Title: Three Men and a Baby (or Two)
Rating: PG/K+
Originally posted: 25th January 2015
Originally written for: runthecon, round 5, on Livejournal.
Notes: for the prompt 'last man standing'
El had been working too hard. Between her job, taking care of her son, and worrying inordinately about the safety of her husband and loved ones, the stress was just taking its toll. Before long, the men in her life had to step in and take charge. Everything else was cancelled or put on hold and a spa weekend was arranged for Mrs Burke.
"Are you sure you'll be okay without me?" she asked Peter for maybe the fortieth time as she double-checked her bag was packed correctly.
"El, I'll be fine," he promised. "Me and my son are going to have a nice, quiet, relaxed weekend together."
The phrase 'famous last words' rang through his wife's head but she didn't say it. It wasn't as if she didn't trust Peter to look after an eighteen month old for a couple of days, especially his own son who he loved like no other, but this had never happened before. He had never been solely responsible for little Neal for more than a few hours, and if anything should suddenly come up work-wise, El wasn't sure how he would cope. Still, she trusted her husband, and she had laid in a back-up plan by asking Mozzie to be on standby, just in case. He was maybe the most unlikely baby sitter and yet had proven himself the world's best with both her and Diana. Speaking of which, it was in the next moment that the doorbell sounded and El's spa partner was waiting on the doorstep for two moms left together and Peter closed the door behind them with a sigh.
So far, Neal had still been sleeping, and until he woke, Peter could catch up on reading the newspaper, maybe get himself a coffee and...
He didn't even get a chance to finish the thought before he heard crying from upstairs. Little Neal, much like his namesake, wanted attention, and was never backwards in coming forwards about making sure he got it.
"Daddy's coming, son!" said Peter, hurrying up the stairs.
It started there and didn't stop for almost twenty four hours straight. Peter's so-called relaxed weekend with his son was certainly anything but quiet or relaxing. Little Neal was into everything and all of the time. He wanted to play but never the same activity for more than a few minutes. He wanted to eat but never what Peter was offering him. He wanted to make noise when quiet was called for, and he really was not a fan of nap time or even bed time.
When Caffrey dropped by to see how things were going, he found his agent friend up to his elbows in milk-soaked cookies, finger paint, and other things he'd rather not identify. Little Neal was having the greatest time, but clearly Daddy Peter was struggling.
"Okay, this is obviously a two man job," said Neal, taking off his jacket and rolling up his sleeves.
They coped for a while. Neal got his namesake into drawing with crayons while Peter took a break, but things soon got out of hand again. Neal took a call on his cell, barely turning his back for a minute, and suddenly little Neal was on the move, trying to use Satchmo like a horsie. The dog was not impressed.
It was Sunday morning when a bleary-eyed Peter and unkempt Neal gave in and called Mozzie. It was painful to have him show up looking so bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, with a perfectly clean and smiling Theo comfortably in his arms. The little conspiracy theorist was annoyingly good with kids, and yet seemed the most unlikely person to be so.
"Please, help us," said Peter, perhaps the first time he had been so adamant about needing assistance from Mozzie.
The little guy took perhaps too much delight in being of use, acting as if he were The Baby Whisperer or something. Little Neal responded to Uncle Mozzie just as Theo did, and the kids were suddenly a pair of angels under his care and guidance.
When Sunday night fell, El and Diana returned home.
"I don't know," Diana was saying as they came through the door of the Burkes' house, "I just got a message from Mozzie that said to come to your house to pick up Theo."
"Ssh!" he urged them as he hurried down the stairs before them. "Our little men are sleeping. Actually, men of all shapes and sizes are sleeping," he noted, glancing into the living room and shaking his head. "They had a rough couple of days."
El and Diana followed his lead and looked towards the couch where Peter and Neal were sprawled against each other, apparently dead to the world. Mozzie seemed to be the last man standing. Somehow neither Elizabeth nor Diana were at all surprised.