Work Text:
Nicholas Harkness-Vidal entered the world in silence, and for a brief, terrifying moment, he frightened both of his mothers.
Then, within seconds, his lungs filled and a sharp cry broke through the room, easing their fear as quickly as it had come.
His Mama, Agatha Harkness-Vidal, who had carried him for two hundred and eighty days, every part of him grown with careful, aching love, now spent her mornings trying to coax from her ten-month-old the one word she longed to hear most.
'Mama.'
Each day, she would lift him from his crib, pressing a kiss to his cheek as she murmured his name, repeating it like a quiet mantra.
“Say Mama, Mama, come on my little love, I know you can say it.”
She tried again over breakfast, while bathing him, and during play, when his laughter felt so close to becoming words that it almost fooled her.
But every time, Nicky refused.
“He’s still young, mi amor,” Rio Vidal Harkness-Vidal would soothe, wrapping an arm around their wife when that flicker of frustration appeared. “He’ll speak when he’s ready.”
Rio, dark-haired and brown-eyed, so clearly reflected in their son, could never quite hide their amusement.
They would laugh softly when Agatha scoffed, that same stubbornness showing through, the very thing that had captured Rio’s heart the first time they met.
“Our son hates me,” Agatha would pout, already leaning in, already knowing her wife would soften it with a gentle kiss and quiet reassurance, just like she had from the very beginning.
Agatha had never imagined herself as a mother. Her own childhood had shaped that certainty, her expectations coloured by a woman who had taught her more about fear than love. For a long time, she had been convinced it was something inherited and inevitable. That she would pass it on without meaning to. That any child of hers would suffer for it.
And then she met Rio Vidal.
Rio, who showed her, day after day, a different version of herself. Who was patient where Agatha expected harsh judgment, gentle where she braced for rejection. Rio, who peeled back years of hurt with steady hands and quiet certainty, until something new took root in its place.
The belief that she was good.
That she was nothing like her own mother.
And slowly, carefully, Agatha began to believe that she could be the kind of mother she had never had.
She knew it from the moment she said yes to marrying Rio. Not all at once, not in some grand, certain declaration, but in the quiet moments that follower. In the way she would lie awake at night, tracing the lines of the person beside her, imagining what it would be like to see those same features softened and made small. A child who carried Rio’s eyes, their smile.
Where Rio had steadied and softened something restless in Agatha, she had been there in return, just as unwavering. When Rio began to speak, halting at first, about never quite feeling like they belonged to any one gender, Agatha didn’t hesitate. She listened. She learned and most imprtantly she helped.
She was the steady ground beneath Rio’s feet as they worked through it all, through the uncertainty, the research, the careful steps toward something that finally felt right. When Rio chose new pronouns, Agatha carried them with quiet pride. When they experimented with taping their chest, she was gentle, attentive, making sure they felt safe and comfortable.
She never made it complicated. Never made it something to overcome. To Agatha, it was simple. She loved Rio, all of them, every version they had been and every version they were becoming.
And if anything, watching Rio settle into themself, watching that happiness take root and grow, only made her fall deeper.
They had been talking about it since the fertility treatments, long before Nicky was born, what their child would call them. Agatha had chosen immediately. Mama. It had always felt right, something warm and comforting.
Rio was less sure. Still finding their footing in their own identity, they moved between names, trying them on like clothes that didn’t quite fit yet. Mami, Mom… once, even Dad, said half-seriously before brushing it off. In the end, Rio would always shrug it away with a soft smile, insisting that when the time came, their child would decide for them.
“Rio, my love, can you zip me up?” Agatha called, her voice carrying down the hall.
Downstairs, Rio was stretched out across the living room floor, surrounded by bright blocks and the soft babble of their son.
“Come on, mijo,” they said, scooping Nicky up into their arms. “Sounds like your Mama needs rescuing.”
Nicky giggled as Rio carried him upstairs, small hands grabbing at their shirt as they made their way to the bedroom.
Rio had barely taken a step inside before they stopped.
Agatha stood by the mirror, adjusting an earring, the soft plum of her dress hugging her in a way that made Rio’s breath catch. For a moment, they just stood there, taking her in like something they didn’t quite deserve but had been given the privilege of loving every day.
“Mi amor…” Rio said quietly, a smile pulling at their lips. “You look stunning.”
Agatha glanced at them through the mirror, already amused.
“Mouth closed, handsome, you’ll catch flies.”
She turned, crossing the room to take Nicky from their arms as he reached eagerly for her. Rio stepped closer, hands steady as they drew the zipper up the back of her dress. When it reached the top, they leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the back of her neck, their hands lingering along her arms.
“Me quitas el aliento,” they murmured against her skin. You take my breath away.
Agatha hummed softly at the feeling of her wife’s lips against her neck, her eyes slipping closed for a brief second, leaning into it.
“Lilia will be here soon. Can you get Nicky into his pyjamas, please? God knows what ensemble she’d put him in if we left it up to her.” She passed Nicky back, pressing a kiss to his head as she did.
“Dino pyjamas it is,” Rio chuckled.
“Shocking,” Agatha replied, rolling her eyes, though there was no real bite to it.
She knew her palaeontologist wife would dress their child exclusively in dinosaurs if given half the chance.
Upstairs, Rio dressed Nicky in his soft triceratops pyjamas, smoothing the fabric down before lifting him up to admire their work.
“Very dashing indeed, Mr. Harkness-Vidal,” they said warmly. “Just like your Dada.”
The word slipped out without thought, and Rio stilled.
They had never said that before. Never tried it on. But it felt… right. Easy. Like it had been waiting.
Rio looked at Nicky, who was staring back at them with bright, curious eyes.
“What do you think, Nicky?” they asked quietly. “Can you say Dada?”
“…Dada.”
Rio froze.
Their breath caught, their arms going still as their eyes widened in disbelief.
“Oh my God,” they whispered. “Agatha!”
Footsteps rushed down the hall, and Agatha appeared in the doorway seconds later, already tense.
“What? What’s wrong?” she asked quickly, scanning both of them for any sign of trouble.
Rio just stared at her, wide-eyed, then looked back at Nicky.
“Nicky… say it again. Say Dada.”
Agatha’s expression flickered at the word, surprise flashing across her face before her attention snapped to their son, who was now absentmindedly playing with the buttons on Rio’s shirt.
“Dada.”
Agatha gasped, her hands flying to cover her mouth.
“Oh, you clever boy!” she cried, stepping forward to scoop him up, spinning him gently as she pressed kisses all over his cheeks.
“I’m sorry, mi amor,” Rio started softly. “I know you’ve been trying for a while—”
Agatha cut them off immediately, her eyes warm as she looked between them both.
“Oh, my love… this little genius knew you needed that more than I did.” She smiled, brushing her nose against Nicky’s. “I already know who I am. He was just helping his Dada figure things out.”
She kissed his cheek again, her voice softening with affection.
“Weren’t you, my clever, clever boy?”
Agatha pressed one last kiss to Nicky’s cheek before settling him against her chest, her eyes soft as they met Rio’s.
“Dada,” she repeated gently, like she was testing it too, letting it settle into place. “It suits you.”
Rio let out a quiet, almost disbelieving laugh, one hand coming up to rub the back of their neck. “Yeah?” they asked, voice softer now, something vulnerable tucked inside it.
Agatha stepped closer, closing the space between them without hesitation. “Yeah,” she murmured, reaching out to take their hand. “Perfectly.”
Nicky babbled happily between them, entirely unaware of the gravity of what he’d just done, small hands reaching out to grab at Rio’s shirt again.
“Alright, alright,” Rio smiled, leaning in to press a kiss to his head, then to Agatha’s temple. “Don’t let it go to your head, mijo. One word and you’ve already changed my whole life.”
“You say that like he didn’t already,” Agatha teased softly.
Rio huffed a quiet laugh at that, their gaze lingering on both of them. “Fair point.”
A knock sounded faintly downstairs, followed by Lilia’s unmistakable voice calling up to them.
Agatha groaned lightly. “Saved by the bell.”
“Or interrupted,” Rio countered, though they were still smiling.
Agatha shifted Nicky in her arms before passing him back, fingers brushing Rio’s as she did. “Come on, Dada,” she said, the word deliberate now, fond. “Let’s go have our date before he learns another one and steals your thunder.”
Rio laughed, shaking their head as they took Nicky back. “No chance. I’m holding onto that one.”
Together, they made their way downstairs, Nicky between them, still babbling, still blissfully unaware.
But every now and then, he’d look up at Rio, grin wide and bright, and say it again.
“Dada.”
And each time, it landed just as softly, just as surely, right where it belonged.