Work Text:
The darkroom smells of chemicals, dust, and old concrete, a scent Barkovitch associates with patience.
The red light is humming overhead, it's a low and steady sound, it's casting everything in this shade of rust. Barkovitch has trays lining the counter, half filled with developer and fixer, he watches as the surfaces tremble slightly everytime the schools ancient ventilation system kicks into high gear. There's water dripping somewhere behind a wall, it's a constant noise, and it's a worrisome noise.
The principle promises to have it fixed, but he never will not until it bursts completely and floods the basement.
Barkovitch is standing at the counter, rolling his sleeves up, fingers being extra careful as he slides a strip of negatives into the enlarger. He starts squinting, really needing his glasses at this moment.
He adjusts the focus, tapping the metal with his knuckles like it'll listen to him.
"Okay," he says quietly. "This one's good."
Across the room, Marge makes this quiet squeaky sound. It's not a cry Barkovitch knows her cries by heart, this is just a soft, questioning sound, like she's making sure Barkovitch's still there.
Barkovitch's head still snaps up immediately. "Yeah, then what happened?"
She's so small, smaller than he ever imagined a person could be and still legally count as one. She's been carefully harnessed into this sea themed baby bouncer Richard definitely either dumpstered dived with his little headlamp for or bought at a garage sale, it's fabic is faded but clean. There's cartoon whales smiling at her from both sides, little embroidered fish swim nowhere above her.
The bouncer is vibrating gently, producing this mechanical hum that appears to be calming her more than anything else.
She's got these pale blue baby mittens on to keep her from scratching her little face up, but she's still curling her little fingers into a fist. Her current position is all scrunched up like she's back inside the womb trying to conserve space. Every so often she stretches one leg, then immediately pulls it back, like she's afraid of the idea.
Barkovitch makes his way over gently nudging the bouncer with the toe of his converse.
It rocks almost immediately, still vibrating away.
Marge blinks at him with her big blue eyes, Barkovitch wonders if they'll stay blue forever or will they turn out brown like Richard's, he grabs the camera around his neck taking a picture of her.
"There you go, it's rocking again," he murmurs. "I'm still here Margaret."
She responds with a bubbling noise that might be approval or just might be gas moving through her, Barkovitch did nurse her like twenty minutes ago.
He goes back over to the counter and switches off the lights, plunging the room into an even deeper red color. He exposes the paper, counting both in his head and out loud before sliding it into the developer tray. The image starts to bloom like a flower slowly but surely, shapes starting to emerge like ghosts remembering they exist.
Barkovitch watches it the way he watches Marge well she's asleep aka focused with intent like if he looks away just for a second, he might miss something important.
"Your dad," he tells her, trying to start a conversation even though she's definitely not responding. "Is so much better at this whole parent thing, he's the one who read the books front to back, I just carried you and hoped it'd come to me naturally like photography."
Marge makes this little wet grunt, it's the best way to describe it.
"Yeah," Barkovitch says. "I know you think I'm awesome."
He carefully lifts the pictures with the tongs he stole from a cooking class, transferring it to the next tray. He sees what it is, a basketball game, Ray getting into a mid air collision his face twisted with effort, Collie's hand is reaching up, he's desperate but a little to late.
"It's a good shot for Pearson," he says. "But it's not the one for Hank."
He carefully nudges the bouncer again, not hard just enough to get it moving again, he listens to the vibration as it buzzes under Marge like a quiet engine.
"Most people think I take pictures because I want the attention," Barkovitch continues. "That I love putting myself in the middle of things."
He glances at her, her eyes fully on him they're unfocused but dark and huge now like she's fully listening to whatever it is before her attention snaps to the ceiling like it's more fascinating than Barkovitch.
"But baby girl that's not the case," he says. "I love catching the moments people don't know they're doing."
He swaps the photo into the fixer before rinsing carefully, he watches as the images sharpens.
Then Marge lets out this sharp squeak.
Barkovitch is there almost immediately, foot rocking the bouncer, hand hovering ready for her to start crying out for him. "Hey, you're okay," he says. "You're good, I promise you're okay."
The squeak eventually turns into a hiccup, then another, then absolutely nothing.
"There we go," he says softly. "Crisis averted."
He leans against the counter, eyes drifting to the photos hanging from a line, clothespins holding them in place, rows of stories suspended in midair.
Everything from sport games, hallways during multiple holidays and seasons, people laughing when they don't think anyone is watching, people falling apart thinking they're alone in the world.
"You know," he tells her, "your name fits you."
Marges wiggles around, mittens brushing her cheeks.
"Margaret," he says "It means pearl. Now my Meemaw, your great Meemaw earned that name because she was born December 7th 1941, that was during the attacks on Pearl Harbor in Hawaii. You earned that name because one you look a lot like her, your attitude is similar, and because like a pearl Richard left something inside me and like an oyster I turned it into something beautiful."
He smiles to himself at his wackass explanation. "So it only felt right to name you that."
He continues rocking the bouncer with his foot gentle and slightly rhythmic, his converse are scuffed, the laces fraying, the soles worn thin from all his pacing, standing, and waiting around for something to happen.
"You're not suppose to be in the basement," he adds. "Technically nobody is, but me and you are special like that."
Marge responds with a long, thoughtful sound that ends in a sigh.
"Yeah," Barkovitch says. "I agree."
He goes back over to the enlarger, loading another negative, adjusting the focus, counts both in his head and out loud. This whole routine steadies him.
The room is dead slient except for the hum of the machines and the soft mechanical buzz.
Every few minutes, Barkovitch like clockwork is back over rocking Marge with his foot.
She never startles even in this dark room, where her eyesight isn't the best, it's like she knows subconsciously that it's Barkovitch as he rocks her with his foot.
The image eventually appears in the tray, this one different from the last, it's the west hallway, Clementine is caught mid turn glancing at Art and Hank, like something is beginning between the three of them.
Barkovitch watches as it comes it focus with a head tilt.
"Hey," he says to Marge. "I think this one will matter to one cheer captain, she can display it at her throuble wedding."
She makes a tiny noise in agreement, mittened hand twitching.
"Yeah," he says, smiling in the red light. "I thought you'd agree, hell you'll probably be the flower girl..."
The door slowly creaks open stopping Barkovitch mid thought, he immediately guesses it's not Richard because he knows how to knock.
Not saying they don't know how to knock, this is a public space so why would they knock?
The sound of sneakers on concrete give it away that it's either Ray, Pete, Art, Stebbins, or worse case scenario Collie, but the way he's walking it's Collie, it has to be, the person is walking like he's being careful not to slip, the other guys don't think that far ahead, that and they don't know the basement can become a damn ice rink because the janitorial staff are very thorough with cleaning.
Only Collie knows this because he comes down to visit and make sure he's still alive.
Him and Richard take turns when Barkovitch is down here longer than six hours.
"Hey," Collie says, voice echoing faintly. "You down here? I come in peace E.T."
Barkovitch freezes well also blushing at the nickname because he's the only one who calls him E.T.
If Richard tried that shit, Barkovitch is gently smacking him.
The nickname comes from a middle school field trip to see the movie E.T down on Carolina Beach, Barkovitch loved that movie, and Collie saw that.
He's been calling him that ever since.
Barkovitch's foot is mid bounce, Marge moves one mittened hand to tuck it under her chin, Barkovitch looks from her to the enlarger to the door like maybe one of them will have the answer he's looking for.
Collie steps into the room, he's got a folded piece of paper in his hands. "Richard said I might find you...."
He stops mid thought looking over the bouncer with confusion especially as he makes eye contact with the baby, his eyes eventually snap back to Barkovitch.
There's this long very quiet second where it's just the humming from the red light and the ventilation rattling, Marge in that moment decides to make this tiny, thoughtful noise like she's contributing to the conversation.
"Oh," Collie says.
Barkovitch immediately panics at this.
"This isn't..." he starts, then immediately starts stuttering over his words. "Okay, it's what it looks like but not what you're thinking, I mean, it's a baby, that's pretty obvious, I know that's not what's up for debate, but she's not uh...I'm not..."
Collie carefully sets the paper down on a nearby counter not breaking eye contact with him. "Gary, breathe."
"Right, um sorry yeah." Barkovitch says running a hand through his hair. "So, funny story."
Marge wiggles a bit, moving her legs around, face puckering like she's considering a complaint. Barkovitch noticing this gently nudges the bouncer, eyes not leaving Collie's.
"You're fine," he mutters gently, to her before taking a deep breath gesturing to her. "Okay, well, this is Marge."
Collie nods slowly like he's trying to figure this out. "Hi, Marge."
Marge responds with this soft little noise.
Barkovitch laughs a little too loud because he's nervous. "She's a good person to have a conversation with, very opinionated."
Collie's mouth twitches at him, finding him adorable, just folding his arms his posture becoming relaxed, like he enjoys making Barkovitch squirm. "Is she yours?"
Barkovitch opens his mouth, before closing it because he couldn't get his thoughts to work with him, he tries again. "She's...."
He starts doing these crazy hand signals, like he's trying to sign out his thoughts or direct an airplane to the runway.
"Temporarily for like 18 years give or take."
Collie raises an eyebrow wondering what exactly that suppose to mean.
"Not like that," Barkovitch says way to quickly. "I mean she is, but also um....okay, look, this is where it gets complicated."
Collie continues to wait, knowing he needs a second to explain everything, the silence stretches, the red light continues to buzz just like Marge's bouncer. Barkovitch wants to crawl out of own skin.
"I didn't steal her for your information," he blurts out. "Just to be clear."
Collie snorts at that one, because he didn't assume that one. But now he kinda is.
"Okay," Barkovitch says, running a hand down his face. "Okay, fine Parker, you win she's my daughter."
There it is the truth, he winces once he says it out loud, wanting lightning to strike him down because this is so bad.
Because this wasn't how he wanted Collie to find out, but then again he had no idea how he was gonna tell him in the first place.
Collie just blinks at him, he doesn't start asking a million questions, he doesn't start calling him a horrible names. He just blinks at him. "Okay."
"Okay?" Barkovitch echoes. "That's it? Just okay? Nothing else?"
"Do you want me to scream or something?" Collie asks mildly.
"No," Barkovitch says. "God no, please don't I couldn't handle that right now."
He exhales trying to catch his breath, his shoulders slump. "Her name's Margaret, Marge for short, she's um...." He glances down at her, his expression softening without his permission. "She's brand new."
Collie steps closer, crouching down to look at Marge. "She's so tiny."
"I know," Barkovitch says. "That parts been surprising me since she was born."
Marge squirms like she knows they're talking about her, her little mittens brushing against her cheeks.
Collie smiles it's real and unguarded in that moment it stirs something in Barkovitch's chest.
"She's cute," Collie says.
Barkovitch swallows nervously. "Yeah she gets that a lot."
There's another pause after that, this one less tense then before.
"So," Collie says gently. "Can I ask who the other parent is?"
Barkovitch laughs, it's sharp and nervous. "Of course you'd ask that."
Collie shrugs. "It's a fair question."
"It's Richard," Barkovitch says in a rush. "Richard Harkness, which I realize sounds like a lie or illegal because it's Richard, and maybe it is, but it wasn't, I mean um, it was an accident. Mostly. It was our first time, it happened in band camp, which sounds ridiculous but it's the truth, we went with Pearson, uh you can ask him, he was there, I mean not for the sex part, he was just there for the band part, and uh we forgot condoms were a thing. Richard lasted two point three seconds...."
Collie holds a hand wanting him to shut up before he spills to much. "Gary, stop."
"Sorry," Barkovitch says immediately. "I'm babbling aren't I?"
"Yes," Collie answers. "You are."
Barkovitch presses his lips together in thought, then sighs. "Richard got pregnant, I mean he got me pregnant, I got pregnant. He can't get pregnant he's male that wasn't born with the same recessive gene as you and me, if you have it. Oh god I'm doing it again. You get what I mean right? Please say you do?"
"I do," Collie says.
Barkovitch just stares at him. "You're taking this very well most people would have run for the door or given me a speech."
Collie leans back against the counter, he gives him this caring and compassionate look. "You look like someone about to pass out, someone should be the calm one in this situation."
That earns Collie a shaky laugh. "I thought you'd think I was irresponsible, werid and or..."
"Barkovitch," Collie says. "You develop pictures in the school basement, you work at a cowboy themed cafe, and you drive a PT Cruiser with wood paneling thinking it's awesome. This is not the thing that pushes you into the werid category."
Barkovitch laughs at that, it's a real genuine laugh, he looks down at Marge his foot still rocking the bouncer.
"Richard's amazing with her," he says quietly. "Better then me, my maternal instincts haven't really completely kicked in yet."
Collie watches him the way his voice changes, the way his focus is on Marge the entire time he's talking.
"From where I'm standing, you're doing absolutely fine,"
Barkovitch's ears go red at that. "Yeah you think so?"
"Yeah."
Another stretch of quiet settles in, it's a comfortable quiet. The kind that Barkovitch is more use to having with Richard then with Collie.
"Oh," Collie says suddenly, remembering why he came here in the first place, he slides the folded piece of paper across the counter. "I brought you this, your schedule for the next couple of weeks since you didn't come to the meeting."
Barkovitch nods, he has a shit memory always has, that and he forgets to charge his flip phone and listen to his pager, which is currently attached to his belt. He doesn't reach for the paper yet, he just looks at Collie, nervous again but softer about it. "You're not...mad?"
Collie shakes his head. "For what? Not coming to the meetings you never attend in the first place? No."
Barkovitch stares at him, because that's not what he meant, but he decided not to push it.
"Judgy?"
"No."
Barkovitch exhales at that. "Okay."
Marge makes a tiny sound, stretching one mittened hand toward nothing in particular, Barkovitch rocks her gently, his eyes warm.
Collie watches, quiet and attentive.
"Hey," he says after a moment. "I'm happy you told me about her, that you trusted me enough with her."
Barkovitch doesn't know what to say to that, so he just nods smiling at him.
Collie doesn't leave after that, at first he pretends he's waiting for something, arms folded eyes drifting around the darkroom looking at the pictures that are hanging up.
Barkovitch just decides to go back to work because if he doesn't he's gonna stare for to long and make this werid.
He loads up another negative, adjusting the focus on it, counting under his breath not wanting to freak out Collie by counting as loudly as he normally does.
Behind him, Marge makes a noise at Collie. It's this soft, curious sound, like she's testing her voice but also like she's trying to figure out who Collie is.
Collie makes a noise right back at her.
Barkovitch glances over his shoulder to watch them because Collie is crouching in front of her again, balancing on the balls of his feet. He's smiling at Marge like she's his own kid, like she's the most important thing in the world right now.
"Oh," Barkovitch says quietly. "Look at you."
Collie snorts, then looks back at Marge. "She's very serious about her craft."
Marge scrunches, mittened hands pulling in toward her chest. Her eyes blink slow and heavy, then open big and wide like she's surprised he's still here.
Collie reaches out carefully, hands hovering looking over his shoulder asking with his eyes if he could hold her, in which Barkovitch nods. Collie carefully removes her harness, before gently pulling her out supporting her head as he does.
His breath catches as she squirms in his hold for a second until she eventually settles.
"Oh," he says again, softer this time. "Wow."
Barkovitch watches them out of the corner of his eye as he slides a photo into the developer tray. The image begins to form, but it's hard to pay attention when all he can see is the way Collie's shoulders soften, the way his voice drops without meaning to.
"She's warm," Collie says, like it's a revelation.
"Babies are usually little furnaces," Barkovitch replies.
Collie laughs under his breath at that one. "I mean...yeah I know I'm an older brother. But still."
He gently starts rocking her well walking around, it's something called the walk and rock, copying how Barkovitch does it back home in her nursery without realizing he's doing so, Marge immediately relaxes against his chest, she trusts him.
Barkovitch chest tightens at seeing them together, he transfers the photo to the next tray, hands steady from muscle memory.
It's all hitting him at once, these new and kinda scary emotions.
"You're good with her," Barkovitch says.
Collie shrugs, kinda embarrassed. "I'm just....remembering from when my siblings were this size."
"That still counts," Barkovitch says
Collie glances over at him, his expression unreadable in the red light, then he looks down at Marge again and smiles at her like it's nothing, like he doesn't realize what exactly he's doing to Barkovitch just by existing this way.
Marge starts to squirm again, just getting comfortable in his hold, once she's found her comfy spot she makes this little sound. Collie freezes hearing her.
Barkovitch laughs quietly. "Breathe Parker, she does that a lot."
"I know," Collie says, but he doesn't move. "I just don't wanna miss anything."
Something settles in Barkovitch at that statement, it's not loud or dramatic just certain.
He goes back to his photos, to the slow blooming of the images in the tray, while Collie stays right where he is, whispering a lullaby in Algonquian to a baby who don't understand a lick of what he's saying but listens to him anyway.