raising his can to take a sip. “Don’t tell her that.”
“Anyway,” Lucy said and put down her drink, reaching for the poster. She hands it to Tim, who takes it and he studies it.
On the white paper were several stickers of suns and rainbows. In the middle was a big red heart, a picture of man and his daughter laughing. Surrounding it were happy emojis, an infinite symbol, a big sun and a chinese symbol he didn’t know what it meant. Tim looked up from it a little confused and he tilts his head. Lucy grins and leans into Tim, nudging him a little.
“All I want for our daughter is to be a happy and carefree Daddy’s girl, the rest she can figure out with us,” Lucy muses and Tim’s eyes widen in surprise, his heart swelling in his chest. He blinks a few times as he stares at her, a lump forming in his throat.
“I love you,” Tim a manages and he leans closer to Lucy to press his lips to hers, making her giggle a little when he drops his hand to her stomach tol hold her belly, Lucy feeling a small flutter.
“She loves it when you touch my stomach,” Lucy smiles as Tim pulls away, thumb caressing gently. The two are so wrapped up in each other they don’t notice Reggie staring at them, lips puckering as he pouted. His head turns though when he hears wild footsteps approach and he sighs when he spots Bailey.
“Reginald Percival Fitzwillam, where did you get that soda?!” She presses out and Reggie rolls his eyes.
“Me,” Tim interrupted, and Bailey looks at them.
“He knows he is not allowed to have it,” Bailey snapped and kneeled, taking the can from Reggie. “I’m disappointed in you.”
“Okay,” Reggie simply replied and Bailey shook her head, spotting the beer can next to Tim. She snatches it before Tim can stop her, groaning a little.
“You are setting bad examples,” Bailey said and tried to reach for the can Lucy’s holding, but she bares her teeth and Bailey stops.
“Don’t you dare,” she hisses and clutched the can, Bailey’s eyes widening a little in fear.
You don’t mess with pregnant Lucy.
“Oh-kay,” Bailey stuttered and stepped back with raised hands. Lucy then snapped back to her usual happy self, taking a sip of her soda.
“That was badass,” Reggie whispered as he leaned into Tim, who nodded his head.
“That’s why I married her.”
TBC