Greg flopped back into bed without his shirt but still wearing the pants he had worn to work that day. Normally the sensation of tropical wool rubbing against his skin all night would have bothered him, but he was too exhausted to care. His life was chaos, but as he settled back into his pillows and listened to Mycroft snoring softly and soft snuffling baby breaths coming through the monitor on his bedside table, he knew he wouldn't trade this new life for the world.
They had been expecting their lives to become even more chaotic than they already were when they decided to have twins. Greg's kids had started coming over more often so they could be involved in all of the changes that were happening. Things were not perfect, but their family was happy. Then one day Michelle showed up in the middle of the afternoon on one of Greg's days off as he was assembling a changing table.
It was nothing bad. On the contrary, what she had to tell him was wonderful. David had proposed to her. Greg was ecstatic that she had found as much happiness after their divorce that he had. She then told him the main reason that he had proposed. David had been offered funding to do some research at the University of Glasgow that required him to teach two courses while he was using their facilities. He wanted Michelle to move up there with him, but she didn't want to displace the kids.
The solution had been simple for both Greg and Mycroft. The kids moved in with them four months before the twins were born. Things were nuts, but as he curled up next to Mycroft and fell into an uncharacteristically deep sleep, Greg knew he wouldn't want their life to be any different.
Mycroft was roused by a knock at their bedroom door. Greg was in bed next to him. He hadn't been when Mycroft went to bed, and he must have been asleep for less than half an hour at that point. Mycroft was glad he was the one who had been awakened by the knock rather than Greg. "Come in," he called, his voice still foggy with sleep. The door pushed open and light spilled in. Katie was standing in the doorway. "What's the matter, my dear?"
"Ian's getting sick in the bathroom," she yawned. "He didn't want me to wake you but I decided to anyway. Is that okay?"
"Of course you should wake me for that," Mycroft replied. He swung his legs onto the ground and into his slippers. He reached for his dressing gown as he passed the threshold and Katie.
"Wasgoinon?" Greg asked sleepily from the bed.
"Nothing, love. You took the last feeding. Go back to sleep." Mycroft grinned as Greg grunted and shuffled down into his pillows again.
As they approached the bathroom that Ian was in, it occurred to Mycroft that he had very little practical experience when it came to dealing with the vomit of others. He had become familiar with the spit up that the twins produced after they had their bottles, and many years previously he had occasionally had to deal with Sherlock after he had been sick because of the drugs, but a teenager who was getting sick because of something they ate or a bug they'd picked up at school was out of his realm of expertise. Bracing for the worst, Mycroft knocked softly and got a dry heave as a response.
"Ian?" Mycroft asked as he eased the door open.
Ian was sitting in the middle of the floor, directly in front of the toilet. He was trembling and clutching his stomach.
"Oh God, please go away. You and dad are exhausted and I can take care of this myself. I just need to wait for it to pass." He then gave a little shudder and dry heaved again, but thankfully nothing came up.
"Don't worry about that," Mycroft assured him. He walked over and pressed a hand against Ian's forehead. "You're a bit feverish, though that could just be the vomiting. I'm going to get you some water to rinse with. Would you like me to get some crackers to settle your stomach as well?"
"No, water is perfect thanks," Ian groaned. "I doubt I'd be able to keep anything down at this point."
"I'll be back in a few minutes," Mycroft promised. He closed the door to the bathroom and addressed Katie, who had been waiting out in the hallway out of concern for her brother. "You should go to bed. He'll be fine, just a little bug. If you start to feel nauseous as well you should let us know before you get to this point."
"I feel fine," she said, stifling a yawn. "Will you come and tuck me in again before you get Ian his water?"
"Of course," Mycroft agreed. He shook his head as he followed her into her room, remembering a time where if a child had asked anything of him he would have frozen in fear. Now he had his six stepchildren and two of his own living in the house he shared with his husband and was tucking one into bed while taking care of another one that was ill. He ruminated on this as he ensured that Katie was tucked back into her bed and went downstairs to fetch a glass of water and grab a ginger ale to settle Ian's stomach. On a whim, he also ducked into Ian's room and grabbed a pillow and a blanket in case he felt the need to sleep close to the toilet.
"You're the best," Ian groaned as Mycroft entered the bathroom.
"Hardly," he replied, hoping his cheeks weren't turning pink from the compliment. He offered the glass of water. "Rinse with this. When you're done, I can refill it or you can try to take small sips of this. Ginger has been known to settle stomachs." He gestured to the ginger ale with his now free hand. "I also brought you something in case you need to sleep here."
Ian rinsed his mouth out and had a few sips of water before he reached for the ginger ale. Mycroft was about to go and get more water from a sink not in a bathroom when Ian sputtered and began to throw up again. He placed the glass on the counter and knelt next to Ian and rubbed his back gently.
During a very brief respite between waves, Ian started to say, "You don't have to," but the rest of the sentence was lost to more vomit.
"Don't be silly," Mycroft said softly. "I would never leave you like this. Just get it all out so you can rest."
A few minutes later Ian had stopped bringing anything up when he vomited. His face was streaked in snot and tears that had involuntarily been released when he started to throw up. He tipped his head forward as he flushed and rested his head on the rim of the toilet bowl.
"Come now, let's get you cleaned up and lie you down properly rather than against this," Mycroft suggested, his nose crinkling.
"I don't want to lie down," Ian groaned. "I'm afraid more will come and I'll choke."
"I won't let that happen. Come on. Sit up a bit so I can wash your face and so we can clean your teeth." It took a bit of maneuvering, but Mycroft wiped down Ian's face with a hand towel that was damp with warm water and then offered him a toothbrush with a small amount of toothpaste already on it.
When they were done, Ian sat next to the toilet, looking as if he were going to fall asleep and tip over into the porcelain. The last thing he needed right now was a head injury. Sighing longingly at the thought of his bed, Mycroft positioned the pillow so he could sit on the floor comfortably and then sat down with his back against the wall and pulled Ian next to him so his head was resting on Mycroft's shoulder.
"You don't need to do this," Ian sighed as Mycroft pulled the blanket up so it was covering all of Ian and most of him. "You should really go back to bed. I'll be fine."
"Nonsense," Mycroft whispered. "You're ill, and I wouldn't be able to live with myself if you had to be alone in here. This way you'll be able to get some sleep, and if you feel the need to vomit again you'll be sitting up, so there's no risk of choking. Now go back to sleep."
Ian wrapped an arm around Mycroft's middle and shuffled a bit closer. "Thanks, Papa," he murmured.
Mycroft stiffened imperceptibly. Papa. That was the name that they had decided the twins would call him. He knew that Ian was ill and was almost completely asleep by this point so he had probably not meant to say it, but it still warmed his heart as they sat there on the bathroom floor waiting for Ian's stomach bug to pass. He wouldn't get his hopes up about being called that by Greg's kids. They already had two parents, and he would never want Michelle to think she was being replaced, because there was no way he ever could do that. He had two children who would refer to him as that once they could speak, and really that was more than he had ever thought to hope for in his life. With a large yawn, he forced himself not to think of Ian's slip of the tongue and fell asleep again.
Greg woke just after four to a crying baby and an empty bed. Waving a hand over the spot next to him and finding it cold, he hoisted himself up so he could finally get into his pajamas and go and check in on the babies. He had probably slept through some call Mycroft had gotten about a national security crisis.
Both twins were up, but only George was crying. Jane was awake and blinking in the direction of her brother, but she wasn't crying yet. Greg picked George up and carried him over to the changing table. The baby quieted once he was more comfortable and Greg rocked him while pacing around the room for several minutes before he sighed and dropped off. Knowing that Jane would start to cry if he didn't pick her up for a bit, he reached into her crib and spent a few minutes cuddling with her. As he circled the room, he wondered what Mycroft was dealing with and hoped that whatever crisis was happening would allow him a few hours of sleep after it was wrapped up. Between their jobs and eight kids, they were pretty run down.
His answer came pretty quickly after he set Jane back in her crib. He moved down the hall in the opposite direction of their bedroom to check on the other kids when he noticed one of the bathroom lights on and the door propped open. He knocked softly, and where there was no answer he opened the door slowly to see if anyone was in there, or if one of the kids had accidentally left the light on while they were half asleep.
There was a faint but distinct sharp smell of bile in the room, and Greg scrunched his nose knowing that one of the kids had been sick. He was about to go from room to room to find which one had been ill and to chastise them for not waking him up while doing what he could to take care of them, but as soon as his eyes darted down he had his answer and smiled.
He reached down and gave Mycroft's shoulder a soft shake. "Hey Sleeping Beauty," he whispered.
Mycroft gave an undignified snort as he jolted awake. Greg giggled. Mycroft frowned. "How long have I been here?"
"Not sure," Greg admitted. "Ian was sick?"
"Yes. He has a bit of a fever and didn't want to move back to bed." Mycroft shifted, clearly uncomfortable but wrapping his arms a bit tighter around Ian.
"That's fine, but you don't have to stay in here with him love," Greg pointed out. He crouched down so he was at eye level with Mycroft.
"I don't mind." Mycroft cleared his throat, trying to rid his voice of the sleepiness he had been feeling so acutely recently.
"I know you don't," Greg said softly, smoothing the curls that Mycroft worked so hard to tame during the day from his forehead. "You're excellent at this, sweetheart. I know that taking all of them in like this wasn't what you signed up for, especially when we were so close to expecting the twins. I'm so thankful I'm doing this with you, Mycroft."
Mycroft leaned his head into Greg's hand. "I'm trying, Gregory. I really am. This doesn't come as naturally to me as it does to you." His eyes fluttered closed for a moment, but when Mycroft looked back up his eyes were foggy. "He called me Papa as he fell asleep."
"That's your name," Greg said.
"Not for them. For the twins, yes, but they already have two parents. I shouldn't be encroaching."
"If it makes you uncomfortable I'll have a word with him when he's well again. He wouldn't want to make you uncomfortable in any. None of them do. They love you so much."
Mycroft hummed. "I'll let you know. He was falling asleep when he said it. It could have just been the fever or sleep."
"Speaking of, we should be getting to bed. All three of us should be. Come on, up you get love." Greg pushed himself up, wincing at the way his knees cracked. "We'll get a bin and put it in bed with him. We'll have to make sure it's on its side. He's always had this fear of choking."
"Are you sure we should leave him?" Mycroft asked.
"He'll be fine," Greg assured him. "We'll get him all tucked in and make sure he's feeling safe before we go back to our bed." He reached down and gave Ian a gentle shake. His son blinked awake slowly. "Come on, kiddo. Let's get you to bed. How's the stomach?"
"Better," Ian grumbled. He shuffled a bit closer to Mycroft and tipped his head up to look at him in the eye. "Thanks."
"You're most welcome," Mycroft sighed. Though Greg knew he was content to sit there with Ian, Mycroft was clearly relieved when Ian stood up.
"I'll bring you something in case you need to do it again, and you can always come and grab us if you need anything," Greg said, pulling Ian close against him. "Love, will you grab a new liner for the bin and bring it to his room?"
"Of course," Mycroft said. He accepted Greg's outstretched hand and winced as his muscles returned to their normal positions. He shuffled around the bathroom after Greg had led Ian to his bedroom. This was not something he had ever expected in his life, but even in moments where he was uncomfortable and someone in his family was unwell, he still felt incredibly lucky.
It was two weeks after the night where Ian had been sick. Mycroft had understood the way disease spread, but he hadn't been prepared for the way that the stomach bug would tear its way through their household. He had mercifully been spared, but Greg wasn't as lucky. His body seemed to hold out until the last child was getting better before his vomiting started. With Greg down for the count, childcare fell to Mycroft.
Taking care of eight kids was not easy, but with six adolescents suddenly calling him Papa and two giggling babies gummily smiling at him, Mycroft didn't find it quite as burdensome as he imagined it should have been.
If having so many children in the house hadn't put damper on their sex life, the constant illness in the house put a complete stop on it. They hadn't even slept in their normal positions because the first night Greg was sick he had nearly thrown up onto Mycroft as he slept.
The first weekend morning after Greg had recovered Mycroft woke to kisses being dusted across his neck. He wrenched his eyes open to see Greg's deep brown ones staring at him mischievously. "Sorry," he stage whispered. "Couldn't help myself – you just look so beautiful."
Mycroft blushed. "Flattery, Gregory, will get you everywhere. Including where you're currently going." He hissed as Greg pushed aside his shirt and sucked on his pectoral muscle. "But you'll have to be fast and we'll have to be quiet."
"I have eight children, Mycroft. I know what I'm doing." With a grin that could only be described as wicked, Greg ducked down under the covers and buried his face in between Mycroft's legs and didn't emerge until he was too sensitive to be touched there anymore and used his legs – which were wrapped around Greg's back – to flip their positions and returned the favor.
It wasn't long after they had finished and were kissing lazily in bed that they heard feet running down the hall and younger siblings began to wake the older ones. Their door was eventually thrown open and some child or another made a noise of disgust as they snogged lazily, now on top of the covers and fully dressed because sex with children around was a dangerous game.
Reluctantly, they pulled away from each other to herd mobile children into the kitchen for breakfast and to pluck not-quite-mobile children from their cribs. Their life together was nothing like they thought it would be like, but as they sat next to each other at the breakfast table and watched as their family ate on their own or snuggled in their arms while devouring a bottle, Greg and Mycroft were content knowing that their lives were as close to perfect as they could be.
A/N: First, a big thank you to those of you who have been so encouraging over the last few months. I've struggled a lot between getting a job, getting laid off from said job, having a horrible service job, losing family members, and feeling like everything I wrote wasn't good enough for public consumption (though some of it was really horrible and I'll never subject any of you to those things). Those of you who have sent me comments and other kind messages, and those who have stopped by on Tumblr (classygirlswearpearlswriting - I don't really post on it and it can be kind of boring so obviously you should all check it out) to say hello have been invaluable sources of inspiration for me. Thank you.
I've decided to mark this series as complete. I feel like I've let the characters stray too far out of the acceptable range for being a little OOC, and I don't really like that. I'm not going to delete anything, so don't worry about that, but I just won't be adding to this universe. Again, thank you to everyone who has stuck by me while I was writing this. Your generous words and dedication to what I've been writing baffles me, but it makes me blush and I don't deserve any of you.
As for other projects, I'm working on something a bit longer. I don't know when that will be complete, but I may try to work in a few shorter stories in the meantime. I'm going to graduate school in the fall, so I don't foresee a lot of time to write in the somewhat near future, but I'll do my best to keep going because I do really enjoy this.
That was a really long-winded way of saying thanks and I love all of you. xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo