Mycroft was by no means stupid. He knew that London had no such shortage of apathetic teens willing to babysit for paltry wages. There was no need for Greg to lie and say Diane couldn't find sitters at the last minute, when really he was offering wholeheartedly.
Mycroft knew what Greg wanted.
He could see it in his eyes any time they passed a park or a stroller. The wanting, the need.
It made sense, really. He was forty-seven, his "biological clock" (for lack of a better and more appropriate term) had been ticking for some time. It was natural for a man of his age to want to have a child of his own. Not that he would ever mention it to Mycroft. That was the difficulty, Mycroft gladly would have given Greg anything he wanted, anything at all, but Greg would never trouble him enough to ask for what he wanted. He was too giving in his own nature to ever be comfortable asking for anything.
Mycroft had no doubts that Greg would make an excellent father.
It was he himself that he was worried about.
Never before in his life had the thought of parenting occurred to him. He worked constantly, and had spent decades cultivating a cold and distant persona. Granted, Greg had broken down a part of that coldness, but it was still there. The image of himself pushing a pram was laughable at best, and downright terrifying at worst. He could deal with angry expatriates any day of the week, but hadn't the faintest idea how to handle an infant.
He was very adamant in this belief, until one night Greg came home from babysitting looking as forlorn as Mycroft had ever seen him.
"Gregory, what's wrong?" he asked, a small measure of alarm creeping into his voice.
"Er, nothing," Greg said, rubbing the back of his neck with the palm of his hand.
Mycroft raised an eyebrow.
Greg opened and shut his mouth a few times before reiterating his earlier statement.
"Well, I mean, it's really nothing. But tonight I took the kids on a walk to get ice cream. We came to a crosswalk and I reached out to take Clara's hand, but she pulled away and said only babies hold their uncle's hands. She then reminded me that she's nine now and very much not a baby. Then Jaime got upset and wouldn't hold my hand either." He sighed. "I dunno, I guess they just don't need their uncle anymore."
Mycroft's heart swelled for the other man.
"Gregory!" he cried, walking over and placing a hand on his husband's cheek. "Those children adore you, they'll always need you."
Greg shrugged, obviously not convinced.
For some reason, that did it for Mycroft. That shrug. Those sad eyes.
"Gregory, I've been thinking," he said slowly, removing his hand from Greg's cheek and placing it in his own pocket nervously. "Perhaps we might possibly discuss the idea of having a child of our own…" his voice trailed off and he looked at the other man expectantly.
Greg's jaw dropped. "Seriously?"
Mycroft smiled and nodded.
Greg's face lit up like a Christmas light display. "Oh My!" He moved to embrace the other man but stopped.
"My, are you sure that this is something you want? I mean, it's a big deal. I don't want you to agree to this if it's something you don't want and are just doing for my sake."
"Gregory."
Mycroft closed the distance between them and rested his forehead against Greg's.
"There is nothing I would like more in life than to raise a child with you," he said softly.
And in that moment, that was true.
Wow, 50 chapters! I just want to say thank you to everyone who's stuck around to this point. You all are the best. Please keep reviewing and submitting prompts! :D
XOXO
Brooke
