Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The gift shop is loud on most days, but Steven has learned to tune out most of it in favor of focusing on his own work - sort through inventory items, slap price tags on them, and put them on display for tiny, grabby hands. The ear-splitting screams of children tearing through the shop in a frenzy of excitement with weary-eyed, frazzled adults trailing after them are familiar enough that Steven doesn’t pay them much heed anymore.

However, the sound of quiet sniffling is a new one that makes him stop in his tracks.

“Oh, hello,” he says, alarmed, when he finds the source - a tiny, dark-haired girl with tanned skin huddled by the display of postcards and seemingly entirely alone in the shop. “What’s the matter, little love?”

“I’m lost,” she says feebly, her brown eyes red-rimmed and damp when she looks up. Her accent is a strange mix of American and British as she adds, “I can’t find my amma.”

“Your, er - ‘amma?’” Steven echoes the unfamiliar word warily.

“My mummy,” the girl translates as she rubs at one eye with a closed fist. “She said to find the gift shop and wait for her if I got lost in the museum.”

“And right she was.” Steven kneels to the girl’s height. “I work here at the gift shop. My name’s Steven - with a ‘v.’” He taps his nametag, which finally makes the girl smile.

“Hello, Mr. Steven with a ‘v,’” she echoes politely.

“Tell you what,” Steven adds, “You can sit up front at the counter with me, and I’ll ask security to page your mum so she can come and get you, alright?”

The girl sniffles again as she nods. “Okay.”

She takes Steven’s offered hand and lets him lead her to the gift shop counter, clambering up onto the small stool he pulls out for her to sit on.

“What’s your name?” Steven asks as he picks up the phone.

“Nila, but my full name is Vennila.” The girl blinks owlishly back at him, her tears having fully dried now. “I can spell it for you if you’d like?”

“Yes, please,” Steven says, relieved; it seems she’s used to having people ask her that.

Dutifully, she spells out her full first name, and Steven passes on the message to the security guard at the front desk to page her mother down to the gift shop.

“Now how did you get lost, then?” Steven asks once he places the phone down.

“My class came on a field trip to the museum, and George kept pulling on my hair and calling me a cupcake for getting mad ‘cause he overheard my mummy calling me ‘vanilla bean.’” Nila scowls, giving away her distaste for the nickname. “And he wouldn’t stop, so I hid in the loo, but then when I came out, the group was gone. My mummy’s chaperoning one of the other groups, but I couldn’t find her, either, so I followed the signs down to the gift shop.”

“That was very smart of you.” Steven offers her a lollipop from the stand next to the counter, but she shakes her head reluctantly.

“No, thank you. Amma says I shouldn’t take candy from strangers.”

“That’s a good rule.” Steven obediently returns the lollipop to the stand. “Let’s ask her when she comes to get you, and if she says you can have one, then you can take your pick, alright?”

Nila smiles tentatively. “I’d like that.” She cranes her head up to the stack of plush animals on the shelf behind Steven thoughtfully. “Are those supposed to be the Egyptian gods?”

Steven follows her gaze to the stuffed toys above him - the falcon for Horus, the jackal for Anubis, and the cat for Bast - and nods grudgingly.

“Yeah. Not really accurate, but that’s what they have me selling, I guess.”

Nila wrinkles her nose. “I think I liked the hieroglyphs upstairs better.”

“Me, too,” Steven agrees fervently. “How old are you, anyway?”

“Five,” Nila declares proudly. “But I’ll be six soon.”

“That’s a good age to be,” Steven says even though he can’t really recall being six years old himself; he can’t even dredge up any memories of Marc at that age.

“Oh my God, Nila!” You look significantly more frazzled than any of the other parents in the gift shop as you hurry to scoop your daughter up from behind the counter. “You had me so scared when Mrs. Coleman said she couldn’t find you!”

“I’m sorry, Amma,” Nila says guiltily as she curls into your embrace. “George called me a cupcake again and pulled my hair and it hurt.”

“I figured that was the case,” you mutter irritably, pressing your face into Nila’s dark hair as you clutch her tightly. “I’ll have to have a talk with his mom about him - again.”

Your accent is distinctly American, and Steven thinks he can guess where Nila’s strange blend of accents came from between you and her fellow schoolmates. Your gaze finally lifts to him, and he can’t help but stare when he notices just how identical you and your daughter look, all the way from your jet-black hair and chocolate-brown eyes down to your narrow, sloping nose and soft-looking pursed lips.

“I’m Nila’s mother, in case that wasn’t obvious,” you explain, drawing him out of his reverie as you add what he presumes is your name before saying, “Thank you so much for keeping her safe.”

“It wasn’t a problem at all,” he reassures you. “We were having a lovely talk about the gods back here.” He gestures to the shelf behind him.

You smile wryly. “Sorry about that, she’s been on a Percy Jackson kick lately and I’ve been trying to shift her interest to a different series, so I started The Kane Chronicles with her last week and now she won’t stop talking about the Egyptian pantheon.”

“I like the Greek one, too,” Nila grumbles into your shoulder.

“I know, kanmani.” Steven watches as you press a kiss into her hair. “Let’s get you back to your class, okay? I’ll ask Mrs. Coleman to make sure George doesn’t come near you again.”

“Oh, hang on just a mo’.” Steven scrambles for the lollipop stand, tugging it closer to himself on the counter. “I promised Nila I’d ask you if she could have one,” he explains when your eyebrows climb on your forehead in surprise.

“Oh.” You glance down at Nila, whose tiny fingers have twisted hopefully into the fabric of your shirt, and then back up at Steven. “Uh, sure, I don’t see why not.” You set Nila down, allowing her to huddle into your side. “Go ahead and pick a flavor,” you reassure her as you reach for your wallet.

“It’s on me,” Steven blurts out, and you freeze, wide-eyed. “I mean-” He swallows slightly, sudden heat rising in his face under the weight of your startled gaze on him. “It’s the least I can do, what with her having such a rough time of it today and all.”

You visibly hesitate, but then draw your hand back out of your pocket in surrender as Nila selects a bright purple lollipop and holds it out for Steven to officially ring up.

“I picked grape,” she informs you, and Steven watches as you smile fondly, your eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Ew, gross,” you tease.

Nila sticks her tongue out at you. “I can’t help it if you have no tastebuds, Amma.”

“You’re right, I burned them all this morning with my coffee,” you deadpan.

It’s clearly a familiar argument between the two of you, and Steven can’t help but smile as he places one pound from his own wallet into the register and then hands the lollipop to a giggling Nila.

“Be good for your mum now,” he tells her mock-sternly. “Don’t give her any more scares.”

“Yes, Mr. Steven with a ‘v,’” she agrees solemnly, clinging to your pant leg with one hand while clutching her new candy with the other.

“Thank you again,” you say, your hand smoothing absently over Nila’s hair even as your eyes drop briefly to Steven’s nametag and then back up to his face. “Mr. Steven with a ‘v,’” you add mildly, a glimmer of amusement in your eyes that makes them appear more golden than brown in the bright fluorescent lighting of the gift shop.

His face feels hot and flushed long after you’ve vanished out of sight with your daughter in tow.

“Cute kid,” Marc remarks innocently from his reflection in the glass counter.

“She was, yeah,” Steven agrees under his breath as he tries to focus on scanning inventory items again.

“Cute mom, too.” Marc sounds distinctly less innocent now.

“Oi,” Steven mutters a little more sharply. “That’s hardly appropriate.”

“You were the one thinking it,” Marc grumbles.

“Well, I shouldn’t have thought it,” Steven retorts. “So drop it, yeah?”

To his credit, Marc doesn’t offer any more unwarranted comments, but Steven can feel his alter’s gaze burning into the side of his head for the rest of his shift.

“Sara got a new puppy yesterday,” Nila informs you as the two of you enter your flat building after a round of grocery shopping at the end of the week, swinging her tiny bag of groceries at her side.

“Did she?” you deadpan, knowing what she’s about to ask next as you shift your own bag of groceries in the crook of your elbow to better support it. “Well, it’s a shame our building doesn’t allow dogs.”

“What about a kitten?” Nila asks hopefully.

“Also no,” you sigh as you usher her into the lift. “I already have a tiny monkey to take care of, I don’t think I need a pet on top of that.”

“I’m not a monkey today,” she grumbles even as she drops her bag onto the tile floor so that she can wrap herself around your jean-clad leg and directly contradict her own point. “I’m a bear cub, ‘cause you’re a mama bear.”

“Yeah, okay,” you sigh wearily. “Let’s get you home, caradi kutti.”

“Mr. Steven with a ‘v!’” she shrieks abruptly, and you’re forced to catch the lift door to keep it from closing on her as she bolts out suddenly and tackles the man entering the building in a tight hug.

“Oh! Hello again, Nila.” Steven beams brightly down at your daughter once he recovers from his surprise. “I didn’t know you lived here.”

“We’re up on the fifth floor,” Nila confirms. “Amma and I moved in two weeks ago.”

Steven glances up at you, visibly taking in the startled look on your face before lifting his hand in a feeble wave.

“Hiya.”

“Hey,” you offer just as weakly, your heart still racing from the brief terror of the lift door nearly closing on your daughter. “Nila, let the nice man go so he can get into the lift.”

“Okay.” Nila releases Steven and bounds back to your side as Steven joins both of you in the elevator.

“I’m on the fifth, too,” he adds to you, not bothering to reach for the panel of buttons once he sees that you’ve already selected the fifth floor.

“Amma?” Nila asks plaintively as the doors close and the lift begins to move slowly upward.

“Kutti?” you return easily.

“What’s the word for ‘blue’ again?” she presses.

“Neelam,” you translate for her, wondering why she needs you to translate a word she knows perfectly well.

“That’s my favorite color,” she informs Steven, who blinks owlishly back down at her in surprise. “‘Cause it sounds like my name.”

“Well, that seems like perfect reasoning,” he answers, smiling when she preens at the praise. “What language is that, anyway?” he adds to you curiously. “It doesn’t sound like Hindi - not that I’d really recognize Hindi, either.”

“It’s Tamil.” You ruffle Nila’s hair as she presses her face into your side again. “A South Indian language.”

“It’s pretty,” Steven offers. “What little I’ve heard of it, anyway.”

“Thanks.” You smile faintly despite yourself. “I’m not exactly fluent, but I figured I’d pass on whatever I do know, so Nila and I try to speak it as often as we can at home.”

“I just started learning French, too!” Nila pipes up.

“She’s got Duolingo on her tablet,” you supply as an explanation when Steven’s eyebrows rise in surprise.

“Ah, bon?” He kneels to her height, setting his messenger bag down beside him on the elevator floor. “Je parle francais aussi.”

“Merveilleux!” Nila perks up delightedly. “Can I practice with you?”

“Anytime you’d like,” Steven reassures her. “Your accent’s spot-on, by the way - very impressive for a beginner.”

“She didn’t get her linguistic ability from me, I know that much,” you joke as the lift door opens to reveal your mutual floor, collecting your groceries and stepping off as Nila follows your lead.

“Oh, did she get it from her dad, then?” Steven asks mildly, adjusting his messenger bag on his shoulder as he follows you out of the lift, and you shake your head.

“Definitely not.” You can’t quite suppress the disdain in your tone in time, but hurriedly soften it when Steven’s eyebrows rise in surprise. “It’s just the two of us.”

“Sorry to hear,” he says sincerely.

“Don’t be,” you dismiss. “We’re fine as we are.” You nudge Nila. “Can you find our flat, baby?”

“Okay!” She takes off down the hall and stops in front of your door. “Found it!”

“Looks like we’re three apart.” Steven nods to his own flat’s front door as he stops in front of it. “Listen, er - if you need anything-” He hesitates. “Well, I figure knowing one of your neighbors might come in handy.”

“Thank you,” you say, pleasantly startled by the offer. “That means a lot. And for the record, that goes both ways.”

He smiles and your heart skips a selfish beat as he answers brightly, “Cheers, thanks.”

“Bye, Mr. Steven with a ‘v!’” Nila shouts down the hallway, and you snort with laughter before you can quite suppress it in time at the look of half-hearted dismay that washes over Steven’s face.

“It’s, er - it’s just Steven,” he says helplessly. “Not sure why I introduced myself like that in the first place, but if Nila really doesn’t know my name-”

“Oh, no, she knows it,” you reassure him. “She’s just messing with you, but don’t take it too hard. It means she likes you.”

“Oh.” Steven beams, clearly pleased. “I like her, too, she’s absolutely lovely.” He hesitates before adding tentatively, “Takes after her mum there, I s’pose.”

You’re positive your face hasn’t felt this warm in a long time.

“Uh-” You clear your throat. “Thanks. It, um - it was good to see you again.”

“You, too.” Steven takes a step backward and jolts in surprise when his back connects with the closed door. “Oh! Er-” He glances back at the door as if astonished that it had somehow materialized there, and a laugh bubbles out of your throat before you can quite stop it in time as an embarrassed flush rises up his neck and into his face.

“Amma, come on!” Nila calls.

“See you around, ‘just Steven,’” you tease and wonder if you’re imagining the way his eyes crinkle amusedly at the corners in response to your gentle ribbing even as you head down the hall to let your daughter and yourself into your flat.

Chapter Text

Steven has no idea how he’s ended up in this situation.

Well, no, that’s a lie; he knows exactly how he’s ended up in this situation. All it had taken was one look at your frantic, panicked expression the moment he had opened his door before he had instantly agreed to watch Nila for you - “just for an hour while I deal with a work thing, I swear it won’t take longer than that, I’m so sorry, my usual babysitter isn’t answering my calls” - and then you had taken off down the hall after one last warning for Nila to “please, please behave.”

To her credit, all Nila has done in the fifteen minutes since you had dropped her off is stare at Gus the Second and his still-unnamed fish friend gliding lazily around their shared tank, her eyes wide and her nose nearly plastered against the glass while Steven watches her warily, unsure how to navigate a child in his flat.

“Kids need snacks.” Marc is suddenly staring at him from his reflection in the fish tank, his eyes dark and unreadable. “Ask her if she’s hungry.”

“Are you hungry?” Steven asks obediently.

“No, thank you, Mr. Steven,” Nila answers politely. “Amma gave me lunch right before she got called back to work. It happens a lot when she’s supposed to have a day off.” She taps one finger carefully against the glass when Gus the Second swims up to the edge of the tank and stares blankly at her. “What happened to Gus the First?”

Steven grimaces inwardly, wondering just how to tell her he had accidentally killed his first fish out of neglect while he had been in the middle of a dissociative episode.

“Do not tell her the fish died,” Marc warns. “You’re not gonna want to explain to her mom why she suddenly knows what death is.”

Dutifully, Steven settles on admitting, “Well, Gus wasn’t very happy here, so he had to go somewhere else.”

“Oh.” Nila considers that for a moment, her nose wrinkling in contemplation, before she nods solemnly. “Sometimes people have to do that for their own good. Like how Amma had to move here while I was still in her tummy.”

“Really?” Steven asks, thrown off suddenly by the new information. “Why did your mum have to move here?”

Nila frowns deeply. “‘Cause she wasn’t happy in her old home, and she says I wouldn’t have been happy, either.”

“Oh,” Steven says faintly, though he’s frankly not sure what kind of answer he had been expecting.

Nila turns back to the fish tank, squinting at the goldfish swimming beside Gus the Second and chewing her lip thoughtfully.

“I think this one looks like a ‘Frank,’” she decides.

“You know what?” Steven says impulsively. “Yeah, I think he does.”

“Please don’t name the fish ‘Frank,’” Marc sighs wearily from his reflection.

Don’t see you offering any better ideas, Steven thinks dryly, not wanting to address Marc out loud and frighten the five-year-old currently in his care. “Did you read more of The Kane Chronicles?” he asks Nila instead.

“Uh-huh. I finished the series yesterday.” She turns away from the tank and sinks onto the couch cushions she’d been standing on. “I asked Amma for help with some of the big words, but I read them all by myself otherwise.”

“That’s impressive.” Steven goes to the bookshelf and plucks out the encyclopedia he’d been looking for. “Most children your age are still reading picture books.”

“And that’s okay, too.” Nila shrugs. “Amma says not everyone has to do the same things at the same time.”

“Your mum sounds very smart.” Steven settles on the couch beside her as she smiles brilliantly, clearly proud of you.

“Uh-huh. She’s studying to become a computer programmer.” She peers at the encyclopedia. “What’s that?”

“This is a book on Egyptian mythology,” Steven explains, opening the cover to reveal the large table of contents for Nila to read through. “While we wait for your mum to get back, why don’t we pick a chapter and read it together?”

“‘Kay.” Nila frowns deeply at the list of chapters in consideration before she points at one of them. “Can we read this one?”

Steven glances down at the chapter she’s chosen and grimaces inwardly; she’s picked the chapter on Khonshu.

“Are you sure you don’t want a different one?” he hedges, but Nila widens her eyes innocently as she latches onto his arm in her best koala impression.

“Can we read this one, please, Mr. Steven?”

“Oh, she’s good,” Marc mutters from Steven’s reflection, seemingly impressed. “Those are some amazing puppy eyes.”

“Alright,” Steven relents out loud, earning a bright smile from Nila as he opens the encyclopedia to the right chapter.

By the time you arrive to pick her up two hours and three encyclopedia chapters later, she is completely attached to Steven’s side and physically clings to his leg when you try to pick her up.

“We were busy,” she informs you mulishly. “Mr. Steven was reading me a book.”

“Was he now?” Steven can’t help but take in the raw exhaustion on your face as you frown at your daughter; he’s seen that same expression in his reflection far too many times to not recognize it instantly. “Well, little miss, we’ve taken up more than enough of his day as it is, so let’s say goodbye for now and-”

“No.” Nila buries her face into Steven’s leg, to his surprise.

“She probably needs a nap,” you explain under your breath to him, an apology already brewing in your tone even before you add, “I’m sorry, I know I’m already picking her up later than I said I would. I’ll just take her home now-”

“-or you could stay.” The offer leaves him before he can really think twice about it. “I mean, if you wanted to,” he adds tentatively. “You look like you could use some rest yourself.”

“I’m fine,” you dismiss automatically, your gaze darting back down to where Nila is clinging to his leg. “Nila, we should really go-”

“No.” Her lower lip wobbles dangerously.

“I’m not the best cook, but as long as you’re both alright with vegan food, you’re welcome to stay for dinner,” Steven blurts out impulsively.

“What are you doing?” Marc asks warily from somewhere behind him, but he ignores the question. “This is a bad idea,” Marc mutters irritably when he realizes Steven has no answer for him. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

You are frozen with surprise, clearly startled by the offer, and Steven can’t help but feel a twinge of empathy for the dark circles beneath your eyes as you visibly mull it over.

“Okay,” you relent at last. “I’d really like that.”

“We can stay?” Nila perks up again, her brewing tantrum vanishing instantly.

“If you take a nap,” you warn her, and her little mouth wriggles briefly into a frown before she huffs in defeat.

“Fine.” She releases Steven’s leg and tears back into the living room to climb back onto his couch. “Come see Mr. Steven’s fish, Amma!”

“I’m sorry about her,” you apologize, but Steven shakes his head.

“Don’t be, I really do love spending time with her. And the company would be nice.”

You smile at last - a shy, uncertain little thing that makes his heart wrench in his chest.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He hesitates. “You’re really alright with eating vegan tonight?”

“Considering the two of us are already vegetarian, yeah,” you reassure him. “As long as it really doesn’t bother you. I can help, too.”

“Don’t be silly, I won’t have you lifting a finger as a guest,” he dismisses. “Come on in, make yourself at home.” He steps back to allow you inside.

“Amma, the fish,” Nila insists, and you shake your head fondly as you obediently step into the flat and toe off your shoes politely by the doorway before making your way across the living room as Steven watches you go. “This one is Gus the Second, and I named this one ‘Frank,’” Nila says as you settle on the couch beside her, pointing out each goldfish before her nose wrinkles thoughtfully. “What’s Tamil for ‘fish?’”

“Meen,” you answer absently before what she had said seems to register. “Wait, you named the other fish?” When Nila nods proudly, you glance at Steven for an explanation as he shrugs, sinking down onto the couch on your other side.

“I couldn’t think of a name for him myself, but ‘Frank’ seems to suit him fine.” He ignores Marc’s disgruntled grumbling from his reflection.

“Yeah, I think it does, too.” You smile as Nila clambers into your lap, snuggling into your embrace readily.

“I’m gonna nap now ‘cause I promised you I would,” she informs you.

“Thank you, baby. That’s very responsible of you.” You rub her back absently as she nestles her head against your shoulder and dozes off so quickly that Steven selfishly envies her ability to fall asleep so easily.

“D’you want to put her down in the other room?” he offers.

“No, she’s fine here,” you dismiss. “She’ll be out cold for another hour or so. Besides, I only get a few more years before she decides she’s too old to cuddle with me - gotta enjoy them while they last.”

Steven hesitates, but the question bursts out of him before he can quite stop it in time.

“She said you moved here before she was born - is it alright if I ask why?”

You are quiet long enough to make him regret asking.

“Sorry,” he says quickly. “I’m sorry, that’s really personal, innit? You don’t have to answer that, I’m so sorry-”

“Steven,” you interrupt his increasingly frantic apologies, and he immediately clamps his mouth shut before he can continue rambling. “It’s okay, I don’t mind.” You chew the inside of your lip, clearly debating what to say. “Her father and I were together in college, but when I found out I was pregnant, he decided he didn’t want to be involved.”

“Prick,” Steven mutters instinctively, which makes you smile even as you shrug mildly, careful not to dislodge the child sleeping on your shoulder.

“It’s fine, I didn’t expect him to stick around. But then he suggested I get rid of her, which I wasn’t even remotely on board for. Not to mention my parents were pretty pissed at how irresponsible I was - their words, not mine,” you add when Steven opens his mouth indignantly to protest on your behalf. “And I decided Nila would be better off as far away from all of that as I could afford to get her, so-” You gesture vaguely around yourself. “-London.”

“I’m sorry,” Steven says again, but you shake your head.

“Don’t be.” You card your fingers through Nila’s dark hair gingerly. “For her, I’d do it all over again.”

“You’re a really good mum,” Steven blurts out before he can stop himself and you stare at him, wide-eyed and seemingly stunned like no one has ever told you that before. “I mean, er-” he gestures to the sleeping child. “She seems happy.”

“Oh,” you say feebly. “Thank you.” Your gaze drops to the top of Nila’s head as your hand drifts to her small back, rubbing it slowly back and forth. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted for her.”

The confession leaves you in barely more than a whisper, and it suddenly strikes Steven again just how exhausted you look; you must be running yourself ragged just to provide for your daughter.

“What happened to make you go to work today?” he asks impulsively. “Nila said it was supposed to be your day off.”

“They were understaffed, as usual.” You wave your free hand absently. “My shifts at the café are only supposed to be only five days out of the week, but my manager sometimes makes me come in for a couple of hours even on my days off if the place is busy enough. And then there are the online classes I’m taking to finish my degree so I can get a better job and-” You let out a weary sigh that ruffles your daughter’s hair, resting your chin against the top of her head. “It’s a lot.”

“I can tell.” Steven hesitates before nudging your knee gingerly with his own to keep from jostling the sleeping child in your lap. “You look absolutely knackered.”

You grin wryly. “Thanks, that’s just what a girl likes to hear.”

Steven feels heat rise in his face as he stammers, flustered, “Oh, no, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean it like that, I just-”

Your laughter cuts him off, soft and clear like windchimes caught in a breeze.

“Steven, I’m kidding.” You knock your knee back against his lightly. “Relax, we’re good.”

Your American accent is familiar in the same way Marc’s is, but Steven can’t quite place the region.

“Where in America are you from?” he asks, and your eyebrows knit together curiously.

“Why so many questions about me?”

“Sorry.” He backtracks rapidly, worried he’s overstepped some invisible boundary. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, I just - I’d like to get to know you better, that’s all.”

You relax marginally. “Well, that hardly seems fair since I don’t know anything about you other than the fact that you work in the museum and you’re good with kids.”

“Oh, no, I’m rubbish with kids, really,” Steven dismisses. “Nila’s the exception - I s’pose it’s because we’ve got so much in common.”

“Yeah, well, she’s good at making friends with just about anyone, so I can believe that.” You’re grinning again as you nestle your chin back against the top of Nila’s head. “New Jersey, for the record - that’s where I’m from.”

Marc makes a disgusted noise in the back of Steven’s head, which the latter firmly ignores.

“Oh, it’s okay, you can laugh,” you reassure him, clearly mistaking the brief flash of struggle on his face for disdain. “Everybody makes fun of Jersey for their own reasons back in the States.”

“Yeah, ‘cause the whole state’s a big garbage pile,” Marc grumbles good-naturedly under his breath.

“It’s not that,” Steven reassures you and scolds Marc at the same time. “It just surprised me, that’s all. I’ve got this, er - friend from Chicago, and he sounds nothing like you.”

“Watch it,” Marc warns, all levity in his voice vanishing instantly, and Steven wonders just how Marc expects him to proceed with any kind of friendship with you without so much as a mention of his alter.

“Yeah, the Midwest basically has its own dialect,” you muse absently at the same time. “Same goes for the South and the West Coast.”

Nila snuffles in her sleep and you automatically press your palm to her back, rubbing circles into her spine until she settles back down against you. A vague, hazy image of Steven’s mother’s smile - warm and tender as she had held him the same way you are holding Nila now - drifts across the front of his mind briefly, but he tries not to dwell on it for long; he’s not sure if the memory is real or not, and he doesn’t dare ask Marc when the other man basically turns into a brick wall anytime he mentions their mother.

“Steven?” The sound of his name draws him out of his reverie. “Did you go somewhere just now?” There’s a concerned furrow between your eyebrows that he selfishly wishes he could reach out and smooth away with his thumb.

“No,” he reassures you. “I’m right here - not going anywhere.” The fervor in his voice surprises even him.

To his relief, you smile. “I’m glad.”

Marc is quiet for once in the back of Steven’s head.

Chapter Text

You manage to gently press - or as Steven puts it, “bully” - your way into the kitchen to help him with dinner preparations while Nila is occupied with reading his encyclopedia on the couch in the other room once she’s woken up from her nap.

“I didn’t bully you,” you huff indignantly.

“You most certainly did.” There’s a spark of amusement in Steven’s eyes that tells you he doesn’t seem to mind it, though. “It’s really no trouble to cook on my own, you know. Been doin’ it for a while now.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t have to tonight,” you answer with a mild shrug.

You’re not quite sure what to make of the strangely flustered expression that flashes briefly across his face as you duck your head back down to focus on chopping the carrots and onions you’ve been given into tiny pieces; you know your daughter will likely only eat the vegetables if they’re so tiny that they seem nonexistent.

“You’re alright with jarred sauce, yeah?” Steven asks uncertainly after a beat, drawing your attention back to him as he pours a box of dry linguini into the pot of boiling water in front of him.

“Jarred sauce is fine.” You knock your shoulder briefly against his. “It’s not like Nila and I need anything fancy - we eat Spaghetti-O’s on a weekly basis, so this is already an upgrade from that.”

Steven cracks a tentative smile as he opens the bottle of store-bought marinara sauce. “Isn’t Spaghetti-O’s that stuff that comes in a can and tastes like rubber in ketchup? How do you stand it?”

“By making it hotter than lava and burning off my tastebuds so I don’t have to actually taste it,” you deadpan, which makes him chuckle.

He’s got a nice laugh, you can’t help but think to yourself; it’s deep and rich, and the sound settles deep in your own chest and warms you from the inside out faster than a shot of straight whiskey - not that you’re much of a drinker. His eyes crinkle prettily at the corners when he smiles, too, revealing laugh lines that make you want to just keep looking at him, if only to savor a little of something you can’t ever allow yourself to have.

“What?” he asks, his smile fading slightly, and you realize you’ve been caught staring.

“Oh, uh - you got a little sauce on your face when you opened the jar,” you lie.

“Where?” He scrubs self-consciously at his cheek with his shirt’s sleeve. “Did I get it?”

“Yeah.” You stamp down the sudden, selfish urge to reach out and pretend to wipe off the non-existent drop of sauce; touching him is a boundary you cannot cross. “You got it.”

You duck your head to focus on chopping vegetables again, trying not to watch how he frowns deeply at his own sleeve - evidently trying to see if he’d actually gotten sauce on his shirt after wiping his face clean - before his gaze fixes on a point somewhere above the pot of boiling water. Belatedly, you realize he’s squinting at his warped reflection in the stainless steel stovetop and feel a twinge of guilt that your lie had rattled him so badly.

A sudden lance of sharp pain in your hand makes you look down and instinctively grimace.

“Shit.” In your distraction, you’d grazed your fingertip with the knife, and blood is already welling to the surface of the shallow cut.

“Bad word, Amma!” Nila calls obliviously from the living room.

“Sorry, baby!” you call back ruefully. “I’ll put something in the swear jar later!”

“What happened?” Steven’s attention snaps back to you before his eyes lower to your injured finger. “Oh, that’s not good.”

“I’m fine,” you reassure him as you set the knife aside. “I wasn’t paying attention, that’s all.”

“Here.” He ushers you over to the sink. “Run some cold water over that, I’ll fetch a bandage for you.”

“It’s really not that bad,” you try to protest, but he pointedly opens the faucet and waits until you grudgingly stick your bleeding finger beneath the running water before turning to rummage in one of the cupboards.

“Now where did I put that first-aid kit…?” he’s muttering to himself when you look over your shoulder at him before he pauses like he’s listening to something you’re not able to hear. “Ah, got it.” He fishes out the first-aid kit and sets it on the counter. “C’mon, get closer.”

He beckons you closer and you do your best not to let your face heat up - you should not like that as much as you do - as you turn off the tap and approach him. He holds out his hand expectantly and you place your hand in his, allowing him to carefully dry the damp skin surrounding your injury with a clean dish towel before he dabs a drop of antiseptic ointment onto the cut and then wraps a Band-Aid tightly over your fingertip.

“There,” he says, satisfied. “How’s that feel?”

“Better,” you admit, but you can’t help but wince inwardly when you see the spots of red on the otherwise-white towel he’d set aside. “Sorry about the towel.”

“What?” Steven follows your gaze to the towel, visibly confused for a moment before it seems to register in his head what you’re referring to. “Oh, no, don’t apologize - it’ll come out in the wash. Besides, there are plenty of towels, but only one you.” He smiles warmly back at you, and you’re horrified when your eyes begin stinging at the corners.

“Oh.” Your voice wobbles dangerously. “Um - thanks.”

His eyebrows begin to furrow and you know already that he’s about to ask why you’re suddenly such an emotional wreck over something so small, but thankfully, Nila interrupts both of you as she enters the kitchen to investigate what had happened.

“Oh, no, Amma!” She rushes over to the two of you, tugging on your wrist until Steven releases your hand so that you can lower it to her height. “Does it hurt a lot?” she demands as she snatches your hand to draw it close to her face, her tone grave and solemn as she examines Steven’s handiwork.

“A whole lot,” you say as you feign a mock-sorrowful tone, relieved that your voice sounds steady again even as you catch Steven biting back a laugh out of the corner of your eye.

“I’ll make it better,” Nila declares and presses a delicate kiss over the Band-Aid covering your fingertip.

“Oh, wow,” you gasp dramatically, scooping her into your arms and settling her on your hip. “I’m cured! It’s a miracle, Vanilla Bean!”

She giggles and throws her arms around your neck, thrilled that you’re carrying her; you’ve been less and less capable of doing so the more she grows. You press a firm kiss to her cheek and let her nestle her head against your shoulder, and when you look back up at Steven, you find him watching the two of you as he leans against his kitchen countertop, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

At Steven’s insistence, you retrieve your laptop from your flat down the hall after the three of you finish eating dinner and bring it back to his living room so that he and Nila can continue leafing through his encyclopedia of Egyptian mythology while you work on a project for your online class that’s due at midnight, half-listening to their conversation as you squint at your code editor hard enough that you’re sure you’ll have a headache within the hour.

“Amma’s got her frowny face on,” you hear Nila explaining to Steven. “That means she’s not paying attention.”

“I am very much paying attention,” you warn without looking away from your laptop. “So if you’re gearing up for some shenanigans, I will know and you will not like the consequences.”

Nila huffs, disappointed, and you’re rewarded with the sound of Steven’s chuckle once more.

“I don’t think I’ve heard anyone use the word ‘shenanigans’ before,” he admits once he gets his laughter under control.

“It’s fitting for the mischief Nila causes when she thinks I’m not looking,” you answer dryly, making your daughter stick her tongue out at you.

“Amma calls me an agent of chaos,” she informs Steven as he snorts derisively.

“I’m losing my mind,” you admit as you finally look up from your code and at Steven, who tilts his head inquisitively even as Nila flips the encyclopedia’s pages and continues to read on her own. “I’ve been running into this error in my project for three days now and I can’t find a way past it.”

“Well, I’m no programmer,” Steven admits. “But if it’s a logic problem, I could try and help if you explained it in layman’s terms?”

You chew your lip, considering how best to explain your problem before nodding.

“Okay, so for argument’s sake, say you’re on a website and you want to enter some information into the text fields - name, phone number, that kind of thing. I have an information store that updates itself every time the user enters a new value, but the problem I’m running into is that every time I put in anything while testing, it keeps updating the store for every individual letter the user types in, making the whole process lag behind. That’s where I’m stuck right now.”

Steven frowns thoughtfully. “Why not just put a delay on it?”

You blink bemusedly. “A delay?”

“You can do that in code, right?” he points out. “Give it a few extra seconds before the store updates so the user gets enough time to finish typing.” You stare at him and he flushes, clearly embarrassed. “Or - y’know - maybe not, I don’t know. I mean, like I said, I don’t know anything about programming, I just thought-”

“No, Steven, that’ll work,” you hurry to reassure him. “I think you just saved my project.”

He beams brightly. “Yeah? Really?”

“Yeah, really.” You give him a grateful smile in return. “Thanks. If I’m being honest, I kind of feel dumb for not thinking of it sooner.”

“Oh, no, don’t say that,” he dismisses. “Like you said, you’ve been staring at that problem for three days and these things sometimes just need a fresh perspective, that’s all.” He hesitates. “If you want, I could test it for you after you finish fixing it.”

“Is this your way of giving me your number?” you tease as you update the code with a delay timer and set it to five seconds before saving it and passing the laptop to Steven once you run the code and pull up the test website.

“D’you want it to be?” He meets your eyes over the top of the laptop, his gaze earnest, and you’re briefly torn between the implication of what accepting his number will mean versus how badly you want to say yes.

“I mean-” You shrug, trying to play it off as casually as possible. “It’s better than barging over to your place unannounced in the future, right?”

Steven smiles, though you can’t help but selfishly think there’s a hint of disappointment in his expression as he drops his gaze to your laptop screen.

“Right,” he says quietly before entering something into the text field and passing the laptop back. “Works like a dream.”

“Thanks.” You hesitate before pulling out your own phone from your pocket to save the phone number on the screen, and when you peek up, you catch him hiding a more genuine, seemingly relieved smile as he ducks his head to pretend to focus on the encyclopedia page Nila is studying.

You wait until you’re back in your flat that night with Nila tucked comfortably into her bed in the room beside yours for the past three hours and your project submitted for grading half an hour earlier - two minutes before the deadline, thank goodness - before you finally put your new phone contact’s information to use.

Thanks for everything today. I really owe you.

He responds immediately even though the clock had struck midnight nearly half an hour earlier.

There’s nothing to thank me for, I had a wonderful time with you and Nila.

You feel your eyebrows climb involuntarily on your forehead in surprise as you type back, Why are you still awake? It’s past midnight and we both have work tomorrow.

Oh, I never sleep much, Steven dismisses and adds an upside-down smiley face emoji to make his point. So if you need anything in the middle of the night, I’ll likely be around. Anyway, why are you still awake?

I don’t sleep much, either, you confess. My sleep schedule’s been all over the place ever since Nila was born.

Sorry to hear, Steven answers, and you can practically hear the sincerity even in writing. Read? he adds after a beat. Sorry to read. No, that doesn’t sound right at all, does it? I’ve mucked it all up now, just ignore me.

You smile, unable to help it, and type out a response, It’s okay, I get what you mean, and thank you. Now will you please get some sleep?

I will if you do, love.

You stare at the text for far too long, your pitifully lonely heart making you trace the word “love” over and over with your eyes until the letters blur together in your exhaustion, and are only startled back to reality when your phone buzzes in your hand, Steven’s name flashing across the screen.

“Sorry,” he says breathlessly the moment you accept the call and press the phone to your ear. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have called this late, just - you never responded and I got worried I’d crossed a line, I shouldn’t have said what I did, I’m so sorry-”

“Steven,” you interrupt his frantic apologies and he falls abruptly silent at the sound of your voice. “You didn’t cross any lines, I promise.”

“Yeah?” He sounds small and uncertain, and your heart breaks for him; who had hurt this man so badly that he’s so afraid you’ll cut off ties with him over something so small?

“Yeah.” You try to sound as firm and reassuring as possible. “It was really sweet, actually.”

“It was?” There’s a hint of awe in his voice, and you wonder if anyone has ever said that to him before; if not, it’s a damn shame.

“It was,” you confirm. “Are you gonna go to sleep or not?”

“I meant it when I said I would only if you did.” To your relief, he sounds like he’s smiling again. “Did Nila go to bed earlier?”

“Yeah, right after we got home from your place. You must have really tired her out with that encyclopedia ‘cause I can hear her snoring like a freight train through the wall.” You grin when Steven laughs incredulously on the other side of the call. “You laugh now, but I’m serious. It’s bizarre how loud such a tiny kid can be.”

“I can believe it,” he chuckles before turning the tables on you, “Now are you going to sleep or not?”

“Yeah, I am.” You shuffle down until you’re horizontal in your bed, placing your phone next to your head on the pillow and putting the call on a low-volume speaker so that you can still hear him. “Your turn.”

“Oh, you’re really - oh.” He sounds flustered as you hear rustling movements and the squeaking of his mattress springs on his side of the call. “Right, yeah, going to sleep now.”

You can’t help but smile. “Me, too.”

A beat passes before his voice drifts through the speaker in a low murmur that sends shivers down your spine, “Sweet dreams, love.”

Oh, no. If seeing it in writing hadn’t been enough to cement your distressingly pathetic crush on your neighbor, hearing it in his soft, soothing voice is the proverbial final nail in the coffin.

“Sweet dreams, love,” you echo quietly - inwardly wincing at how your American accent makes it sound so much uglier - and imagine you hear a soft, sharp intake of breath just as you reluctantly click the button to end the call.

Sleep has never come easier to you.

Chapter Text

You hate night shifts with a burning passion. They take away your chance to do your bedtime routine with Nila - which you know will leave her feeling anxious and restless through the night until you pick her up from her babysitter in the morning - and you’re both always exhausted and miserable the next day.

At least you’re not alone at work tonight; Katie is your favorite coworker to handle night shifts with, and she’s currently handling the back of the café, which means you get to pack any pastries she’d decided were too ugly for the bakery case into a Tupperware container to take home to Nila the next day with her permission.

“How’s primary school treating Nila these days?” Katie asks curiously as she slips a sugar cookie she had smudged the icing on into your Tupperware.

“Mostly fine.” You stretch slightly with the added security of knowing that the café is empty save for the two of you. “The lessons aren’t hard for her - she breezes through her homework like it’s nothing - but you know how shy she is. The social stuff really throws her off sometimes. I was like that at her age, too, so I’m pretty sure it’s genetic.”

Katie nods in commiseration. “Is that kid still bothering her?”

“George? Yeah.” You roll your eyes. “I’ve had to talk to his mom three times in the past month alone. And you know what she says every time?”

“‘Oh, boys will be boys,’” Katie sing-songs at the same time as you in the highest-pitched, most nasally voices you can both muster before she bursts into giggles and you shake your head with a wry grin.

“God, I see red every time I see my baby in tears because of that little-”

“Customer,” Katie warns before you can finish your not-so-child-friendly expletive and you turn, startled, before recognizing the man stepping into the café.

“Hey, Steven!” you greet him cheerfully, and he promptly freezes in the doorway when he notices you behind the counter, his dark eyes wide and startled.

“Uh-” He clears his throat awkwardly before mumbling, “I didn’t know you worked here. Don’t want to bother you.”

There’s something strange about his voice that you can’t quite pinpoint even as you dismiss, “You’re never bothering me. Come on in.”

“Where’s Nila?” he asks as he lets the door swing shut behind him and approaches the counter.

“With a babysitter,” you reassure him. “I’m on the night shift here, so I’m gonna go pick her up in the morning.”

“You two know each other?” Katie asks curiously and when you glance at her, she raises her eyebrows while Steven busies himself with looking at the coffee menu. Boyfriend? she mouths eagerly, and you do your best to glare daggers at her in the three-second window before Steven’s attention returns to you.

“Yeah, we live down the hall from each other,” you say as evenly as possible to cover up how flustered you suddenly are. “Anyway,” you add brightly to Steven, who has gone back to staring at you like he’s seeing a ghost as Katie disappears into the back with a not-so-subtle wink at you. “Do you know what you want?”

“Want?” he echoes warily, and you glance pointedly at the menu above your head and then back at him. “Oh, uh-” You watch the beginnings of a red flush creep up his neck. “Just - regular coffee’s fine.”

“Cream and sugar?” you ask as you ring him up. “And is it for here or to go?”

“Just black. To go.” His answers are succinct and terse, and when you look back up at him, you realize he’s missing his usual smile, his eyebrows pulled together and his mouth downturned into a deep frown.

“Bad day?” you guess as you grab a styrofoam cup and turn away to pour the coffee for him.

“What?” He sounds bemused now.

“Nothing, sorry.” You snap a lid onto the cup before placing it in front of him. “Do you always get coffee this late?”

He shrugs uncomfortably. “Sometimes. I don’t sleep much.”

“I know, you told me,” you remind him and his eyebrows remain knitted together with confusion like he doesn’t remember mentioning it at all. “Anyway, you’re good.” You nod to the cup and he jolts slightly as if he’d completely forgotten about his coffee before scrambling for his wallet.

“How much?”

“It’s on me,” you reassure him and he frowns deeply as he watches you slide the money from your own wallet into the register.

“You don’t have to-”

“I insist,” you cut him off firmly. “Consider it a thank-you for the other day and we’ll call it even, okay?”

At last, he relents as he slips his wallet back into his pocket and picks up the coffee cup.

“You really don’t have to thank me for that,” he mutters, but there’s a tiny smile twitching at the corners of his lips, so you consider it a victory even if it’s not quite the sunshine-bright smile you’re used to. “Your daughter’s a sweet kid.”

“Yeah, she is.” You can’t help the note of fondness that slips into your voice before adding with a grin, “Definitely didn’t get that from me.”

“Well, I don’t know about that,” Steven says, his tone just as arid as yours, and that combined with the wry half-smile he gives you is what convinces you for sure that something is wrong.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” you press and immediately regret it when his smile vanishes.

“Why do you ask?” His tone is sharp and guarded now, daring you to push the issue.

“Just-” You flounder briefly, unable to quite put your finger on what’s different about him, and give up when you realize he’s watching you warily, his shoulders taut with a tension you’ve never seen in him before. “Never mind. You should try and get some sleep, though.”

He smiles humorlessly. “I don’t think that’s happening tonight, but thanks.” He turns away from you, heading for the door. “See you later.”

“Steven?” you blurt out before you can stop yourself in time.

He stops halfway to the door, his grip so white-knuckled on his cup that it’s a miracle the coffee inside hasn’t been squeezed out.

You scramble briefly to think of what to say before settling for offering tentatively, “Whatever’s going on, I hope it gets better.”

Steven is quiet for far too long before he lets out a heavy sigh.

“Me, too.” With that cryptic response, he leaves the café.

“He didn’t stay?” Katie sounds disappointed as she returns from the back room with a clean milk frother.

“No.” You feel your eyebrows knit together as you watch Steven’s back retreating down the street through the glass window. “He’s not always this quiet. I think he’s having a bad day or something.”

“Well, at least it’s nice you found another American living near you,” Katie answers cheerfully and you wheel around to face her, bewildered.

“What are you talking about? Steven’s British.”

She blinks at you bemusedly. “Maybe you’ve been living here so long that you’ve forgotten what Americans sound like, but he sounded just like you.”

“Huh.” You mull over the strangeness you had noticed in Steven’s voice and realize she’s right; his accent had sounded distinctly American when you know for a fact it usually isn’t. “Strange.”

“Very.” Katie is frowning when you focus back on her. “He’s not one of those creeper types, is he?”

“Not at all,” you dismiss; if there’s one thing you know for sure about Steven, it’s that. “He’s usually really sweet, and he and Nila adore each other.”

Katie’s apprehension doesn’t seem to change. “Just…be careful ‘round him, yeah? They all seem sweet at first before they show their real colors.”

“Steven’s not like that,” you insist firmly, though you find yourself suddenly not quite as confident as you had been a moment earlier.

You don’t see Steven again for several days - you just seem to keep missing each other as the two of you go about your daily routines - and Nila is distinctly pouting by the time Sunday rolls around as she sits at the counter of the café and scribbles in her purple notebook with a pack of crayons you’d given her; you know she’s been expecting to catch him all week to ask him more about Egyptian mythology and lore.

“Be careful and tell me if it’s too hot.” You set a small cup of hot chocolate in front of her and she abandons her drawing for it, taking a tentative sip before deeming the temperature adequately drinkable with a nod.

“It’s okay.”

“Thanks, baby.” You reach across the counter to pinch her cheek affectionately and grin when she squirms away from your touch before turning back to your work.

“Hi, Mr. Steven!” she screeches happily across the café and you wince when several customers in their booths turn your way before looking at the door just in time to see Steven entering the building.

His eyes widen with surprise when he notices you and Nila at the counter, but to your relief, he smiles slightly this time when he recognizes both of you.

“Seems like I always catch you working here,” he deadpans when he approaches you. He still doesn’t sound like himself - his accent is distinctly American once more - but there seems to be a relaxed set to his shoulders you hadn’t seen a week earlier.

“Seems like it,” you agree wryly. “Black coffee to go?”

“Yeah.” He slips the money he owes you across the counter before you can protest, and you grudgingly place it into the register as you ring him up.

Nila is squinting suspiciously at Steven when you glance automatically at her, finding her sudden silence unnerving.

“Why do you sound weird?” she accuses at last, and Steven glances sideways at her, alarmed.

“What do you mean?” he asks bemusedly.

“Nila, that’s not nice,” you warn. “You can’t call how people sound ‘weird.’”

“But he does,” she complains. “He sounds like you, Amma.”

“Sorry,” you apologize to Steven as you retrieve a styrofoam cup for his coffee, but he shakes his head.

“No, it’s fine.” He leans down and whispers conspiratorially to Nila, “I’m actually a secret spy and my American accent’s a disguise.”

“Cool,” she enthuses, her eyes widening in awe, and you snort derisively when Steven sends a furtive wink your way, visibly biting back a smirk as he does.

“You seem like you’re doing a little better today,” you note as you pass him his coffee.

“A little,” he agrees vaguely as he takes the cup, shuffling sideways so that he’s no longer blocking the counter. “Speaking of which, thanks for putting up with me the other night. I know I was being a pretty massive-” He breaks off, clearly rethinking his choice of words under Nila’s intent stare on the side of his head. “-jerk,” he settles for censoring himself.

You wave it off dismissively. “You’re not nearly the grumpiest customer I’ve ever had - though you could probably give them a run for their money.”

Steven raises an eyebrow, evidently amused, but then Nila tugs on his free hand’s sleeve before he can reply.

“Look what I drew, Mr. Steven!” She shoves the notebook toward him and he takes it, his eyebrows climbing on his forehead again.

“Wow,” he says, clearly trying for enthusiasm in the face of her crayon drawing. “This is really good, kiddo.” There’s a strange drawl to the accent he’s putting on that makes you think he’s based it on the accent his friend from Chicago likely has.

“I made it ‘cause we read Khonshu’s chapter from your book,” Nila adds brightly and when you glance over your shoulder at the drawing she’s showing Steven, you realize it’s of a tall, thin man with a bird’s skull for a head and a crescent moon in the center of his chest.

“I think you nailed it,” Steven tells her as he places the notebook back down in front of her. “He looks just like that.”

The odd confidence and wry tone with which he says it makes you think you should question the interaction, but you’re distracted when another customer comes up to the counter with a complicated order - seriously, who needs six pumps of caramel syrup in their iced mocha? - and when you glance back, Steven is already on his way out of the shop, coffee cup in hand, while Nila has gone back to coloring in her notebook and humming happily to herself once more.

After debating for a moment whether to broach the subject, you throw caution to the wind and ask, “Nila, did Mr. Steven seem different to you today aside from his accent?”

She visibly mulls it over, tapping her blue crayon against her lower lip in a way you know for a fact she’s picked up from you before nodding after a beat.

“He was standing different, I think.” She hunches her shoulders slightly. “That’s how he normally stands, and this time, he was sort of-” She makes a show of sitting up ramrod-straight in her seat. “His smile was different, too, not like-” She beams widely. “But more like-” She demonstrates a tinier, tighter smile that looks more like a grimace.

“I get what you mean,” you reassure her. “And I noticed both of those things, too. Maybe he’s just not feeling well.”

She frowns worriedly. “Should we bring him some rasam? That always makes me feel better.”

You laugh a little. “No, baby, I didn’t mean that kind of ‘not feeling well.’ Sometimes people just have bad days, that’s all - like those days when you’re in a grumpy mood for no reason.”

“Mhm.” Nila nods thoughtfully. “I don’t have a lot of those days.”

“I know.” You lean over the counter to press a kiss to her forehead briefly. “You’re a sweet kid.”

“I am very inippu,” she agrees solemnly and returns to her coloring even as you bite back a laugh and turn back to your work.

Chapter Text

“Don’t cry, kiddo,” you sigh as Nila sniffles into your shoulder, angling her on your hip so you can press the lift button for the fifth floor. “I’m not mad at you, but you know better than to get into fights.”

“He started it,” she whines as she tightens her hold on your neck, smearing even more blood from her nose onto your shirt.

“Yeah, I know he did.” You rub her back as she devolves into another round of heart-wrenching sobs, her entire body trembling in your arms with the force of each one. “I’m gonna talk to your headteacher again first thing tomorrow morning, okay?”

She nods with another hiccuping sob. “My nose hurts.”

“I know, baby girl.” You press a kiss into her hair as you step off the lift. “Let’s get you home and cleaned up, okay?”

You catch Steven’s eye when he slips out of his flat just as you’re passing his door, his eyebrows shooting up on his forehead with alarm when he sees the blood smeared on your shirt and the state Nila is in.

“Don’t freak out,” you sigh wearily when he opens his mouth. “She’s okay, she just got into a fight at school and I had to pick her up early from the nurse’s office.”

“Oh, no, poor thing,” he says sympathetically when Nila lifts her head from your shoulder. Absently, you note that he sounds like his usual self again, his accent very much South London-esque as he adds earnestly, “Does it hurt a lot?”

“A whole lot,” Nila confirms morosely around another sniffle.

“Tell you what,” Steven adds to you, “I was just going to make a run down to Tesco since it’s my day off. Did you need anything?” When Nila buries her face back into your shoulder, he mouths exaggeratedly so that you’ll understand, Ice cream for her?

Despite every warning bell from your last couple of interactions with him ringing in your head, you can’t help but smile gratefully as you nod.

“Yeah, actually. I can text you what I need.”

“Alright.” He smiles warmly back at you. “I’ll keep an eye out for it.” When Nila peeks back up at him, he reaches out to ruffle her hair gently. “You’ll be alright, your mum’s going to patch you up good as new. I’ll see you soon, yeah?”

She nods solemnly and burrows back into your embrace.

“Thank you,” you tell him fervently and he waves it off.

“Anytime, love.” He slips past you and into the lift while you focus on getting Nila into your flat and settled on the couch with a bag of frozen peas pressed over her nose to numb the pain and swelling.

Plain vanilla ice cream is fine, you text Steven and he sends back a thumbs-up emoji instantly. You’re the best, you add. Seriously, thank you.

It’s really nothing, he answers. How’s the little miss doing?

You glance up from your phone and find that Nila has curled up on the couch into the tiniest human ball possible, still clutching the bag of frozen peas to her nose as tears continue to streak down her cheeks.

“Mr. Steven wants to know how you’re feeling, baby,” you say gently to get her attention.

“Awful,” she sighs dramatically. “The worst I’ve ever felt in my whole life.”

“That bad, huh?” You settle on the couch beside her, taking the makeshift ice pack from her to inspect her rapidly bruising nose. “I’m sorry. I wish I could make it magically better, but I can’t.”

“It’s okay, Amma.” Even though Nila looks thoroughly exhausted and miserable, she still pats your knee sympathetically. “You’re just doing your best.”

You know she’s only echoing something you’ve probably told her in the past, but your eyes prickle sharply at the corners all the same as you duck down to press a firm kiss to her forehead.

“We both are,” you reassure her.

“You can tell Mr. Steven I’m doing okay,” she adds. “I don’t want him to worry.”

“He’s just worried because you’re his friend and he cares about you.” You ruffle her hair affectionately before texting a reply to Steven.

She’s pretty upset, but physically, she’ll be okay. The school nurse said she was lucky that she only came out with a bloody nose considering the kid she got into it with was twice her size.

Any chance I can hear the full story when I get back? Steven responds immediately.

Sure, you agree. Let me know when you’re in the lift and I can let you in.

Once you get another thumbs-up emoji from him, you pocket your phone and scoop Nila off the couch.

“Come on, you need a bath and some clean pajamas.”

“And cuddles?” she asks plaintively.

“All the cuddles you want,” you promise as you carry her into the bathroom to get her cleaned up.

By the time Steven texts you that he’s on his way up, you’ve successfully given Nila a bath and settled her in her pajamas on the floor of the living room as she watches Encanto for possibly the hundredth time with a new bag of frozen vegetables - this time spinach - plastered over her nose.

“Hey,” you greet Steven when you open the front door, accepting the carton of vanilla ice cream he hands you. “Thanks again.”

“Don’t mention it. How’s she holding up?” He cranes his neck to peer over your head and into the living room.

“I got her to stop crying, but her nose still looks pretty bad,” you admit as you step back to let him in. “I wouldn’t fuss over her too much if I were you - she doesn’t like a lot of attention on her when she’s feeling down.”

Steven grimaces sympathetically. “Yeah, I understand. D’you mind if I keep her company?”

“Go ahead.” You shut the door behind him once he’s inside the flat. “Do you want coffee? You take yours black, right?”

“What?” Steven blinks bemusedly back at you. “Oh, no, I can’t stand coffee.”

“But I thought-” you begin awkwardly before shaking your head when he proceeds to look even more baffled. “Never mind, um - I have chai?”

“Chai would be great, thanks,” he agrees, seemingly taking pity on you.

You wave him off into the living room before retreating to the kitchen to start your electric kettle and scoop the ice cream into a bowl for Nila. When you realize Steven had gotten her the non-vegan kind - likely not expecting to partake in any ice cream himself - you dig into your fridge and find the Tupperware of vegan carrot halwa you had made for Nila a few days earlier, warming it briefly in the microwave before placing a small spoonful into Nila’s bowl first and then two more into separate bowls for yourself and Steven.

“Hello, little love,” you overhear him saying to Nila as he settles on the floor beside her. “What are you watching?”

“Encanto,” Nila answers, her voice muffled by the plastic frozen bag on her face. “It’s my favorite ‘cause Mirabel’s hair looks like mine.”

“Does it?” When you glance over the divider separating the kitchen from the living room, you see Steven peering intently at the movie playing on the flat-screen television, drawing his knees up to his chest and sliding his arms around them to imitate how Nila is curled up. “I think I can see the resemblance, yeah.”

“Really?” Nila perks up a little at the thought, her makeshift ice pack slipping from her face, and Steven carefully reaches out to press it back into place over her nose for her.

The sight makes something deep in your chest twist with gratitude and a kind of longing you have absolutely no right to feel, so you tear your eyes away from the living room and focus on getting three spoons instead before bringing the bowls out to the living room.

“Carrot halwa!” Nila screeches delightedly the moment she recognizes the orange sweet you had topped her ice cream with, abandoning her bag of frozen spinach in favor of taking the proffered bowl and spoon from you.

“It’s vegan,” you reassure Steven as you pass him a second bowl of carrot halwa. “Just carrots, cashews, cardamom, and sugar.”

He pops a small spoonful into his mouth before humming approvingly at the taste.

“It’s really good,” he admits once he swallows the bite he’d taken.

“Thanks.” You swallow a mouthful of carrot halwa as well. “It was one of the first Indian sweets I learned to make when I was still living at home.” You nudge Nila’s shoulder gently. “Turn around, kanmani, let me check your face.”

She grudgingly tears her eyes off the television screen and shuffles around to face you as you pause the movie before tilting her chin up.

“Yeah, that’s not gonna go away anytime soon.” You smooth your thumb carefully over the dark bruise on the bridge of her little nose. “Swelling’s gone down, though, so I don’t think we need to see a doctor.”

She squirms away from you and shoves a defiant mouthful of halwa and ice cream into her mouth, and you reluctantly press play on the TV remote again so that she can remain distracted by the movie as the kettle goes off with a cheerful beep in the kitchen. Collecting your now-empty bowl, you retreat to the kitchen as Steven swallows down the last of his carrot halwa and follows you with a murmured excuse to Nila about “helping Mum clean up, yeah?”

“So?” he asks as he joins you in the kitchen. “I’m assuming this was the handiwork of that boy who was bothering her at the museum.”

“You’d be right.” You pour boiling water over the chai tea bag you’d placed into a mug for him. “You’re okay with coconut milk, right? I don’t have anything else vegan here.”

“Coconut milk’s fine,” he reassures you, so you retrieve a can of coconut milk from the cupboard as you wait for the chai to steep. “What happened? I can’t imagine Nila physically fighting anyone.”

“Yeah, me, neither.” You set the can down once you manage to get it open, massaging your aching eyes as you lean heavily on your kitchen counter. “So imagine my surprise when the school calls me in the middle of my shift and tells me my kid’s suspended for a week after she kicked another student in the leg for pulling her hair one too many times.”

Steven is bristling indignantly on Nila’s behalf when you look up again. “She’s suspended?”

“To be fair, so is the other kid since he decided to retaliate by punching her in the face, hence her bloody nose,” you point out. “But it’s still ridiculous. I’m going to have a talk with her headteacher in the morning.” You pour a little coconut milk into the mug once the chai is done steeping. “Sugar?”

“Just a little,” he confirms and you mix a spoonful of sugar into the chai before passing him the mug. He takes it with a murmured “thanks” and swallows a sip before adding, “I’m guessing you’ll have your usual babysitter watch her this week while you’re at work, then?”

“No, I’ll be home for the foreseeable future,” you admit reluctantly. When Steven raises an eyebrow curiously, you clarify, “My manager told me if I was going to leave in the middle of my shift, I shouldn’t bother showing up to my next one, so-” You shrug, trying to play it off as casually as possible. “Guess I’ll be job-hunting this week.”

His expression shifts into something sympathetic. “Oh, I’m so sorry, love.”

“No, it’s fine,” you dismiss. “My job doesn’t matter nearly as much as my daughter does. Anyway, I’ll figure something out. I always do.”

Steven chews the inside of his lip briefly in thought as he tilts his head - as if listening to something you aren’t privy to hearing - before offering, “Now I’m not sure this’ll work out, mind you, but if you’re alright with it, I did hear something about a paid internship in the museum with the tech department. Might be good for your resumé, and I can even put in a good word for you.”

You’re already shaking your head before he can finish his suggestion even though it’s a better opportunity than you know you’ll ever get while job-hunting on your own, and he sighs exasperatedly as he sets his mug aside on the counter before turning to face you again.

“This isn’t charity or anything you seem to think it is, honest. You’re good at what you do, and we need a good programming intern at the museum.”

“Steven, I can’t ask you for-” you try to protest feebly again.

“I don’t recall hearing you ask me for anything.” Steven’s tone is firm, but kinder than anything you’ve ever heard in your life.

“Well - thank you,” you agree reluctantly at last. “I’d really like that.”

“You really have got to stop thanking me so much,” Steven teases mildly and you flush slightly, embarrassed. “Think she’ll be alright?” To your relief, his attention has returned to Nila in the other room as she obliviously shovels spoonfuls of ice cream and carrot halwa into her mouth while watching her movie.

“For now, yeah,” you admit. “Though I have no idea how to stop that other kid from picking on her all the time without confronting him myself. If I can’t protect her-” You swipe half-heartedly at your suddenly stinging eyes. “God, I feel like the worst mom in the world.”

“You’re not.” Steven’s tone sharpens so abruptly that you can’t help but look back up at him, startled. “Believe me, you are not. Even a blind person could see how good for your daughter you are.” There’s something so painfully somber about his expression that your heart wrenches when he adds quietly, “I really could have used a mum like you in my corner growing up.”

Before you even realize you’re moving, you throw your arms around Steven’s neck and yank him into a tight embrace. He freezes, startled, and you immediately loosen your grip on him, an apology on the tip of your tongue, but then his arms slide around your waist to pull you closer again before you can release him entirely.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. “Sorry, just - stay like this for a minute, please.” His voice cracks slightly to your surprise as his arms tighten around you, squeezing you close. “If I’m being honest, it’s, er - it’s been a bit of a day all around, yeah?”

God, you’ve been so selfish; you hadn’t even bothered to ask Steven how his day had been going before you had completely usurped it.

“Yeah.” You sink back in against him readily, letting your forehead press against his collarbone and your eyes fall shut as you focus on the way his solid warmth and the faint scent of his cologne envelop you. “You wanna talk about any of it?” you offer tentatively and sense more than see him shake his head above you.

“No, I’m alright, really, it’s just - one of those days, you know?”

You’re not quite sure you do know, but when you squeeze him briefly in return, he melts into your embrace like it’s the only thing he’s been waiting for all his life.

“I wish you had,” you say at last into his chest. When you feel him flex his fingers against your waist in a silent question, you clarify, “Had a better mom in your corner.” After a beat, you add, “But I think you turned out pretty great either way.”

He doesn’t reply, but the way his grip tightens on you again and squeezes the air out of your lungs as he clutches you like a lifeline tells you all that you need to know.

Chapter Text

You can’t remember having been this nervous in a long time. Your fingers drum absently against the plain folder clutched in the crook of your elbow as your heart hammers an identical rhythm against your collarbone.

“Hey,” Steven murmurs reassuringly beside you. “You’ll do just fine, yeah? They’re going to love you.”

“What if I’m not qualified enough?” you fret. “You did so much to set this up for me, I don’t want to mess it up.”

“You won’t. C’mere, look at me.” You obediently allow Steven to turn you to face him, grasping your shoulders firmly as he meets your eyes. “You’re going to be brilliant in there,” he tells you firmly even as you memorize the tiny flecks of gold the sunlight from a nearby window illuminates in his otherwise-dark brown irises. “You’re going to wow them with your portfolio and get that internship, and then you’re going to meet me and Nila at the gift shop so we can go for ice cream to celebrate after my shift’s done. Deal?”

You smile tentatively. “Deal. Thanks again for picking her up from school for me.”

“It’s nothing, really,” he dismisses easily. “Her school’s not even that far from the museum. Besides, who would have thought an internship interview would take more than an hour?”

“Yeah.” You swallow back the anxious lump in your throat as subtly as possible. “I already called the school and let them know you were coming, you just need to show them an ID at the front desk and wait for them to bring Nila out to you-”

“I’ve got it covered,” Steven insists. “Just breathe, love. I’m not moving until you do.”

Obediently, you take a deep breath and release it.

“Good.” He releases your shoulders at last. “It’s time. Go on.”

He steps back, and you don’t even realize you’re taking a step forward to close the gap again until he cracks a smile.

“Tech department’s that way,” he teases.

“Yeah, I know.” You stand on your toes impulsively and press your lips to his cheek. He’s wide-eyed and stunned when you pull back, feeling like your face is on fire as you clear your throat awkwardly and take a stumbling step back once more. “I, um - thanks. For everything.”

“Anytime,” he says weakly, and before you can lose your nerve, you turn away and push the door open to head into the tech department of the museum.

“Hi,” you say, mustering as much confidence as you can as you approach the first desk you see at the front of the admittedly small room with only three other desks and chairs. “I’m here for an interview for the internship position?”

“Heya.” The brown-haired man at the desk doesn’t seem to be more than a few years older than you are as he grins easily back at you and gets to his feet. “I’m Leo, good to meet you. I’ll be interviewing you today.” He shakes your hand. “Steven from the gift shop sent you our way, yeah?”

“Yeah, he’s a good friend of mine,” you admit.

“Good bloke, him.” Leo waves you into the department and over to a small conference room, grabbing two pieces of paper from his desk as he goes. “Come on in, make yourself comfortable.”

You inch into the room and settle into a chair, placing your folder on the table in front of you as Leo slides into the seat opposite yours.

“Now to tell you a bit about the internship before we get into your qualifications, it’s mostly database work,” he explains. “And a bit of coding for upkeep, including fetching records and cleaning them up before pushing them back into the database. Make sense?”

“Sure,” you agree. “I’ve taken a few database classes, so I don’t think I’ll be caught off-guard by any of that.”

“That’s great to hear.” Leo finally places one of the papers he had picked up from his desk on the table in front of you, and you realize it’s a copy of your resumé. “Your transcript’s pretty stellar on paper, but I’d like to hear more about why you started uni so late if you don’t mind.”

You do your best not to grimace instinctively - this is the part you’d been dreading - as you admit, “I have a young daughter. I never got to graduate when I was still living in the States because I had to look after her, but now I’d like to finish my degree so I can do better by her.”

Leo’s expression clears slightly as he nods contemplatively. “You know, two years ago, I might not have really understood that, but now I do.” He pulls out his wallet and shows you the photo inside the billfold of a chubby-cheeked two-year-old boy with a wide smile and light blonde hair.

“He’s adorable,” you say honestly and pull out your own wallet to show him the photograph of Nila you carry around. “That’s my daughter at around the same age - she’ll be six next month.”

“Cute kid,” Leo says sincerely. “My wife recently went back to school to wrap up her degree, too, so I get it.” He sets another piece of paper on the table. “Well, your academic qualifications hold up, so the late start’s no big deal. Mind if we get into the technical part, then?”

“Sure.” You put your wallet away again and focus on the technical puzzle Leo begins to draw out on the paper in front of you.

Approximately an hour and fifteen minutes later, there’s a headache threatening to brew between your eyes and your throat feels dry and sore from how much you’ve talked while explaining the solutions to the technical puzzles Leo had posed, but you can’t stop beaming brightly despite all of that as he shakes your hand one last time.

“I’ll send the paperwork to your email on file,” he adds. “Once that’s all sorted, would you be ready to start Monday after next?”

“Yeah, definitely,” you agree readily. “Thank you so much, I really appreciate it.”

“Anytime.” He releases your hand at last. “Looking forward to working with you. Cheers.”

“Cheers,” you echo - though the British farewell sounds odd in your accent - and slip out of the tech department, feeling a little like you’re walking on air as you make your way through the crowded halls to the gift shop near the front of the museum.

“Hi, Amma!” Nila shouts delightedly from behind the counter the moment she spots you, and you do your best to wipe the smile off your face when Steven looks up.

“Hey,” he says, and to your surprise, he sounds oddly American again. “How’d it go?”

“What’s with the accent?” you ask instead of answering him immediately, folding your arms on the counter, and he flushes slightly as he visibly attempts to come up with an excuse.

“He told me he came straight to school from his spy job to pick me up,” Nila informs you in a stage whisper.

“Did you get the internship?” Steven changes the subject back to his original question, his shoulders tight with apprehension.

You manage to maintain your neutral expression just long enough to see disappointment flash across his face before your façade drops as you crack a broad grin and nod. He rolls his eyes as the tension drains out of him slowly.

“You had me going for a second,” he accuses, but there’s no heat behind it as his mouth twitches into a faint, relieved smile.

“Sorry, I couldn’t resist.” You scoop Nila up from behind the counter when she reaches for you, easily settling her on your hip. “The interview went great. I start Monday after next.”

“Good.” Steven relaxes fully at that. “That’s good, I’m glad to hear it.”

“Yay, Amma, you did it!” Nila crows triumphantly, throwing her arms around your neck to hug you tightly. “Good job!”

“Thanks, Vanilla Bean.” You kiss her cheek firmly, and she giggles as she nestles her head against your shoulder.

When you glance back up at Steven, you realize he’s watching the two of you with something soft and unreadable in his eyes. He catches you looking back at him and clears his throat quietly.

“I, uh - I think I’ve still got an hour or so left in my shift,” he admits apologetically. “Sorry.”

“That’s okay.” You set Nila on the floor, letting her huddle into your side. “We’re in no rush, we can just wander around upstairs for a little while.”

“Can we go see the Egyptian wing again?” Nila perks up at the thought, tugging on your sleeve. “Please, please, please?”

“Sure,” you agree and add to Steven, “Just text me when you’re ready to go.”

He nods. “I can do that.”

“Come on! I wanna show you the hieroglyphs!” Nila pulls eagerly at your hand and you can’t help but laugh as you let her drag you out of the gift shop, catching one last glimpse of Steven’s faint smile before you disappear around the corner.

“Amma, did you know there are three types of hieroglyphs?” Nila asks as she points to a large stone tablet behind a glass case. “There are phonetic glyphs, determinates, and lo-” She pauses before slowly sounding out the word, “Lo-go-graphs.”

“I did not know that,” you say, playing along for her sake in the face of how excited she seems to teach you something new. “Did Mr. Steven teach you that?”

“Uh-huh.” She beams brightly up at you. “I like Mr. Steven a lot. I’m glad we met him.”

“Me, too, kiddo.” You ruffle her hair fondly. “What else did he teach you about hieroglyphs?”

“Phonetic glyphs mean different things depending on how they’re pronounced,” Nila rattles off the information as if she’s a walking encyclopedia herself. “If they have one consonant, then they’re uniliteral. Two means they’re biliteral, and three is…?” She trails off awkwardly, looking up at you for an answer.

“Triliteral?” you guess based on your limited knowledge of Latin.

“Yeah, that.” She perks up again, relieved. “The alphabet in hieroglyphs has only twenty-four uniliterals instead of twenty-six letters like English. Isn’t that neat?”

“It is,” you agree.

“That’s where George pulled my hair last time we were here,” she abruptly changes the subject and points to a spot further down the hallway of hieroglyphs and tablets. Her expression is twisted into a deep frown now. “Are you sure I’m not allowed to kick him anymore?”

“Positive,” you say dryly. “I don’t want any more suspensions going on your record.”

She huffs indignantly. “Well, at least he won’t be bothering me anymore.”

“Why do you say that?” you ask warily.

“‘Cause George’s mummy told me today that she’d make him stop,” Nila says cheerfully. “And she said your boyfriend made a very good point that she was raising a bully and she didn’t want that.”

You choke on air. “My what?”

“Your boyfriend.” Nila blinks innocently up at you. “I didn’t know you had one of those, Amma.”

“I do not and you know that perfectly well.” You narrow your eyes back down at her in a mild, half-hearted glare even as you draw your phone out from your pocket to text Steven.

Did you happen to talk to another kid’s mom when you picked Nila up from school today?

No idea what you’re talking about, Steven answers after a beat, and you half-expect an upside-down smiley face emoji that never comes. I’ll be free in a few minutes if you want to come back down, he adds instead.

This discussion isn’t over, you threaten before pocketing your phone again. “Well, at least George will hopefully leave you alone from now on,” you relent when you realize Nila’s fingers are twisted into the fabric of your formal slacks, her mouth pursed with worry that you’re upset with her. “But no more kicking, okay? I mean it. If he does anything to bother you, you tell a teacher and then you tell me once you come home.”

“Okay,” she agrees grudgingly.

“Come on.” You usher her to the staircase leading out of the exhibit. “Mr. Steven’s waiting for us.”

“‘Kay.” She’s still frowning as you lead her down the stairs, though you’re not sure why.

Steven is waiting for you at the foot of the stairs, still standing at attention like he’s got his American accent on, and sure enough, when you reach him, he doesn’t quite smile the way you’ve grown to expect from him.

“Hey,” he greets you mildly. “You two have fun in the Egyptian wing?”

“Yeah!” Nila’s strange mood has vanished again as she bounces on the balls of her feet with delight. “We looked at the tablets on display!”

“She’s been talking about uniliterals and logographs for the past ten minutes straight,” you add under your breath so that only Steven can hear. “What the hell have you been teaching her and where can I get some of those IQ points?”

He cracks a wry grin. “When I find some, I’ll let you know.”

It’s not until you’re all at the ice cream shop down the street from the museum that you finally manage to pull Steven aside while Nila is busy frowning at the glass display to select a flavor.

“Seriously, what did you say to that other mom?” you demand in a whisper.

Steven shrugs. “I didn’t say anything at first. She thought I was kidnapping Nila and nearly called school security on me before I told her you’d sent me.”

“Oh, no.” You grimace. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t even think of how the other parents would react to seeing a stranger with Nila.”

Steven waves it off. “It’s fine. But that was the point when I also told her that she should be more concerned about how her own son treats Nila than how I do.”

“Well, you’re not wrong,” you agree wryly. “And you didn’t have to do that, but I appreciate it.”

His mouth twitches into a faint smile. “Anytime.” His expression softens when he looks back at Nila, who is now cheerfully chatting with the teenage girl working behind the counter about their respective favorite flavors of ice cream. “I don’t like seeing her upset any more than you do.”

Something impossibly warm settles in the recesses of your chest, and it must show on your face because when Steven looks back at you, he raises an eyebrow.

“What?”

You shake your head, scrambling to think of an excuse as to why your eyes are suddenly stinging and your throat is tighter than it’s ever been before, but thankfully, Nila interrupts the conversation.

“I picked a flavor!” she calls brightly across the ice cream shop. “Come on, Amma!”

“We probably shouldn’t keep her waiting,” you say to Steven, glad your voice sounds steady as you turn and head across the room to where your daughter is waiting for you.

Chapter Text

“So we agree Rahul’s the absolute worst, yeah?” Steven demands at the end of your millionth and his first viewing of Kuch Kuch Hota Hai.

The two of you have fallen into a routine over the past week since the start of your internship at the museum - you both take the bus to work at the same time, go your separate ways in the museum lobby, eat lunch together in the cafeteria, and then return home on the bus separately after your respective days are done since his gift shop shifts are often longer than your set internship hours.

On the first Friday after your internship had begun, though, you’d called Steven over for your usual movie night with Nila since both of you have had shorter work hours. It’s done absolutely nothing to alleviate your increasingly pathetic crush on the man, but you can’t bring yourself to put any distance between the two of you now.

“That might be a hot take, but I’m curious to see where you’re going with it, so elaborate for me,” you say amusedly as you turn off the television and shift to face Steven.

He gapes at you incredulously. “How is that a hot take? He only started fancying Anjali after she conformed to his idea of attractiveness!”

“Okay, yes, thank you, I’ve been saying this for years. I feel a little validated now.” You throw your hands in the air in defeat. “But every time I bring it up, everyone’s like, ‘But it’s true romance, he went back to her after all that time!’”

“It’s bloody garbage, is what it is,” Steven grumbles as he slouches on the couch, his arms crossed stubbornly.

“At least the songs are bops,” Nila pipes up from between the two of you, and you both jolt, startled; she’s been so thoroughly invested in the movie that she hasn’t said a word until now.

“I don’t know where you picked up this kind of language,” you tell her wryly.

“But you were the one who called the Encanto music a bop, Amma.” Her eyes double in size innocently.

“Yeah, okay, maybe you got it from me,” you sigh in resignation, which makes Steven grin over the top of Nila’s head at you. “Go brush your teeth, baby, it’s already past your bedtime.”

“Okay.” Nila scrambles off the couch. “Goodnight, Mr. Steven!”

“‘Night, little love.” He ruffles her hair affectionately.

“Goodnight, Mr. Marc!” she adds cheerfully over her shoulder as she heads down the hall, and you feel your eyebrows climb on your forehead.

“Who’s Marc?” you ask, bewildered, but Nila is too far away to answer you, and when you look at Steven, he’s gone dangerously pale, his lips pressed firmly together with apprehension. “What’s wrong?” you press warily.

“I, er-” He hesitates before glancing inexplicably at the floor-length mirror leaning against the wall on the other side of your flat. “It’s complicated. I don’t even know where she heard that name, to be honest with you.”

“Neither do I.” You hesitate. “Steven, you know I’d never push you to talk about something you don’t want to, but if my kid knows something I don’t-”

“I do want to tell you,” Steven insists. “I do, I just-” He falters. “It’s complicated,” he repeats weakly, his gaze fixing on his knees rather than your face.

“Try and explain it to me, then?” You shuffle closer until your knees brush against his, and he exhales wearily.

“Would be really helpful if you just explained it yourself, Marc,” he mutters to seemingly no one before finally lifting his eyes to meet yours. “I - we - have dissociative identity disorder. Y’know, multiple personalities.” He wrinkles his nose thoughtfully. “Actually, sorry, studies call it an ‘alter’ these days, but you understand what I mean, yeah?”

“Yeah.” You chew the inside of your lip, processing the revelation slowly before another one finally hits you. “That explains a lot about those times you came to the café.”

Steven grimaces. “Yeah, that was him, not me. His name’s Marc. He’s the original, and, well-” He shrugs helplessly. “I came after.”

“‘After?’” you echo, confused, but he shakes his head.

“That’s, er - if it’s alright with you, that’s a bit of a longer story.”

“I have time.” You both flinch when Nila slams the bathroom door down the hall a little too loudly on her way to her bedroom. “Okay, I have time after I put her to bed,” you amend, and Steven cracks a tiny, feeble smile.

“Mind if I talk to her first? I really do want to know how she figured all of this out.”

“Yeah, you and me both.” You impulsively reach out to catch Steven’s hands in yours, briefly tightening your hold on his fingers when they curl around yours automatically. “I’m glad you told me, for what it’s worth.”

“Yeah?” He peeks back up at you through his long eyelashes as if afraid of whatever he’ll see in your face.

“Yeah.” You squeeze his hands again before reluctantly releasing them and climbing to your feet. “C’mon.”

He follows you down the hall, stopping in the doorway to Nila’s bedroom even as you make your way inside.

“Alright, kiddo, let’s run down the bedtime checklist,” you suggest to Nila as she climbs into her bed, keenly aware of Steven’s attention on the back of your head.

“Mist machine?” she requests, and you flip on the humidifier on her nightstand.

“Check.”

“Night light?” she adds.

“Check.” You turn on the night light plugged into the wall beside her bed.

“Monster check?” she presses.

“Check,” you confirm as you make a show of peering under her bed and then cross the room to open her closet door. “And double-check.” You shut the door again.

“Oh, good,” Nila says fervently before adding solemnly to Steven, “The monster check’s the most important part.”

“Yeah?” He cracks a tiny smile. “I bet your mum’s good at keeping the monsters away.”

“Uh-huh.” She settles under her covers as you return to her side and take a seat on the edge of her bed. “Amma used to play cricket when she was little - she said if a monster came into my room, she’d beat it up with a cricket bat.”

“You played cricket?” Steven glances at you, evidently surprised, and you shrug modestly.

“With my dad in our backyard, yeah. I think I still have the bat somewhere in my closet.” You smooth your fingers over Nila’s hair. “Nila, we need to talk about something important.”

She perks up slightly. “Oh, did you two finally kiss?”

You sputter slightly as your brain briefly short-circuits and Steven makes an odd strangled noise in the doorway.

“Not that kind of talk,” you manage to get out once you recover from your shock. “We just wanted to know how you knew about Mr. Marc.”

“Oh.” Nila visibly deflates with disappointment and you make a mental note to have a much different conversation with her later on regarding the “kissing” comment. “I heard him tell George’s mummy his name when he picked me up from school that one time, and then he was arguing with Mr. Steven in the loo after. He sounded like he did when he came into the café that one time, remember? When he said he was a secret spy?”

“I remember,” you confirm, glancing back at Steven and finding that his expression is tight with apprehension again. “Did you hear what they were arguing about?”

Nila screws her face up in thought before shaking her head. “I didn’t want to be nosy, so I didn’t listen too hard.” She looks past you at Steven, her little eyebrows knitting deeply together with trepidation. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.” She sounds suddenly smaller and more afraid than you’ve ever heard her sound before. “Are you mad at me?”

“Of course not,” Steven reassures her immediately. “I could never be mad at you.”

“Is Mr. Marc mad?” She shrinks anxiously even further.

“No,” Steven answers after a beat, though he sounds a little less certain now. “He knows you didn’t mean to listen in.”

Nila relaxes at that, clearly convinced. “That’s good. I like Mr. Marc, he’s nice.” She frowns thoughtfully. “How do you have two people in one body? Do you share?”

“Something like that,” Steven confirms. “Your mum and I can explain it to you, but not tonight.”

“Okay.” Nila snuggles down into her bed and makes a show of shutting her eyes tightly. “You can go away now, Amma, I’m sleeping.”

You snort derisively even as you duck down to press a kiss to her forehead. “Sweet dreams, kanmani. I love you.”

“Love you, too.” Nila peeks behind you. “Goodnight, Mr. Steven and Mr. Marc.”

“Sleep tight, little love. Marc says goodnight, too.” Steven catches your eye when you glance back at him before he steps back and heads down the hallway again, and you tuck the covers around Nila’s shoulders before climbing to your feet and leaving the bedroom.

Once you shut the door behind yourself, you retreat down the hall and find Steven waiting for you in the living room, wringing his hands together anxiously as he sits on the edge of your couch.

“Kid’s smarter than I gave her credit for,” you admit as you take a seat on the couch beside him. “I didn’t think she’d figure it out just based on a conversation she overheard.”

“Neither did I. And I did mean to tell you sooner about all of this,” Steven says apologetically. “But Marc said - insisted, really - that it was better you didn’t know about him. He never meant to meet you in the first place.”

“He did look pretty surprised to see me working that night,” you recall. “I guess that explains why he couldn’t get away from me fast enough.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t anything like that.” Steven throws a rueful glare at your floor-length mirror. “Bloody hell, Marc, you really could have handled that better.” He grimaces after a beat before turning back to you. “Sorry, I probably should clarify that we can usually talk to each other through our reflections. It’s different for everyone with DID - and a bit odd, I know.”

“No, it’s okay, it’s good to know.” You draw your legs up beneath you to curl up on the couch beside him. “It’s a lot to process, but I’m working on it.”

“You’re taking it rather well, actually, all things considered,” Steven reassures you. “Frankly, I thought you’d have run for the hills by now.”

You roll your eyes. “I don’t see what there is to run from, it’s not like you’re an axe murderer. I’m sure I’ll wrap my head around everything at some point.”

To your relief, Steven smiles at last, and you shuffle closer until your shoulder presses against his.

“Like I said before, I won’t push you to tell me anything either of you doesn’t want me to know,” you add. “But whatever you do want to tell me, I’ll listen.” After a beat, another puzzle piece clicks into place in your mind. “He’s the ‘friend from Chicago’ you mentioned before, right?”

Steven huffs an embarrassed little chuckle, ducking his head slightly. “Yeah. He, er - he wasn’t too happy with you knowing even that much about him.”

You’re not sure why that stings as sharply as it does; after all, you hardly know Marc as well as you know Steven, and he doesn’t owe you any details about himself.

“Why?” You can’t quite keep the hurt out of your voice as you add, “Did I do something to offend him?”

“No, no, not at all!” Steven looks back up at you, startled. “You haven’t done anything wrong, he’s just sort of-” He waves his hand vaguely in the air, but it doesn’t clarify anything for you as he glances at the mirror again. “Marc, would you come out and tell her-?” He breaks off awkwardly with a sigh. “And he’s gone.” He looks back at you guiltily. “Sorry, love.”

“It’s okay,” you lie, unsure what to make of Marc’s overt aversion to you. “Does that happen a lot? Him disappearing like that?”

“More than I’d like it to,” Steven confirms wearily. “He’s not very good at communication of any kind, really.” He hesitates before adding, “I’ve only known about all of this myself for about a year or so. I think if it had been up to Marc, I never would have found out at all.”

“Did he expect to just hide from you all your lives?” you ask incredulously and Steven cracks a wry smile.

“That’s exactly what I told him, but does he ever listen to me? ‘Course not.” He doesn’t wait for a response before putting on the most exaggerated frown he can muster as he poorly mimics a gruff tone and an American accent, “‘It’s my way or the highway, Steven. I know best, Steven. Just let me handle it, Steven.’”

You start giggling despite yourself, unable to help it in the face of Steven’s terrible impersonation of Marc, and he breaks character to grin brightly back at you, clearly pleased at having made you laugh.

“He usually means well,” he adds sincerely. “He does, he just - well, it doesn’t really come across that way sometimes, but at least I know he does now.” He tentatively holds his hands out and you readily take them, lacing your fingers with his and allowing him to squeeze them for comfort. “I can’t promise I can explain everything on my own,” he admits quietly. “But I’ll do my best to answer whatever questions you have.”

You nod contemplatively, thinking through the myriad of questions swirling through your mind before settling for, “You said he’s the original and you came after.” When Steven nods in confirmation, you press, “After what?”

He bites his lip hard before shaking his head ruefully. “That’s Marc’s story to tell, not mine. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” You follow Steven’s gaze down to your intertwined hands, noticing how he watches the way your thumb traces over his knuckles slowly in a repetitive, unconscious pattern. “What can you tell me, then?”

After a beat, he explains, “Last year, I started losing time - blackouts in my memory, waking up in places I didn’t remember going to, that sort of thing. It took me a long time to realize that it was because of Marc taking the body whenever I went to sleep. I thought I had a sleeping disorder for so long that it nearly drove me mad.” You squeeze his fingers reassuringly and he squeezes your hands in return before he adds, “At some point, I finally started seeing Marc in my reflection and he clued me in on what was happening - not that that would have happened either if Khonshu hadn’t gotten involved,” he adds wryly, more to himself than to you.

“I’m sorry, Khonshu?” you echo warily. “As in the Egyptian god that you and Nila were reading about before?”

Steven smiles wryly. “The very same, yeah. Nasty old bird, that one.” When he notices that you’re still staring at him, your eyebrows high on your forehead, he winces guiltily. “Oh, yeah, I should probably mention, er - those gods are real.”

“Like Thor from the Avengers?” you clarify; you suppose given everything the world had been through because of the Avengers, you can hardly find yourself surprised by any of this stuff anymore.

“Well, they’re not really aliens,” Steven muses. “But yeah, something like that.”

“Oh.” You briefly wonder if the gods you’d grown up believing in are real, too, but put it out of your head; that theological crisis can be saved for another day. “So, uh, what exactly does the Egyptian moon god have to do with you and Marc?”

“Well, thankfully, nothing anymore,” Steven reassures you. “But years ago, he’d saved Marc’s life in exchange for Marc’s servitude. See, the gods can’t really do anything by themselves in the mortal world, so they need avatars to act in their stead.”

“So Marc was Khonshu’s avatar?” you clarify and Steven nods. Before you can stop yourself, you snort with laughter, and when Steven’s eyebrows shoot up in alarm, you shake your head to dissuade him from worrying as you try to explain your involuntary reaction by offering, “Ask me what my daughter’s name means.”

His eyebrows remain high on his forehead as he asks warily, “Er - what does it mean?”

“‘Ven’ - white,” you translate, still grinning broadly at the sheer situational irony as you add, “And ‘Nila’ is Tamil for ‘moon.’”

Steven gapes at you, wide-eyed and stunned, before he bursts into laughter - incredulous, but purposely low and soft in deference to the little girl sleeping just down the hallway from the two of you - the moment he sees the irony, too, and you join in, unable to help it.

Chapter Text

You are horizontal on your couch with a pair of arms wrapped so firmly around you that you’re practically caged in, and you can’t remember ever having felt warmer in your life. Your throat is sore, too, and you know why; you and Steven had stayed awake and talked for hours after Nila had gone to bed, though you’re not sure when exactly the two of you had fallen asleep together.

He had told you about Marc’s time in the Marines, and how his dissociative fugue states had gotten him discharged dishonorably before he had found work as a mercenary. He had released your hands at that point - as if he’d been afraid of your reaction to finding out his alter had killed people in the past - and you had latched onto his fingers again tightly.

“I’m not going to pretend it doesn’t worry me a little,” you had admitted. “But as long as none of that is still going on now, that’s what matters.”

Steven had managed a weak smile and a nod at that before squeezing your fingers and launching into the story of how a mission had gone awry and Marc had been left to die by his partner. He had then told you how Khonshu had approached Marc and dangled the promise of life over his head until he had agreed to serve the moon god as his avatar.

He had told you what had happened after he had found out about Marc and Khonshu’s existences a year earlier, too, including their misadventures in Egypt with Marc’s now-ex-wife Layla that had culminated in a massive battle against Arthur Harrow and his cult of followers dedicated to freeing the less-than-benevolent goddess Ammit.

“You died?!” You had tried not to shriek to avoid waking your sleeping daughter down the hall even as Steven had winced slightly.

“I mean, it’s a bit hard to shrug off two bullets, yeah? We’re obviously fine now.” When you had continued to stare at him in horror, he had released your hands to clasp your shoulders and squeeze them reassuringly. “Hey,” he had insisted, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it sound before. “We’re alright, really. We’re here, aren’t we?”

“Yeah.” Your voice had cracked despite your best efforts to keep it steady. “I’m glad for that.”

Steven’s responding smile had been blindingly bright and almost too beautiful to look at directly.

“Me, too, love.”

The steady thump of a heartbeat beneath your ear is what draws you back to the present, a soft, sharp intake of breath above you indicating that Steven has just awoken as well. You do your best to remain as still as possible - maybe if he thinks you’re asleep, you can savor the overwhelming warmth of his embrace for just a minute or two longer - but then you feel his head shift sideways as he turns to look at something else in the living room.

“Steven,” he hisses, and it suddenly hits you who exactly is holding you right now. “Steven, take the body.” When there doesn’t seem to be any response, Marc sighs heavily, his breath ruffling the hair on top of your head. “Fuck,” he mutters to himself bitterly.

Your heart sinks selfishly as you decide to pretend to wake up, stifling a yawn and blinking exaggeratedly. As you shuffle backward and sit up, the arms around your waist fall away almost instantly.

“Hey,” you say, forcing a little too much brightness into your voice as you watch Marc push himself upright on the couch beside you.

“Hi,” he says quietly, not quite looking at you as he swings his legs off the couch cushions and drops his gaze to his knees. “I, uh - sorry about-” He gestures awkwardly between himself and you. “I don’t know where Steven went.”

“It’s okay,” you reassure him, but it doesn’t do much to ease the tension in his shoulders.

“I should go,” he mutters instead, climbing off the couch.

“You don’t have to,” you offer as you follow his lead and get to your feet, but he’s already shaking his head before you can finish speaking, taking a step backward and away from you. “You could stay,” you try again, though your voice comes out more feeble this time in the face of how anxious he seems to get away from you.

“Not a good idea,” he dismisses as he keeps his eyes firmly fixed away from yours. He reaches blindly behind himself, fumbling for the handle of your front door, but then Nila wanders into the living room, rubbing one eye sleepily.

“Morning, Amma,” she mumbles around a yawn.

“Hi, kanmani,” you greet her, and then she notices Marc by the doorway, his eyes wide like he’s a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car.

“Mr. Marc!” she exclaims delightedly, rushing across the room and throwing her arms around his legs in a hug as he freezes, visibly startled as he stares down at the top of her head.

“How’d you know it was me?” he asks bemusedly.

“You stand different,” she replies with a shrug as she leans back to peer at his face. “Are you staying for breakfast?”

He opens his mouth and then closes it a couple of times, looking strangely like a fish out of water as he glances up at you desperately for an out.

“Nila, he’s probably busy,” you say to cover for him. “We don’t want to make him do something he doesn’t want to.”

“Oh.” Nila deflates with disappointment as she releases Marc’s legs and shuffles backward.

“Maybe another time, kiddo,” Marc suggests - likely to avoid upsetting her - as he ruffles her hair gently until she perks up with a shy smile back up at him. “But, uh - Steven’s got work today.”

You know for a fact that Steven doesn’t have work on Saturdays, but you let it go; it at least spares Nila from the hurt that accompanies knowing that Marc doesn’t want to be around either of you.

“Okay,” she agrees, readily believing the excuse as she crosses the room back to you and holds her arms up in a plaintive request to be held. “I want pongal, Amma.”

“I think I can manage that,” you agree as you scoop her up.

You’re not sure if Marc thinks you don’t see him quietly opening your front door and slipping out while you’re busy settling Nila on your hip, but you do. The moment the door clicks shut behind him, you let out a weary breath you hadn’t known you’d been holding as you carry your daughter into the kitchen to make her breakfast.

“You’re a real prat, you know that?” Steven bursts out the moment he wakes up to find that he’s in control of the body once more, glowering at the nearest reflective surface he can find - a small wall mirror hanging near the kitchen doorway of the flat he and Marc share.

Marc is sulkily silent, though Steven can see the way his alter won’t meet his eyes. He clearly feels guilty for his behavior, though it hasn’t changed the outcome; Steven can still see the way you had tried to plead with Marc to stay in the front of his mind’s eye, the earnest expression on your face melting into hurt and disappointment the moment Marc had retreated from you and made an excuse to get out of your flat as quickly as possible.

“She thinks you hate her,” he points out.

Marc’s eyebrows shoot up on his forehead in bewilderment, but he still says nothing.

“Look, you and I both know that you don’t,” Steven adds a little more gently, trying to soften his tone as best as he can in his frustration. “But she doesn’t know that, and you can see why she thinks you do when you keep running from her every chance you get, yeah?”

Marc remains quiet, but his expression is contemplative now.

“Things might be a little easier if you just talked to her,” Steven suggests.

“No.” Marc’s voice is hoarse when he speaks at last. “The easiest thing would be for you to take the body when she and her kid are around.”

Steven rolls his eyes in exasperation. “That’s not practical and you know it. I’m not always around to take the body.”

“Maybe you oughta be.” Marc’s jaw is tight now; Steven figures that explains the frequent ache in his own jaw whenever he wakes up.

“What, are you saying you want me to take over full-time?” he scoffs dismissively as he enters the kitchen to put on the kettle. “That’s ridiculous.” When only silence greets him, he pauses and glances warily at the stainless steel surface of his oven to find that Marc is simply looking back at him, one eyebrow raised. “You can’t be serious,” he protests. “They already know about you.”

“Yeah, and whose fault was that?” Marc grumbles. “I didn’t ask you to spill our whole life story.”

Steven rolls his eyes. “It’s not like I told her all of it - I did make sure she knew some of it was yours to tell. Besides, in case you didn’t notice, it was you arguing with that other mum at Nila’s school and then with me that caught her attention. Told you she’d notice.”

“Smart kid,” Marc admits, a grudging note of appreciation in his voice.

“Yeah, she is.” Steven can’t help but smile slightly; over the past few months, he’s grown so fond of Nila that he now can’t imagine even a single day without her cheerful greeting of “Hello, Mr. Steven!” to keep him going. “Her mum took all of it pretty well, too - even the stuff about Khonshu.”

Marc is quiet for a moment before he asks at last, “Where do you see this going?”

Steven shrugs helplessly. “Does it have to go anywhere? What if she’s happy with the way things are?”

“People who are happy with the way things are wouldn’t look at you the way she does.” Marc’s expression doesn’t change - stern and grim as ever - but his tone is softer now, bordering on sympathetic. “She likes you. You make her and her kid happy.”

“And you think you wouldn’t?” Steven rolls his eyes when Marc presses his lips firmly together and doesn’t answer him. “Oh, you can be a right idiot sometimes.”

“I don’t need this,” Marc mutters, and within the blink of an eye, Steven realizes he’s just looking at himself.

“Fine,” he says bitterly to the empty air, hoping Marc can hear him from wherever he is in their headspace. “Keep your head stuck in the sand - see how well that works out for us in the long run.”

The kettle clicks off, and he sets to brewing himself a mug of tea, unable to quite dismiss the foul mood he’s found himself in; he loves Marc like a brother, but bloody hell, can that man be stubborn when he wants to be.

“Love, I need your help with something.” It’s rare that Steven visits you at your new internship at the museum - he usually tends to leave you to your own devices and only meets you at the cafeteria for lunch - so when he leans over your laptop to peer down at you, you’re briefly taken aback.

“Why, what’s wrong?” you demand, startled.

“Nila’s birthday’s this Sunday, yeah? I need to know what to get her.” His expression is so earnest and anxious that you can’t even bring yourself to be annoyed at your work being disrupted.

“Jeez, Steven, you had me thinking it was something much worse,” you groan good-naturedly as you settle back in your chair.

“Sorry.” He flushes slightly. “It just hit me that I didn’t have any ideas for a present for her, and who better to ask than her mum, right?”

“You really don’t need to get her anything,” you insist. “I already got her a present.”

“But she’s also said ‘no' to a proper birthday party this weekend,” Steven frets, wringing his hands. “Isn’t there anything she might want?”

“I’m as surprised as you are,” you say wryly. “But every year, she doesn’t ask for anything other than a cake and some Indian sweets, and lucky for her, I like making those from scratch.”

Steven looks unconvinced, his mouth quirking endearingly to one side in his disbelief, and you sigh as you take pity on him.

“You already know she likes Greek and Egyptian mythology, so you could always try getting her something related to that. If I’m being honest, though, she’ll love anything you give her.”

He hesitates. “Really?”

“‘Course. I’m pretty sure you’re her favorite person in the whole world. If anything, she’ll be happy enough just seeing you on Sunday,” you reassure him before hesitating. “And if Marc’s listening, then he’s more than welcome to join us, too, if that was ever in question. No pressure either way, just - in case he wanted to.”

Steven sighs wearily. “He’s not around right now, but I can let him know. Sorry, I know he’s been a bit of a prick, but I promise he doesn’t mean anything by it.”

“It’s okay.” You shrug, trying to play your disappointment off as casual. “I mean, he didn’t exactly sign up to deal with any of-” You gesture vaguely to the framed picture you have of yourself and Nila at the edge of your desk to indicate what you mean, but when you look up, Steven is frowning deeply. “What?” you ask, bemused, but he shakes his head, managing a smile.

“Sorry, it’s nothing.” When you raise an eyebrow, he rapidly changes the subject, “So dinner at yours on Sunday, yeah? Sure I can’t bring anything?”

“Just yourself,” you answer before thinking better of it and adding, “And Marc, too, if he’s so inclined.”

Steven’s smile is tinged with a hint of resignation and you already know what he’s about to say before he says it.

“I don’t know about that, but I can certainly pass on the message.”

Chapter Text

“You promise they’ll be here?” Nila pleads, winding herself around your leg as you do your best to arrange the Indian sweets on a plate as decoratively as possible.

“I can promise Mr. Steven will be here,” you admit. “I don’t know if Mr. Marc will be joining us, but I’ve already asked Mr. Steven to pass on the invitation.”

Nila’s mouth twists downward into a frown. “But I wanna see both of them.”

“I know, baby.” You set the plate down and nudge her back before kneeling to her height. “But you know we can’t make somebody do something they’re not comfortable with, and if Mr. Marc’s not comfortable with us, we shouldn’t force him, right?”

She’s quiet for a beat before her lower lip sticks out in a little pout even as she nods grudgingly.

“Good.” You peck her forehead gently. “We’re going to have a good time either way tonight. Mr. Steven will be here soon and you can pick a movie for all of us to watch after dinner and cake. Deal?”

“Deal.” She’s still chewing her lip, clearly perturbed by something. “Does Mr. Marc not like us?”

“I’m sure he likes you just fine,” you reassure her.

“But he doesn’t want to spend time with us,” she protests.

“It’s not that simple,” you admit. “Sometimes, people might get overwhelmed by situations and need some time to themselves, that’s all.”

“Oh.” Nila nods reluctantly at last. “Okay. Like when I get scared of fireworks?”

“Something like that,” you agree vaguely. “Just don’t push him to spend time with us if he’s not ready to, okay?”

“Okay.” She nods more firmly.

“Thank you.” You kiss her cheek firmly and pull back when you hear a knock at the door. “I’m gonna go see if that’s Mr. Steven.”

“Me, too!” She beats you to the door easily and waits patiently by it until you join her and peek through the peephole before unlocking the door.

“You really didn’t have to bring anything,” you sigh good-naturedly even as you take the two colorfully wrapped gifts - both rectangular, but one significantly smaller than the other - from Steven and try not to let his sheepish smile make your heart skip a beat.

“‘Course I did,” he dismisses before kneeling to Nila’s height. “Many happy returns, little love.”

She flushes and mumbles shyly, “Thank you, Mr. Steven.”

He ruffles her hair affectionately and goes to stand, but then she holds her arms up to him in a plaintive request. He glances at you for permission and when you nod, he scoops her up readily, settling her in his arms like he’s been holding her all her life.

“You’re getting to be such a grown-up girl these days,” he teases, grinning broadly when she giggles and happily nestles her head against his shoulder. “Pretty soon, your mum and I won’t be able to carry you at all.”

“Noooo,” she whines through her giggling fit. “I like being carried.”

“I’m dreading the day I have to put her down for the last time,” you admit dryly as you take the presents Steven had brought to the coffee table in the living room to set them down beside your smaller gift.

“Can I open my presents now?” Nila perks up from Steven’s embrace. “Please, Amma?”

“Do you mind?” you ask Steven, who shrugs mildly.

“Not at all.”

“Okay.” You can’t help but smile at the excited squeal Nila lets out as she wiggles out of Steven’s arms and back onto the floor, grabbing at his hand and dragging him over to the couch. “Why don’t you two open them together while I finish putting dinner together?”

“Sounds like a plan, love,” Steven agrees even as Nila clambers into his lap the moment he’s settled on the couch and grabs your present first.

You do your best not to let your nerves get the better of you as you retreat to the kitchen, pretending to focus on the rasam and sambar bubbling in their respective pots rather than the way Steven nestles his chin against the top of your daughter’s head and smiles faintly as he glances back and forth between her and you like he can’t believe his luck in being here.

Nila bursts into giggles when she reveals your present.

“Amma made me a coupon book,” she informs Steven, who snorts with laughter.

“Open it up,” you call back. “Maybe you’ll find something useful in there.”

Nila frowns as she thumbs through the pages before picking one at random.

“A ‘get out of grounding free’ card?” She opens another page and perks up. “One toy of my choosing?” She squints at the fine print. “‘Terms and conditions - it can’t make too much noise and it has to fit in your toy box.’” She huffs, disgruntled. “But the big noisy ones are the best kind.”

Steven grins as he squeezes her affectionately before offering, “You know, I thought I saw something you might really like on the next page.”

Nila turns the page and then gasps dramatically as she whirls in Steven’s embrace to face you.

“A trip to Disneyland?! Amma!”

“Kutti,” you return in a deadpan.

“This is the best!” she tells you fervently. “I can use all of these?!”

“Not all at once,” you warn her. “And only when we aren’t tied up with school or work if it means traveling.”

“Thank you, Amma!” She beams back at you over Steven’s shoulder. “I love it!”

“You’re welcome, baby,” you chuckle as you duck your head back to your work, keeping one eye on the living room just in case.

“Can I open your present next?” Nila asks Steven hopefully as she settles back down in his arms, and he nods as he passes her the larger of the two packages he’d brought. She tears open the paper and pulls out a large, thick book. “Oh, wow!”

“Do you like it?” Steven asks anxiously.

“I love it!” Nila enthuses. “Amma, look!” She holds up the book for you to see from the kitchen. “It’s an encyclopedia of the different pantheons from all around the world!”

“Wow, that’s neat,” you agree. “Do they have the Hindu gods in there, too?”

“Uh-huh!” She flips open the book to the right section. “All of them!”

“Did you say something important?” you press.

“Oh, yeah!” She looks up at Steven, who’s watching her with a soft, fond smile. “Thank you!”

“You’re very welcome, darling.” He ruffles her hair gently. “There’s one more present for you from Marc.”

Nila’s eyes go round with surprise. “Mr. Marc got me something?”

“He sure did.” Steven glances at you. “D’you think it’d be alright if he gave Nila his present? He said he’d like to.”

“Oh.” You falter slightly, stunned, before quickly recovering yourself. “Yeah, of course.”

“Right, er-” Steven carefully untangles Nila from himself and sets her on the couch. “I’ll just - go let him take over real quick.”

You watch him disappear down the hall and into the bathroom, making out the faintest sound of his voice speaking in a low murmur before the door opens again. You pretend to set the table to keep yourself busy as Marc returns down the hallway, his shoulders tight with tension and his eyes distinctly averted from yours.

“Hi, Nila,” he says as he joins Nila on the couch. “Happy birthday.”

“Thank you, Mr. Marc.” Without warning, she climbs into his lap and settles contentedly against his chest just as she had with Steven.

Out of the corner of your peripheral vision, you can see Marc looking back at you as if gauging your response as he winds his arms around your daughter to hold her carefully. You purposely ignore them, returning to the stove to take the rasam and sambar pots off the heat and onto the counter while watching them over the low wall separating the kitchen and the living room.

“Here you go.” Marc hands Nila the smaller present Steven had brought. “Be careful when you open it.”

She obediently peels off the wrapping paper as gingerly as possible, gasping when she reveals the smooth mahogany wooden box inside.

“Oh, wow, it’s so pretty!” She traces her fingertips delicately over the letters carved in neat cursive on the top of the box. “That’s my name!”

“Yeah, it is.” When you peek up at them again, you realize Marc is smiling slightly. Everything about him is softer now - his expression, the set of his shoulders, the way he cradles your daughter against him like she could be his own if you didn’t think about it too hard. “Why don’t you open the box?”

Nila opens the lid of the box and her eyes widen when soft notes of music drift out, jingling pleasantly like bells.

“It’s a music box!”

“Yeah.” Marc’s smile softens even more incrementally in the face of Nila’s excitement. “You recognize the song?”

“Mirabel’s song from Encanto!” she realizes after a beat, and sure enough, you catch the faintest semblance to “Waiting on a Miracle” in the tinkling notes drifting around the room. She carefully sets the music box aside after closing it before turning in Marc’s embrace to throw her arms around his neck. “I love it so much, thank you!”

He freezes and you open your mouth to warn Nila to restrain her enthusiasm - you don’t want to scare Marc away, after all - but then he relaxes and tightens his hold on her, squeezing her close.

“You’re welcome, kiddo,” he murmurs into her hair. “I’m glad you like it.”

You’re forced to look away again before the lump in your throat can grow any tighter, and when you finally manage to compose yourself again, you realize that Nila is now engrossed in her new encyclopedia while her new music box plays on the coffee table and Marc is climbing off the couch and approaching the kitchen.

“Hi,” he greets you awkwardly as he stops in the doorway.

“Hi, Marc.” You set the full pot of cooked rice on the table.

“Smells good in here,” he offers feebly.

“Thanks.” You change the subject by asking, “Where’d you get a personalized music box?”

“I know a guy,” he says vaguely and cracks a fleeting smile when you roll your eyes good-naturedly back at him. After a beat, he adds tentatively, “I, uh - I’ve kind of been a jerk to you, and I owe you an apology.”

“You don’t owe me anything.” You drop your gaze away from him as you pretend to straighten the tablecloth to keep your hands busy. “Can I ask you something?”

You hear Marc take a deep breath and let it out slowly, evidently bracing himself.

“Sure.”

“Why did you think it was a good idea to keep me in the dark about any of this?” You look up at him at last just in time to see him grimace and drop his own gaze to the floor.

“I didn’t-” He breaks off awkwardly, and you suddenly realize he’s fidgeting with his own fingers and picking at the skin around his cuticles. “I didn’t want you thinking any less of Steven for everything I’ve done.”

“I wouldn’t.” You hesitate before closing the space between yourself and Marc, tentatively pressing your hands forward into his line of sight until he reluctantly slides his hands into yours. You intertwine your fingers together without hesitation, squeezing them until he looks back up at you. “And I don’t think any less of you for any of that, either, if that was ever in question.”

He smiles humorlessly - barely a twitch of his lips - as he says wryly, “Gotta think something of me for that to be true. And I’d rather you not think of me at all.”

“We both know that’s not going to happen.” You let your thumbs trace over Marc’s knuckles experimentally - the way you know Steven likes - and watch as his eyes flutter shut and the furrow between his eyebrows smooths out at long last in response to your touch.

“All cards on the table?” he asks after a beat, and you nod before realizing he’s still got his eyes closed.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Steven likes you.” Marc opens his eyes again, his intense focus finding you again and pinning you under it like a science experiment beneath a microscopic lens. “A lot. And I’m going to mess things up for the two of you and her.” He jerks his head toward the living room to indicate who he means. “I know the last thing you want is for her to get hurt.”

“Are you planning on hurting her?” you ask warily.

“No,” he protests hurriedly, sounding horrified at the thought. “No, I’d never do that, I just-” He falters again, struggling to find whatever words he’s searching for. “I’m not good for her,” he settles for admitting feebly. “Or you. You don’t have to be stuck with me the way Steven is.”

“Who says any of us are being stuck with you?” You release one of his hands to reach up, smoothing back a stray curl of hair off his forehead, and he shuts his eyes again as if he’s briefly savoring your touch before opening them again. “You don’t have to commit to anything right this second,” you add, your thumb tracing over the sharp curve of his cheekbone. “Consider it a trial period.”

Marc’s lips finally quirk upward into a faint, disbelieving smile. “A trial period?”

“Yeah.” You shrug. “I mean, call it whatever you want, but you know what I mean. We’ll put an arbitrary deadline on it, and all four of us can try whatever this is out - you, Steven, me, and Nila. And if we think it works, then we’ll figure it out from there.”

“And if it doesn’t?” Marc’s smile vanishes instantly, his expression settling into something solemn and grim.

“We’ll figure that out from there, too,” you concede reluctantly. “But for what it’s worth, I think it will - as long as you can promise me at least one thing.”

“Yeah?” He sounds wary again, his shoulders tight with tension.

“No more hiding from us and no more secrets,” you insist. “If we’re in this together, then we’re in this together. Deal?”

Marc doesn’t quite smile, but you can sense the last of his resolve fading as he exhales quietly and tilts his head into your palm as it molds to the curve of his jaw.

“Deal,” he agrees, albeit reluctantly. “How long do you wanna give it?”

You chew your lip thoughtfully - you want to ask for as long as you can, but you know perfectly well that without some kind of “finish line,” Marc will panic and retreat from you - before finally suggesting, “End of the year?”

His lips purse slightly in disapproval and you immediately realize why; while you’re nearing the tail end of September, New Year’s Eve is still over three months away.

“Or not,” you backtrack, but he shakes his head.

“End of the year’s fine.” He drops his gaze to your other hand still clutching his. “You don’t have to wait that long to back out, you know.”

“Neither do you,” you point out carefully.

He smiles wryly. “Okay.”

“Okay,” you echo awkwardly, unsure what else to say.

Silence falls in the kitchen as the weight of the agreement you’ve just made sinks in, and for a split second, you see Marc’s gaze dart down toward your mouth before he pulls back abruptly, releasing your hand as he steps out of reach.

“I, uh-” He glances awkwardly at the living room - at your floor-length mirror, you realize belatedly - and then back at you. “I’m gonna give Steven the body now.”

“Okay.” You watch as he blinks, his severe frown smoothing out as his mouth settles into a softer set and the furrow between his eyebrows disappearing entirely as his eyes widen into Steven’s usual earnest gaze.

“Did you mean that, love?” he asks breathlessly, his accent distinctly British again. “All of it?”

“Yeah.” Your throat feels dry. “I did.”

Steven lets out a soft, trembling breath as he steps in toward you again, ducking his head until his forehead can press against yours.

“So if I were to ask you out on a date…?”

“Are you going to?” you press.

He cracks a tentative smile. “I’d really like to.”

“I’d like that, too.” You hesitate briefly before closing the space between both of you to press a tentative kiss to the corner of his mouth.

His smile is wide and unfettered when you pull back to look at him, his eyes crinkled at the corners the way you like best.

“D’you want to go out with me sometime?” he asks.

“Yeah, okay.” You smile broadly back up at him, relieved.

“I knew it!” Nila declares triumphantly, and the two of you jump apart like you’ve been electrocuted, flushed and startled in the face of the smug six-year-old standing in the kitchen doorway with her little arms crossed across her chest and the widest Cheshire cat smile on her face.

Steven is wide-eyed when you look back at him, his eyebrows high on his forehead, and before you know it, you begin laughing at the sheer surprise on his face, unable to help it. Helpless laughter bubbles out of his throat next, his shoulders trembling with amusement, and Nila begins to giggle, too, even though you know she doesn’t really know what’s so funny and just wants to be included.

“Come here, baby,” you chuckle as you hold your arms out for her, scooping her up the moment she gets close enough and pressing a kiss to her forehead as she beams widely and rests her head against your shoulder.

Steven’s arms slide around both of you once your daughter is settled on your hip, tugging you closer until she’s sandwiched comfortably between the two of you and your head is nestled beneath his chin, and you shut your eyes briefly as you focus on nothing but the steady rhythms of their discordant heartbeats in your ears.

Chapter Text

The universe is out to get you; that’s literally the only explanation you have for the situation you’re in now as you grab your phone to text Steven.

I am so, so sorry, Steven, but I need a rain check on our date.

His response is instant.

What happened? Is something wrong? Are you and Nila alright?

He’s even attached a worried-face emoji, and you can’t help but smile wearily at how endearing it is as you type a response back.

I’m pretty sure I caught some kind of bug when I took Nila to her classmate’s birthday party the day before yesterday. Kids are germ factories, I should have expected it. Anyway, I may or may not be dying now.

I can’t tell if you’re serious or just being dramatic, Steven answers, and even before you can rush to reassure him that you aren’t really dying, he adds, I’m coming over.

Don’t do that, you text him hurriedly. I don’t want to get you and Marc sick, too. I’ve already dropped Nila off at her babysitter’s place for the weekend so she won’t catch anything from me.

Don’t worry, we’ve got a steel immune system. Steven adds an upside-down smiley face to make his point. On my way, love. A beat passes before another text from him pings through onto your phone. Please tell me where your spare key is before I ask Marc to pick the lock.

You sigh in defeat and answer, Top left corner of the doorframe.

After a beat, you hear the front door creak open and lift your hand in a weak wave over the top of your couch so that Steven can see you.

“Hey,” you croak feebly.

“You sound awful,” he frets as he comes around the couch to take a seat on the edge of the cushions beside you, pressing the back of his hand to your forehead. “And you’re burning up. Did you check your temperature?”

“One-oh-one,” you supply and when his eyes double in size, you hurry to clarify, “Fahrenheit.”

“You Americans and your bloody measuring systems,” he grumbles with a good-natured roll of his eyes that makes you smile despite yourself. “How long have you been feeling under the weather?”

“Only since this morning,” you admit. “I think the symptoms took a couple of days to hit me from when I was exposed.” You let your head flop back against the armrest of your couch. “Ugh, my head’s killing me.”

Steven brushes his fingers through your hair - likely disguising another temperature check - but you savor the comfort as you let your aching eyes fall shut briefly.

“I’m sorry for ruining our plans for today,” you add guiltily.

“Whatever for?” When you open your eyes again, Steven is frowning back down at you, visibly bewildered. “You can’t help being sick, love. Besides, nothing’s ruined. We can still make a day of it here, yeah?”

You grimace. “I’m either going to be hacking up a lung or sleeping on and off all day - not exactly most people’s ideal date.”

Steven’s jaw sets stubbornly in a way that reminds you oddly of Marc as he says firmly, “Well, I, for one, can’t think of anything better. Scoot over a little.”

You obediently shuffle sideways to give him more room to settle on the couch beside you, but then end up staring blankly at him when he holds out his arms to you.

“C’mon,” he insists. “When’s the last time someone took care of you for a change?”

Your vision abruptly blurs enough that you can barely make out the way Steven’s expression shifts into concern the moment he notices your tears.

“Oh, no,” he says, his tone bordering on horrified. “Oh, no, please don’t-”

You choke on a sob and he immediately closes the distance between the two of you, hauling you into his arms without hesitation as you bury your face into his neck. You feel his lips press against the crown of your head delicately, which only makes the lump in your throat even tighter as you huddle further into his embrace.

“Shh, it’s alright,” he murmurs into your hair. “Please don’t cry, your head’s going to hurt even worse if you do.”

“Sorry,” you hiccup into his shoulder.

“Don’t be.” He squeezes you close and you focus on how his fingertips trace slow patterns into your spine until you can calm yourself down. “I’ve got you, you’re alright.”

He nudges you back just enough to sprawl back against the other armrest of the couch, tugging you down on top of him until you’re suddenly reminded of the morning you had woken up in Marc’s arms only a handful of weeks earlier.

“Just rest,” Steven insists, drawing you back to the present as you feel his thumb sweep over the curve of your cheek to catch the last few stray tears sticking to your skin. “I’ll be right here if you need anything, yeah?”

You sniffle pathetically and nod, turning your face into his chest and memorizing the sensation of his heartbeat against your forehead.

“Okay.”

“Good.” You feel the tentative rasp of his lips against your hairline again, which is almost enough to set your tears off again before you swallow them down in time. “Now go to sleep, darling.”

The combination of his steady pulse against your skin and the sensation of his fingers outlining patterns against your back is enough to put you to sleep between one breath and the next.

Your head is still sore when you’re dragged out of unconsciousness by the feeling of Steven shifting beneath you, your nose stuffy and your chest aching as you struggle to draw a breath in and devolve into a coughing fit that you hurriedly attempt to stifle into your elbow.

“Easy,” Marc’s voice murmurs above you, his palm splaying against your back as he climbs out from beneath you in a swift, smooth movement. “I was just gonna get some stuff from our place down the hall and come back.”

“Sorry,” you rasp. “You don’t have to stay.”

Marc rolls his eyes. “I only took over the body because Steven was worrying himself into a panic attack over the sound of your wheezing. He’d never let me hear the end of it if I left you like this.” Before you can let the selfish disappointment of knowing that Marc would rather not be around you if it weren’t for Steven sink in, he changes the subject quickly. “You’re good with eggs, right?”

You stare blankly at him, your drowsy mind struggling to comprehend the question.

“Huh?” You wince inwardly at how stupid you sound.

“Eggs,” he repeats slowly. “Can you eat them?”

“I mean, I can, but no offense, I don’t really feel like eating eggs right now,” you admit.

Marc seems to take it in stride. “That’s fine. Just checking.” He squeezes your shoulder briefly before snatching up the spare key to your flat and heading for the door. “I’ll be back in a few.”

You don’t actually expect him to return as you sprawl back out on your couch and shut your eyes, but when you blink awake again, unsure how much time has passed, you can hear him rustling around your kitchen. Yawning, you push yourself off the couch - absently nudging aside the blanket that you’re pretty sure you hadn’t been covered in earlier as you go - and make your way to the kitchen.

“Evening, sleeping beauty,” Marc says dryly when he notices your presence. “Good timing - I just finished up here.”

“Finished what?” you ask bemusedly as you lean heavily on the door frame to keep yourself upright.

“Normally, the recipe calls for chicken stock, but I used vegetable broth instead.” He sets a steaming bowl on the table. “The matzo balls needed eggs to hold ‘em together, which is why I asked about them.” He rolls his eyes abruptly at his reflection in your stainless steel stove. “She’s vegetarian, Steven, not vegan. It’s fine for her.”

“You made matzo ball soup for me?” You feel your eyebrows climb on your forehead in bewilderment.

“Well, I didn’t know how to make your rasam,” Marc admits grudgingly as his attention returns to you.

“No, it’s okay,” you hurry to reassure him even as your mind whirls to comprehend that he had actually been listening when you had mentioned off-hand to Steven in the past that rasam is basically a cure-all soup for any illness. “I just didn’t know matzo ball soup could be made vegetarian.”

Marc shrugs uncomfortably before nodding to the bowl. “Eat.” His tone is curt, but there’s a curl of sympathy behind it when he notices the way you wobble unsteadily on your way to the table as he adds, “You’ll feel a little better once you’ve got something in your stomach.”

“I can’t believe you made this from scratch,” you say incredulously as you sink into a chair. “You really didn’t have to go to so much trouble.”

Marc doesn’t acknowledge your protests, his arms crossed firmly across his chest as he leans against your kitchen counter and stares you down intently until you swallow a spoonful of soup and involuntarily let out a hum of contentment as the warmth of the savory broth spreads down into your chest and soothes your aching lungs.

“This is really good,” you tell Marc fervently and watch as an iota of tension drains out of his shoulders.

“Yeah?” His frown seems a little less severe now as he turns away to ladle himself a bowl of soup - likely his own dinner as well - and reluctantly joins you at the table.

“Yeah.” You tentatively nudge your bare toes against his ankle under the table. “Thank you.”

He ducks his head, clearly embarrassed, but you catch him hiding a smile behind a spoonful of soup.

“Anytime,” he mumbles after he swallows, and oh, how could you have ever thought he hated you when he seems this pleased just to have made you some soup?

It’s a damn shame that you can’t bring yourself to finish more than half of your bowl, swirling your spoon through the broth in an attempt to pretend you’re still eating. Sensing your trepidation, Marc whisks the bowl out from beneath your nose in a swift move that your exhausted brain can’t even keep up with enough to protest before he’s already pouring the remnants of the soup into a Tupperware container he must have found in one of your kitchen cabinets.

“You’ve been playing with your spoon for the past five minutes straight,” he deadpans when he notices you glowering half-heartedly at him. “Trust me, you were done. Besides, it’ll keep in the fridge for a few days.” He sets the Tupperware in your fridge before turning back to you and jabbing a thumb toward your hallway. “Go get some sleep.”

“I’m fine,” you lie, forcing yourself to stifle a yawn even as you say it, and he raises an eyebrow, the tiniest hint of a smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth. “I slept all day,” you add in a feeble protest.

“You need plenty of rest if you want to recover faster,” he points out.

“Nila said she wanted to FaceTime me before she went to sleep,” you admit reluctantly. “I don’t want to miss it.”

Marc’s expression softens marginally as he glances at the clock and notes the time - seven PM.

“Her bedtime’s eight-thirty?” When you nod, he sighs and relents, “Alright. But after that, you really have to go to bed. Deal?”

“Deal,” you agree, relieved.

That’s how you find yourself curled up on your couch again with Marc settled on the other end, RRR queued up on Netflix with subtitles to keep your attention so that you don’t accidentally fall asleep before your daughter can call you from her babysitter’s place.

“Is that guy fighting off a tiger?” Marc asks incredulously less than half an hour into the movie.

“Yep,” you confirm wryly.

“And that’s just normal in these movies?” he presses.

You shrug. “Listen, you can either have a standard Hollywood car chase or you can have a guy fighting a tiger, your call.”

Marc grudgingly lets the rest of the plot play out in mostly silence - though his griping about the lack of adherence to proper physics during the fight scenes does make you smile - and the two of you get through about half of the movie before your phone buzzes with an incoming FaceTime call. You scramble to pause the movie before accepting the call, pushing yourself further upright on the couch from your slouched position as Nila’s nose fills the screen.

“Amma!” she screeches eagerly.

“Hi, kanmani,” you chuckle fondly. “Tilt the camera back a little, I can barely see you.”

Nila huffs impatiently and angles her iPad better so that you can see her face properly.

“You sound yucky.”

“I know,” you agree. “But I’m already feeling a lot better.”

She chews her lip. “Promise?”

“Promise,” you confirm. “Are you doing okay?”

“Uh-huh,” she admits grudgingly. “But I miss you.”

“I miss you, too,” you reassure her. “So, so much.”

“Are you having fun without me?” she demands, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.

“Not even a little,” you promise her, and she relaxes marginally.

“That’s good.” When Marc snorts derisively, unable to quite tamp down his reaction in time, she perks up at the sound. “Is Mr. Marc with you?”

“She’s got ears like a bat,” you deadpan when Marc’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise before angling the phone to face him. “Here. She won’t hang up unless you talk to her now.”

“Hi, Mr. Marc!” Nila waves frantically, and you catch sight of the way Marc’s eyes crinkle at the corners with the smile that spreads across his face as he reaches out and takes the phone from you.

“Hey, kid. Steven and I have been keeping your mom company today while she’s under the weather.”

You can just barely make out the deep frown on Nila’s face from your spot on the other side of the couch.

“Are you both taking good care of her?”

Marc is quiet for a beat, his expression unreadable, before he admits at last, “We’re working on it. I made her some soup.”

“That sounds nice.” Nila seems to relax marginally. “Soup always makes me feel better.”

“I’ll bet.” Marc’s smile is soft and fond now. “She’ll be just fine, don’t worry.”

“Okay.” Nila fiddles uncomfortably with the edge of the blanket she’s covered in, her iPad jostling slightly with the movement. “Miss Jackie won’t do the monster check ‘cause she says I’m a big girl now.”

“That’s not okay, I gave her specific instructions to do the monster check,” you protest, leaning over to peer at the phone worriedly, but Marc waves you off.

“Relax, I got it.” Even as you frown at him, bewildered, he suggests to Nila, “Can you take your iPad and show me the underside of the bed?”

She hesitates, but then the iPad jostles again as the screen goes dark. Marc makes a show of frowning deeply at the screen before nodding decisively.

“Alright, I don’t see any monsters down there,” he confirms, and your throat tightens inexplicably at how seriously he’s taking his self-appointed job of monster-checker. “Now the closet?”

There’s a flurry of motion as Nila clambers off the bed and crosses the room to the closet, pointing the iPad at its dark interior.

“Nothing there, either,” Marc reassures her. “You’re safe.”

“Oh, that’s good,” she says fervently as she climbs back into bed. “Thank you.”

“Anytime.” Once the camera stabilizes again, Marc adds, “Your mom’s gonna go get some sleep soon, but she’ll bring you home the instant she feels better, okay?”

“Okay,” Nila agrees readily. “‘Night, Mr. Marc.”

“Sleep tight, kiddo.” Marc passes the phone back to you, and you take it, relieved that your eyes are still dry.

“Sweet dreams, baby,” you tell Nila. “I love you.”

“Love you, too, Amma. Feel better soon!” She waves at the camera before the call ends.

“Thanks,” you say gratefully to Marc as you pocket your phone again. “You didn’t have to humor her with the monster check.”

He shrugs. “She needed to hear it. Besides, I didn’t mind. Reminds me of-” He breaks off awkwardly, but then shakes his head ruefully. “Sorry, never mind.”

You think about pushing him, but then change your mind as you nod to the paused movie.

“I’m guessing you’re going to make me turn that off and go to bed now?”

Marc hesitates before offering neutrally, “Well, now you’ve kinda got me invested and I need to see where this plot’s going.”

He doesn’t quite meet your eyes, but you grab onto the opportunity as tightly as you can as you smile broadly.

“Fine, but you’re gonna have to turn your brain off for those fight scenes because I will not have you nitpicking them. I don’t care how unrealistic they are as long as they look cool.”

Marc sighs dramatically and crosses his arms stubbornly, but you can see the way he hides a smile as he slouches down and tucks his chin into his chest. Satisfied, you settle in as well once you grab the remote and start up the movie again.

You’re not sure at what point you fall asleep, but the next thing you know, the television is off and you’re being gathered carefully into a pair of arms.

“Sorry,” you mumble, too out of it to really complain about being picked up and carried like a child. “Didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“It’s fine.” Marc’s voice is pitched low to avoid stirring you any further than necessary. “Go back to sleep, I’ve got you.”

You obediently shut your eyes again as you nestle your head against his shoulder - more out of instinct than anything - and it’s only when he’s placing you on your bed and pulling the covers up to your shoulders that you realize he’s tucking you in.

“Your fever’s a little lower,” he adds as he briefly brushes the back of his fingers over your forehead in a temperature check. “But I’m gonna stay on your couch tonight just in case.”

“You don’t have to,” you protest weakly. “You’ve already wasted your whole day here.”

Marc is quiet, and when you squint up at him in the darkness of your bedroom, you realize he’s chewing the inside of his lip in consideration of you.

“Is that what you think?” he asks at last. “That I’m wasting my time being here with you?”

“Aren’t you?” you point out wearily.

He sighs heavily. “Okay, I get that the fever’s probably scrambling your head-”

“Is not,” you grumble.

“Then I don’t get how you can’t see that I want to be here,” he bursts out, sounding so frustrated that it takes you aback. Clearly catching your surprise, he backtracks hurriedly, his shoulders tightening again as if in preparation to run, “Unless you don’t want me to be - I mean, I really can just stay on the couch.”

“I do,” you blurt out without even thinking twice about it. “Of course I do.”

Marc relaxes again marginally and hesitates only briefly before saying, “Then scoot over. And before you complain about that, too, no, I’m not gonna catch anything from you.”

Half-consciously, you shuffle aside and he slides under the covers beside you, waiting until you curl back into his side before folding you carefully into an embrace.

“I want to be here,” he repeats slowly and firmly so that it sinks into your exhaustion-fried brain. “Okay?”

“Okay,” you agree doubtfully even as you press your head against his chest - just over his heart - and feel his chin nestle into your hair.

“Sleep, sweetheart,” he murmurs against the top of your head. “Steven and I aren’t going anywhere.”

In your half-asleep state, you imagine the sensation of his lips brushing over your forehead as you drift fully back into unconsciousness.

Chapter Text

Your next attempt at a date the following weekend goes significantly better; Steven takes both you and Nila to dinner at a small hole-in-the-wall Italian place after ignoring your attempt to convince him that “she’ll be fine at her babysitter’s flat for the night, really, you don’t have to” and reminding you pointedly that the same babysitter had tried to tell Nila that she was too old to be afraid of monsters in her closet and under her bed.

“Besides,” he had added cheerfully. “She’s part of the package deal, yeah? Just like Marc is for me. So it only makes sense to bring her along.”

At that, you had kissed him impulsively for the first time, your fingers twisting into his endearingly upturned plaid shirt collar, and he had smiled so widely against your lips that you’d almost been selfishly tempted to break the kiss just to see it.

You draw yourself back to the present in time to see Nila clumsily attempting to twirl spaghetti onto her fork under Steven’s supervision, her little eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

“This is hard,” she huffs when the spaghetti falls off her fork for the third time in a row.

“Yeah, it feels like it at first,” Steven agrees patiently. “But give it another try, little love. Here, I’ll help this time.”

You watch as he covers Nila’s small fingers with his own larger hand, carefully guiding her fingers into twirling her fork until she comes up with a decent amount of spaghetti.

“Yay!” she cheers triumphantly before promptly cramming the entire forkful of pasta into her mouth, which forces you to bite back a laugh.

Steven doesn’t bother restraining his amusement as he asks, “Is it good?”

“Mhm,” Nila confirms with an enthusiastic thumbs-up, her voice muffled by the spaghetti stuffed in her mouth, and Steven smooths back a stray lock of hair from her face affectionately, tucking it behind her ear for her.

You can’t quite stop smiling even as you hook your foot around Steven’s ankle beneath the table, earning a brilliant smile from him in return; you don’t think he’s stopped beaming once all night, either, his eyes crinkled at the corners in the way you love most about him - and that’s the crux of it, isn’t it?

You love him.

You’re not even sure when you had started loving him - definitely long before he had ever actually asked you out - but you do, and the realization of it hits you like a speeding truck, knocking you off-kilter as the world around you spins onward obliviously.

Whatever expression Steven sees on your face makes him falter slightly, his eyebrows furrowing in concern.

“Are you alright, love? You’re looking a bit peaky.”

“I’m okay.” You reach for his hand and he readily lets you take it, watching with wide eyes like he can’t believe how lucky he is as you lift your intertwined fingers to press a kiss to his knuckles. “Just really happy, that’s all.”

He relaxes marginally, visibly relieved as he squeezes your fingers in return. “Oh, good. I am, too, you know.”

The sentiment is as earnest and sincere as everything else about him is, and you think you love him all the more for it.

“Me, too!” Nila pipes up delightedly, spaghetti sauce smeared across her mouth and cheeks, and you snort with laughter as you release Steven’s hand to grab a paper napkin and wipe your daughter’s face clean.

“I think you’ve got more sauce on your face than in your stomach, kiddo.”

She rolls her eyes dramatically. “Don’t be silly, Amma. I’ve got plenty in my tummy.”

“I suppose there’s no room in there for dessert, then,” Steven teases, and Nila frowns deeply.

“No, I’ve got a special pocket for sweets.” She pats the side of her stomach to make her point. “Right here.”

“Really?” Steven pokes a fingertip gently into her side, making her giggle as she squirms in her seat. “Oh, you’re right, definitely a special pocket in there,” he agrees mock-solemnly. “Tell you what, if you eat a few more of the little trees there-” He nods to the pile of steamed broccoli florets she had carefully plucked out of her meal and stacked at the corner of her plate. “-I think your mum might just be convinced to get you something sweeter.”

Nila’s eyes double in size at the opportunity presented to her as she spears a floret with her fork to begin gnawing on it immediately, and you roll your eyes fondly.

“You’re spoiling her, Steven.” The accusation is mild, though; you can’t bring yourself to be annoyed when it’s clear just how much Steven loves your daughter; he’d seemingly do anything to make her happy.

Sure enough, he shrugs unrepentantly. “And why not? She deserves it.”

“I do,” Nila agrees sweetly around a mouthful of broccoli, which makes both of you laugh.

“Mist machine?” Nila requests as she pulls her covers up so that only her eyes peek out over the top of the blankets.

“Check.” You flip on the humidifier.

“Night light?” she presses.

“Also check,” you confirm once you plug in the night light and return to her bedside.

“Monster check?” she adds, but when you get to your feet to make a show of peeking under the bed, she grabs your fingers to stop you and then peeks at Steven lingering in the doorway of her bedroom behind you. “Can Mr. Marc do it?”

You open your mouth to gently dissuade her - Marc hasn’t made an appearance all evening - but then his voice behind you cuts your protest off before it even leaves your throat.

“Sure thing.” His shoulder brushes against yours as he joins you inside Nila’s room, and when you look up at him, he gives you a brief, terse smile before ducking down to peer under your daughter’s bed. “No monsters here,” he decides after a beat and then gets to his feet to look inside Nila’s closet. “None here, either.” He takes a seat on the edge of Nila’s bed once she shuffles aside to give him room to sit next to you. “You’re safe.”

“That’s good,” she agrees, seemingly satisfied with his evaluation of her room’s safety. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, kiddo.” Marc glances briefly at you for permission, and when you nod, he reaches out to smooth a stray lock of hair out of Nila’s face and tuck it behind her ear for her carefully. “Sleep tight, okay?”

“Okay.” She snuggles down into her covers contentedly. “‘Night, Amma,” she adds to you.

“Sweet dreams, Vanilla Bean.” You duck down to kiss her forehead as Marc quietly slips off the edge of the bed and heads for the door. “I love you.”

“Love you, too.” Nila shuts her eyes, and you take that as your cue to follow Marc’s lead and retreat out of the room.

“Sorry,” he apologizes to you ruefully once the door is shut and the two of you are alone in the hallway. “I know tonight was supposed to be for just you and Steven, but when she asked for me, I just-”

“You don’t ever have to apologize for fronting, Marc,” you reassure him before he can get any excuses out and retreat from you. “I’m glad you’re here.”

That gives him pause, his dark eyes flicking up warily to meet yours as if he’s afraid of what he’ll see in your face.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You hesitate before standing on your toes to peck his cheek tentatively, which earns a tiny smile at last. “Steven’s not upset, is he?”

“Nah, he’s okay,” Marc dismisses. “He thinks it’s sweet that Nila wanted me to check her room for monsters.” His smile turns wry. “Sorry, I kinda took your job from you there.”

“No, it’s okay,” you insist. “If she feels safe with you, then I’m glad.”

Marc ducks his head to avoid meeting your eyes as he mumbles, “Thanks. It means a lot that she does.” He chews the inside of his cheek, clearly debating whether to say something before he finally says, “My little brother, he, uh - he used to ask me to check for monsters in his room, too.”

“I didn’t know you had a brother,” you note curiously even as you reach out automatically, smoothing back a stray curl of hair from Marc’s forehead for him and marveling at how his eyes flutter shut at your touch. “What’s his name?”

“His name was Randall,” Marc answers carefully after a beat, and you notice the deliberate use of the past tense and the way he keeps his eyes squeezed shut as if awaiting some sort of reaction.

“Oh.” Your throat grows suddenly tight. “I’m sorry.”

Marc shakes his head. “It’s been a long time.”

You hesitate before stepping in to close the gap between yourself and Marc, sliding your arms around his neck to pull him close, and he freezes briefly against you before sinking into your hold, his nose slotting into the junction between your neck and shoulder like two puzzle pieces fitting together as his arms wind around your waist to squeeze you close. You’re convinced neither of you had even realized how much you had needed this embrace until you were in it, melting into each other’s arms until you’re certain that if either of you let go, the other would collapse instantly.

“I had a sister,” you say quietly at last, breaking the silence, and Marc tenses briefly against you. “I mean, I have one - she’s still alive, but she got Snapped along with half the universe eight years ago.”

“Sorry,” he murmurs into your skin.

“Don’t be, she’s fine now - or at least I think she is. I had Nila and moved here before she came back, and I haven’t talked to her since then.” You shrug as best as you can without loosening Marc’s hold on you.

“What’s her name?” he asks after a beat.

“Devika.” You nestle your head against his shoulder. “And I know it’s not the same as your brother, and I’m not comparing it at all-”

“But you still lost her,” Marc interrupts, his tone not unkind as he adds, “It’s not a competition, sweetheart.” You feel his lips brush gingerly over the crook of your neck. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me, too.” You shut your eyes, focusing on the solid warmth of his front plastered to yours and the tightness of his arms around your waist. “You don’t have to tell me what happened to Randall, but if you want to, I’ll listen.”

Marc is quiet for a long beat before he finally admits, “Not tonight.” He doesn’t give you time to feel a sting of disappointment before he adds tentatively, “Maybe someday.”

“Okay.” You hesitate before tilting your head up to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw carefully.

The faintest shadow of a grateful smile crosses his face before he turns away slightly so that you can’t quite see his expression.

“I should give Steven back to you,” he changes the subject, his tone uninterpretable.

“If you want to.” You keep your own tone as neutral and open as possible. “If not, I still have a whole list of Indian movies for you to complain about.”

That startles Marc into looking back down at you, his eyebrows rising incredulously on his forehead.

“There’s more?” It’s clear that he’s trying to sound exasperated and failing miserably as a smile spreads across his face again.

“Oh, you’d better believe it,” you confirm, grinning brightly back up at him when he rolls his eyes in response. “In fact, I’ve got the perfect one to start next. Ever heard of Baahubali?”

Chapter Text

The bright, cheerful card taunts you with its presence alone as it sits innocuously on your coffee table, waiting for you to read it for the millionth time in a row. Nila had gone to bed an hour earlier, and you’re thankful she had because you’re not sure how she would have reacted to you bringing home such a colorfully ostentatious piece of mail from your nightly run to the mailbox in the lobby of your building.

“Do all Indian wedding invitations look like that?” Steven settles on the couch beside you after setting a cup of steaming coffee for you beside the invitation, a mug of tea for himself clutched in his hands.

“Most of them, yeah.” You forgo the coffee in favor of picking up the red and gold invitation to study its contents yet again.

You are cordially invited to celebrate the wedding of Devika and Krishna.

Pre-wedding events (mehendi and sangeet) - 6:00 PM, December 30th, 2026

Wedding ceremony - 10:00 AM, December 31st, 2026

Please RSVP on the website below by November 15th, 2026.

“If you think the invitation’s over the top, then I don’t know if you could handle seeing an entire wedding,” you add dryly.

“Well, no time like the present,” Steven teases with a cheeky grin, nudging your shoulder lightly with his own as he nods to the invitation. When you don’t respond, his smile fades slightly. “You’re not thinking of not going, are you?”

“I don’t see why I should go.” You shrug uncomfortably as you toss the invitation back onto the table before picking up the coffee he had placed in front of you to take a sip; Marc must have either taken over to make it or given Steven detailed instructions from within their shared headspace because it’s significantly improved from the burnt mess he had ended up with after trying to brew coffee for you weeks earlier.

“The venue’s right here in London,” he points out. “You wouldn’t even have to travel for it. And if your sister looked your address up just to invite you, it must mean she wants to see you, yeah?”

You exhale wearily, letting the warmth of the mug in your hands seep into your cold fingertips.

“Yeah, maybe.” You sound doubtful even to your own ears.

Steven sighs. “Well, you’ve got time to think it over, at the very least. You’re only supposed to RSVP ‘round mid-November-” He nods to the invitation. “-and we’re only in October now.”

“I guess,” you agree reluctantly, trying not to sound as skeptical as you had before and failing miserably.

He falters, clearly disheartened by your hesitation. “Love, I don’t mean to assume, and you can be honest with me, really, you can-”

“Just say whatever you’re trying to say, Steven,” you reassure him.

“Do you not want me to go with you to the wedding?” he blurts out before promptly flushing bright pink when you stare at him, averting his eyes from yours as he mumbles embarrassedly, “I mean, if it would cause problems for you to be seen with someone, er - not Indian - I’d understand, you know? Just - all you have to do is say so.”

You roll your eyes so hard that they threaten to pop out of your head as you set your mug down before turning to face him properly.

“Steven Grant, you’re possibly the most brilliant man I know and I love you very much, but that is the dumbest thing you have ever said to me.”

His eyes widen, turning round with surprise. “You - what?”

“Yes, I love you, and yes, this is the first time I’m saying it out loud,” you sigh impatiently. “Not exactly the takeaway from this conversation I meant.”

“No, no, that’s definitely a bit of the takeaway,” Steven protests, but now he’s begun to smile broadly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You love me? Really?”

“Am I supposed to take it back or not?” you demand, but then he hurriedly sets his mug of tea beside yours before closing the gap between the two of you to kiss you firmly, his hands clutching at your waist to keep you from toppling backward against the armrest of the couch in your surprise.

“Don’t you dare,” he murmurs fondly against your lips. “I love you, too, darling.”

He tilts his head up to kiss the bridge of your nose tenderly, which makes you wrinkle it automatically as he grins at your involuntary reaction.

“I won’t pretend that showing up to an Indian wedding with someone ‘not Indian’ won’t get some looks. It’s backward, but it’s how things tend to be in my culture,” you admit reluctantly as you pull back just enough to press your forehead against his and meet his eyes again. “But,” you add pointedly when his expression falls. “I also can’t begin to overstate how little any of that matters to me because I love you and I could never, ever be ashamed of you for any reason. Okay?”

Steven huffs a breathless little laugh that’s so wobbly that you’re sure he’s about to tear up a split second before he does, his eyes suddenly brighter than you’ve ever seen them before.

“Okay,” he confirms feebly, his voice cracking as the first of his tears spill over and stain his cheeks. “Oh, bloody hell, sorry.” He sniffles sharply as he pulls back from you, clumsily wiping at his face with his sleeve. “I’m being silly, aren’t I?”

“Just a little, yeah,” you agree, feeling a little like your heart is fracturing in your chest - God, is this how Steven feels whenever something small triggers tears in you? - even as you tug his sleeve away from his face so that you can thumb away the stray tears on his cheeks more carefully instead.

His eyes flutter shut like he’s memorizing your touch against his skin, and you can’t help but lean in the rest of the way to kiss him firmly.

“Love you,” you breathe against his lips and feel them twitch upward into a watery smile against yours in return.

“Love you, too,” he whispers back.

You tend to fall asleep on the couch beside Marc these days.

It’s become something of a routine now: Steven has the body most of the time he’s with you, and Marc fronts to join you for Nila’s bedtime routine and check for monsters whenever she requests him to - which is every night the moment she realizes he’s willing to - before retreating to your living room afterward to put on a movie with you.

More often than not, you doze off either curled up against your couch’s armrest or slumped over into Marc’s warm side, and the next thing you know, he’s carrying you to bed, his expression usually so fondly exasperated that it makes something in the pit of your stomach warm with contentment and delight.

“You’ve really gotta stop doing this,” he mutters every time he carries you down the hall to your bedroom, but then you catch him smiling as you pretend to turn your face into his shoulder.

“You’re gonna mess up your back falling asleep on the couch all the time,” he complains every time he catches you dozing off next to him, but then his fingers slide into the space between the couch cushions and your spine, tracing slow circles into your back until the knots of tension release under his touch.

“I’m not gonna carry you to bed,” he threatens every night, but then he scoops you up without complaint the moment your eyelids so much as flutter shut.

He cares for you, you think, in the only way Marc Spector knows how - through acts of service. Steven loves you much more openly, affirming it every time you see him with bright smiles and kisses and sweet endearments, but Marc is far more restrained in his affection.

He doesn’t outright come out and say he wants to spend time with you, but it’s clear in the way he seeks your company out by quietly curling up on your couch and waiting for you to join him as opposed to how he had run from you at first.

He doesn’t kiss you beyond rare, careful presses of his lips to your forehead when he thinks you’re too far under sleep’s thrall to notice, but he stays dutifully by your side whenever you twist your fingers into the front of his shirt after he deposits you in your bed, even if he’s often gone by morning.

Tonight, he’s smoothing his hand over your hair like he can’t quite believe he’s allowed to touch you, his fingers combing rhythmically through the strands over and over as you nestle your cheek against his thigh and half-heartedly watch one of the Matrix movies playing on the television while already well on your way to falling asleep.

“What happened to ‘I’ll stay awake this time?’” he teases when he notices your lethargy, breaking the comfortably sleepy silence between the two of you.

“You’re the one putting me to sleep,” you point out, but when he goes to pull his hand away, you tilt your head back into his touch. “Nope, you’re not allowed to stop now.”

He huffs a low and rumbling chuckle that resonates deep in your bones.

“Last I checked, you’re not a cat.” All the same, he massages lazy circles into your scalp and your eyes drift shut again as you savor the warm rasp of his fingertips against your head. “If you fall asleep, I’m just gonna leave you here on the couch.”

“Sure you are.” You crack one eye open to peek up at him and gauge if he’s serious or not, but all you find is him smiling faintly back down at you, his gaze soft and tender. “I’ll believe it when it happens,” you add just to get another dig in, and he rolls his eyes good-naturedly before reaching for the remote to turn off the television.

“I mean it this time.”

“Mm-kay.” You shut your eyes deliberately again, and it takes all of ten seconds for Marc’s resolve to falter as he sighs wearily.

“Fine,” he mutters grudgingly, though there’s no heat behind it; if anything, he sounds like he’s still smiling as he climbs out from beneath you and scoops you into his arms as if you’re feather-light. “You’re getting spoiled.”

“Yeah.” You press a smile into his shoulder. “You really don’t have to keep doing this, you know - I was only kidding.”

“I know.” His tone softens, all humor bleeding out of it until the only thing left is overwhelmingly warm affection. “I want to, sweetheart.”

When he settles you on your mattress, you wind your fingers into the fabric of his T-shirt and tug lightly until he obediently climbs under the covers beside you, his chin nestling on top of your head as his arms wind around your waist. You tuck your face into his chest contentedly, your nose slotting into the hollow of his throat.

“I’ve been thinking,” he says at last, and you pause, briefly taken aback by the change in routine; he usually doesn’t talk much after he joins you in bed. “You should go to Devika’s wedding.”

“Not you, too,” you sigh wearily. “I already had this conversation with Steven last week.”

“She wants to see you,” Marc pushes ahead, stubbornly ignoring you.

“Yeah, she’s the only one in my family who might.” You press your face even further into his chest, letting the warm, faintly sweet scent of the aftershave clinging to his skin calm your nerves. “Anyway, you’d hate it there. Indian weddings are loud.”

He huffs a wry chuckle. “Which is why Steven’s taking the body if we go with you. Besides, if I can handle an Egyptian wedding, I can handle an Indian one.”

You’d forgotten Marc had been married once, and the reminder makes something selfish sour in the pit of your stomach even as he traces a lazy pattern into your back.

“Say you don’t go,” he adds, “Do you think you’ll regret it down the line?”

“Probably,” you relent grudgingly.

“Pretty sure you know the answer to your RSVP, then.” You feel his lips press against the crown of your head. “It’s just two days. And if it doesn’t go well, you don’t ever have to see any of them again. But you won’t know ‘til you try.”

You don’t answer him, too sullen to admit he’s right.

“Here.” He nudges you back just enough to press your phone into your hand. “Before you have time to overthink it.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m not gonna overthink it.”

Marc levels you with a deadpan stare. “You do nothing but overthink. Just send the RSVP before I do it for you.”

You wrinkle your nose at him - which earns a fond chuckle from him that makes your heart leap into your throat and lodge there - before opening up the wedding website on your phone and typing in the RSVP details.

“Three for the mehendi and sangeet, three for the wedding. Right?”

“Right.” Marc presses another tender kiss to your forehead once you hit “submit” on the form. “It’s gonna be okay.”

“Sure.” You grudgingly pass him your phone and he returns it to your nightstand. “Just for this, though, I’m dragging you and Steven shopping.”

A look of horror washes over Marc’s face and you snort derisively, unable to keep up the ruse for long.

“I’m kidding - anything Western semi-formal you already have is probably fine.”

“Not funny,” he grumbles, but a smile is already threatening to tug at his lips once more.

Chapter Text

“Hold still,” you scold mildly when Nila squirms in the middle of you fastening her earring. “I don’t want to accidentally give you an extra piercing.”

She squeaks with horror at the thought and practically turns into a statue, allowing you to screw the back of her earring in tightly before pasting the small dark bindi stuck on the back of your hand to the center of her forehead.

“Okay, you’re all done,” you reassure her, nudging her back to admire her in her navy lehenga.

“You’re really sure this is alright, love?” Steven frets anxiously as he fiddles with his dark blue button-down shirt’s sleeves and brushes his palms over the tan slacks covering his knees. “I’m not underdressed, am I?”

“You’re fine, you look great,” you answer as you glance over your shoulder at him, briefly admiring how the shirt is just tight enough around his shoulders that you can see the broad lines of his muscles through the fabric; you had had to insist on him unbuttoning at least two of the top buttons so that he looks marginally more at ease, but you hadn’t needed to offer any other suggestions. “It’s usually women who have to really dress up for Indian weddings - guys have it a lot easier.”

Nila huffs indignantly. “This is misogyny.”

Both you and Steven stare at her incredulously.

“I mean, you’re right, but do I want to know where you learned that word from?” you ask warily.

She shrugs. “YouTube.”

“I really ought to put more child restrictions on your iPad,” you mutter good-naturedly with a rueful shake of your head even as you smooth a lock of hair behind her ear before allowing her to clamber onto the couch beside Steven.

“You look very handsome, Mr. Steven,” she informs him, patting his arm reassuringly.

“Well, thank you, little love. You look quite beautiful yourself.” He tosses an arm around her shoulders to tug her into a sideways embrace, which makes her giggle as she collapses against his side.

“I should go get dressed,” you admit as you climb to your feet from where you’d been kneeling on the carpet to finish getting your daughter ready. “I shouldn’t take more than a few minutes if you two can wait until then?”

“Not a problem.” Steven glances at his watch. “We’ve still got about twenty minutes to spare before we need to get going.”

The anarkali you have chosen settles silkily against your skin once you pull it on, and you feel a strange twinge of nostalgia; you’ve never been one to dress up - leaving that to Devika for most of your life until she had been Snapped away - but you still have memories of wearing lovely, elaborate dresses just like these to family weddings and parties. You do some quick makeup - just foundation, eyeliner, and lipstick - after brushing out your hair, affix a teardrop-shaped bindi to your forehead, and then slide on a few dark blue and silver bangles onto each wrist before rejoining Steven and Nila in the living room.

They’re both deeply engrossed in something on Nila’s iPad - Bluey, from what you can gather of the sounds coming from the tablet - but when Steven looks up at the sound of your footsteps, his eyes widen in awe.

“Oh, wow,” he breathes.

You flush slightly, embarrassed, but then Nila pauses her Bluey episode and looks up, too, her eyes doubling in size.

“You look so pretty!” She scrambles off the couch and grabs your hands, leaning back to peer up at your face. “I’ve never seen you in a dress before!”

“Really?” You think back over the last six years. “Huh. I guess you haven’t. Well, there’s a first for everything.” You smooth down her hair carefully one last time before glancing amusedly back at Steven, who’s still staring at you and making no move to get up from the couch. “You okay?”

“Er,” he says blankly in response.

“I think you broke him, Amma,” Nila giggles as she releases your hands to go pull on her navy ballet flats, and Steven turns bright pink as he hurriedly climbs to his feet.

“No, no, I’m fine, I’m aces,” he says, seemingly flustered, and you can’t help but grin as you close the space between the two of you, sliding your hands into his and lacing your fingers together.

“That good?” you tease.

“Really that good,” he confirms appreciatively. “You look absolutely stunning, love.” He tilts his head toward your floor-length mirror against the wall briefly before adding, “Marc thinks so, too.”

“Well, thank you - both of you.” You peck the corner of Steven’s mouth and then carefully thumb away the burgundy smudge of lipstick you’ve accidentally left on his skin before pulling back to check your phone for the time. “We should get going or we’ll be late even by Indian standards.”

“Is that a new lock screen picture?” he asks curiously.

“Yeah, I changed it a few days ago.” You glance at the picture as you slide your phone into your clutch purse - a photo you had taken of Nila smiling brightly at the camera as she had brandished a sparkler on Diwali nearly two months earlier.

In the picture, Marc is crouched behind her with his fingers wrapped around her tiny wrist to steady her grip on the stick and looking down at the top of her head with a faint smile, the golden light from the sparkler illuminating the dark brown of his eyes and turning them a rich amber. To this day, you don’t think you’ve ever seen him smiling so warmly at anything but you and your daughter.

When you look up at Steven after snapping your clutch purse closed, you realize he’s still staring at where your phone is nestled in your purse, his expression not quite as readable as it usually is.

“Everything okay?” you ask warily, and he jolts out of whatever daze he seems to be in.

“Yeah, ‘course. Let’s, er-” He gestures toward the door where Nila is waiting impatiently for both of you, her thick winter coat already on. “Let’s get going.”

“Wait, so it’s not just parents’ siblings that are ‘uncles’ and ‘aunties?’” Steven asks incredulously, feeling a little like his head is spinning at the overwhelming influx of cultural knowledge you’ve somehow managed to impart within the twenty-minute cab ride to the hotel at which your sister’s pre-wedding party is being held.

“Nope.” You smooth down Nila’s hair as she bounces in her seat between the two of you, clearly excited to be attending her first Indian wedding. “Basically anyone older than you is an uncle or an aunty. It’s confusing, I know.”

“So then how do you know who’s actually related to you?” Steven demands, and you frown thoughtfully.

“You know, I have no idea. I usually just kind of wing it.” You shrug mildly. “It’s worked so far.”

Once the cab pulls to a stop, Steven slides the money for the ride to the driver before you can so much as reach for your wallet, deliberately ignoring your scowl aimed at the side of his head as he helps Nila out of the cab first and then goes around to open the door for you.

“You know I can afford things, right?” you demand as you get out of the cab, and he shrugs mildly as he shuts the door behind you so that the cab can pull away from the sidewalk.

“Sure, but why should you have to?”

You purse your lips in disapproval, but can’t seem to find an argument for him, so he throws caution to the wind and ducks down to kiss your forehead briefly.

“I don’t think you’re any less capable if you let me pay for things,” he insists. “You know that, don’t you, love?”

You soften a little, seemingly relieved at the reassurance.

“Yeah. I’m sorry.”

“‘S alright.” He steals one last kiss to the furrow between your eyebrows.

“Ew,” Nila complains as she winds herself around your legs. “Kissing’s gross.”

“Oh, is it? You don’t seem to mind when I’m smothering you with them,” you tease, ducking down to plant a firm kiss against your daughter’s head even as she giggles and squirms away from your embrace. “Come on, let’s get out of the cold.”

You loop your arm around Steven’s once you straighten again, sliding your free hand into Nila’s, and Steven can’t help but wonder for the thousandth time that night - especially since he had seen that photograph of Marc holding Nila’s hand steady and smiling down at her on your phone - just how much you all must look like a family to anyone on the outside looking in.

Are you all a family now?

“Knock it off,” Marc warns quietly from a passing reflection as Steven ushers you and Nila into the hotel lobby so that the three of you can check in your coats. “Don’t go down that road.”

Steven ignores him pointedly - his alter’s been acting awfully cagey and strange as the arbitrary deadline he and you had agreed on months earlier to determine the path forward for your relationship approaches - in favor of taking your coat from your hands and passing it to the coat check attendant, pocketing the tickets he receives in return for all three of your coats. When he turns back to you, you’re crouched in front of Nila and carefully adjusting the small navy shawl you had called a dupatta around her neck and shoulders.

“Is your sister my periamma or my chithi?” she asks as she squirms under your ministrations.

“You know, that’s a good question,” you muse. “Because Devika was older than me before the Snap, but after she came back, she ended up being younger.” You shrug helplessly in the face of Nila’s bewildered frown. “Tell you what, we can ask her what she wants you to call her when we meet her.”

“You have specific words for relatives?” Steven asks as he watches you get to your feet again and adjust your own dupatta once you’re upright.

“Yeah, ‘periamma’ means older maternal aunt, and ‘chithi’ is a younger maternal aunt.” You grin wryly at what Steven presumes is the overwhelming confusion on his face. “There’s way more than just that - even I don’t know half of the words for different relatives.”

The sound of your name makes you turn, your eyes widening when you seem to recognize the young woman dressed in a light green dress similar to yours and waving frantically across the hotel lobby at you.

“Krithika!” you exclaim. “Hey!”

“I haven’t seen you in years!” Krithika gushes as she closes the gap between herself and you, flinging her arms around you in a tight embrace that you return with a smile. “Where have you been?”

“Here in London, actually.” You lean back out of Krithika’s embrace so that you can steady Nila when the six-year-old huddles anxiously into your side. “This is my daughter, Nila, and my partner, Steven.”

Steven does his best not to preen a little - something about being called your partner ignites a selfishly possessive fire in his chest that warms him from the inside out - even as Krithika turns her attention to him and Nila.

“Hi, sweetie!” She crouches briefly to Nila’s height first. “I love your dress.”

“Thank you, Aunty,” Nila mumbles self-consciously and then buries her face into your leg.

“She’s shy around strangers,” you admit to Krithika when she straightens, smoothing your fingers through your daughter’s hair to soothe her nerves.

“It’s good to meet you,” Krithika adds to Steven, holding out her hand, and he shakes it. “I’m one of Devika’s friends from high school. I can’t believe this kid-” She jabs a thumb at you. “-is all grown up and has a kid of her own.”

You roll your eyes good-naturedly. “I wasn’t exactly a little kid when you last saw me - I was fifteen.”

“Exactly,” Krithika insists. “It’s been, like, forever. Have you seen Devika or your parents yet?”

Steven doesn’t miss the way your face drains of color at the mention of your parents, your lips pressing firmly together into a thin line as you shake your head.

“We just got here,” you answer after a beat. “We’ll find them later on, don’t worry about it.”

“If you say so.” Krithika frowns, but then catches sight of what Steven assumes is another familiar face. “I think Sanjay just arrived - you remember him from Bharatanatyam classes, right?”

“Yeah, I remember,” you confirm. “Go ahead, I’ll catch up with everybody later.” As Krithika crosses the hotel lobby, you add under your breath to Steven, “I guarantee everyone will know we’re here in a matter of ten minutes now that she knows.”

“Bit of a gossip, is she?” he guesses and you grin wryly.

“If I’m being honest, everyone here kind of is.”

“I didn’t know you danced Bharatanatyam, Amma,” Nila pipes up, peering curiously up at you.

“I wasn’t very good at it,” you admit as you ruffle her hair absently. “Besides, it was a long time ago - I was only a little older than you when I started classes.”

Her eyes double in size at the new information about you.

“Really?”

“Mhm.” You tug her in a little closer to your side - likely to steel your nerves, Steven realizes when he sees how badly your hands are trembling - before glancing up at him. “Ready to face the masses?”

“‘Course, love.” He’s tempted to press a kiss into your hair, but is keenly aware of every pair of eyes in the hotel lobby fixing on them, so he decides against it despite how badly he wants to as he follows you and Nila into the ballroom where your sister’s mehendi and sangeet are taking place.

Chapter Text

“Did you hear-?”

“-Devika’s sister has a kid-”

“-cute girl, looks just like her amma-”

“-had her at nineteen and ran away from home-”

“-dropped out of college and moved here to London-”

“Did you see-?”

“-the guy she’s with now-”

“-definitely not Indian-”

“-boyfriend or husband?”

Marc can hear every single whisper of the passing guests in the ballroom - some in American, distinctly New Jersey accents, some in British accents, and some in heavy Indian accents - even if Steven is oblivious to it. His alter is too fixated on how you hold Nila in your lap while murmuring instructions in extremely broken Hindi to the mehendi artist, who is busy drawing pretty, swirling henna designs on each of your palms and answering you in far more fluent Hindi.

“Don’t smudge it,” you tell Nila mock-sternly as you usher her off your knee and over to Steven. “You wanna show Mr. Steven what your mehendi looks like?”

“Wow,” Steven says enthusiastically on cue when Nila shoves her mehendi-covered palm out for him to see. “That’s very pretty, little love.”

“We sometimes play a little game when we do mehendi for family weddings,” you add over your shoulder. “See if you can spot a letter in her design.”

Steven frowns deeply at Nila’s palm, clearly playing along, and Marc supplies from their shared headspace wearily when he realizes just how long Steven’s going to take to notice it, “Upper right - there’s an ‘S.’”

“Oh, is that ‘S’ for me?” Steven grins brightly at Nila, who giggles and nods.

“Uh-huh. Here’s Amma’s-” She points at a second initial - the first letter of your name, which is nestled in the center of her palm amidst several swirls - before pointing at a third one on the upper left part of her palm. “-and here’s Mr. Marc’s.”

Even as Steven appropriately “ooh”s and “aah”s over Nila’s mehendi, Marc stares at the tiny “M” that he knows will stain the little girl’s skin a dark orange-brown for several days to come.

Several more days of your daughter being tied to him when the other shoe is supposed to drop tomorrow.

He stamps down the inevitable rise of dread before Steven notices, watching through his alter’s eyes as the mehendi artist sneaks initials onto your palm as well. Once she wraps up and the three of you move to another table so that someone else can get their mehendi done, you place your hand in Steven’s for him to inspect.

“Well?”

“Center for Nila,” he determines, catching sight of Nila’s initial first - a “V” for her full first name nestled in the middle of a swirling chakra on your palm. “Bottom left for mine,” he adds when he spots the “S” for his own name. “And…” He squints at your hand. “I don’t see Marc’s.”

For a moment, Marc feels like his heart has stopped in his chest - is this your way of dropping the other shoe without actually saying it? - but then you roll your eyes fondly.

“You should’ve brought your reading glasses, Steven.” You point with your free hand at the spot between your thumb and index finger.

Sure enough, Marc makes out an “M” so conspicuously lodged between two flower petals that it’s embarrassing how long it had taken him to spot it before you had pointed it out. At last, his heart resumes beating.

“Oh.” Steven grins sheepishly when he sees it, too. “Yeah, didn’t see that there.”

“Mehendi smells funny,” Nila complains as she clambers onto your lap, holding her hand up to avoid smudging the rapidly drying henna on her skin.

“Yeah, it does,” you agree as you slide your free hand around her waist to hold her steady in your lap. “Some people like it, some don’t. Don’t pick at it,” you add more sternly when she reaches for her palm to pick at the dark lines with her fingernail. “It’ll fall off on its own once it’s dry.”

The dim, purplish-blue lighting of the ballroom illuminates you in a hazy glow that makes Steven’s breath catch in his throat. Marc feels it, too, so constricting and terrifying that he fears if Steven doesn’t say something soon, he’ll have to force himself to the front to voice it aloud, but then you look up, frowning when you catch the look on Steven’s face.

“What?”

God, you’re so beautiful, Marc doesn’t say.

“Nothing,” Steven dismisses, easily downplaying the fleeting intensity of the moment that had just passed. “Just - you look lovely, darling, that’s all.”

You flush slightly, clearly embarrassed and flattered as you duck your head to nestle your chin into Nila’s hair, but before you can say anything, the lighting of the ballroom dims to almost pitch-black, a spotlight focusing on the set of doors where your sister and her fiancé are about to make their grand entrance.

Devika and Krishna enter the room arm-in-arm while smiling brightly and waving at their guests, and Marc sees the family resemblance instantly - the same smile, the same narrow nose, the same jet-black hair, the same warm golden-brown eyes. She’s dressed in a lovely pink dress embroidered with so many golden sequins and beads that she practically glitters like a jewel beneath the spotlight as she glides gracefully across the ballroom floor next to her suit-clad groom.

“Oh,” you breathe softly, clearly stunned as you take in the sister you haven’t seen in eight years, and Marc suddenly realizes your eyes are bright and damp with unshed tears.

“She’s gonna start crying, Steven,” he warns. “Do something.”

Steven starts slightly, clearly not having expected Marc to speak, but then reaches across the distance to place his hand lightly on your knee when he sees your tears as well. You blink back at him, startled, before managing a tiny smile as you release Nila just enough to place your hand not covered in henna over Steven’s and intertwine your fingers together.

Marc sees it the moment Devika catches sight of you in the crowd, her expression brightening with delight and relief as she mouths your name enthusiastically from across the room. You smile back broadly, and to Marc’s relief, you no longer look like you’re going to cry. Unfortunately, the bride’s attention on you means that the rest of the room is looking at the three of you, too, and Marc can sense how Steven squirms uncomfortably in his seat, dropping his gaze down to you and Nila to keep his nerves at bay.

The lights come up again, allowing the party to commence and the guests to mingle, but Devika pays them no mind as they attempt to approach and talk to her, beelining across the room to your table instead with her fiancé in tow. Up close, Marc can see that mehendi designs cover her arms all the way up to her elbows; she must have gotten them done the previous day in preparation for the wedding festivities.

“You made it!” She’s beaming widely, a glint of tears in her own eyes, and you usher Nila off your lap so that you can get to your feet and hug her tightly, mindful of your henna-covered hand as you do so.

“‘Course I did.” You purposely don’t mention the way you had deliberated and hesitated to come if it hadn’t been for Steven’s and Marc’s intervention. “It’s good to see you again, Devi.”

“You, too.” Devika pulls back from the embrace to look you over, seemingly still surprised you’re actually in front of her. “Oh!” She seems to remember the bemused man beside her, ushering him forward. “Krishna, this is my little sister.”

“Little?” you echo wryly and she grins sheepishly.

“Well, she’s older than me now, anyway.”

“I can see how that gets complicated,” Krishna chuckles, his voice colored by a British accent strongly reminding Marc of Steven as he holds his hand out to you. “Good to meet you.”

“You, too.” You shake his hand with your clean one even as Nila inches toward Steven uncertainly and holds her arms up in a plaintive request.

He scoops her up readily, mindful of her mehendi as he settles her in his arms and stands, and you seem to remember their presence.

“This is my partner, Steven, and my daughter, Vennila,” you introduce them to Devika and Krishna. “We call her ‘Nila’ for short.”

“Hi, Nila.” Devika’s smile softens when she looks up at Nila, who hides her face in Steven’s shoulder. “You know, your amma was very shy when she was your age, too.”

Nila peeks up at her anxiously. “Really?”

“Mhm.” Devika grins, amused. “Every time our parents had guests over, she’d run and hide behind our couch.”

You flush slightly with mortification even as Krishna snorts with laughter.

“Devi, quit embarrassing your sister.” He hears his name being called and excuses himself quietly, “Sorry, I think that’s one of my mates from uni. Be right back, love.” He squeezes Devika’s hand before extracting himself from her side and heading over to the friend that had called him over.

“You’re really pretty,” Nila blurts out abruptly before hiding her face in Steven’s shoulder again, and Devika laughs.

“Thank you, sweetie. I think you are, too.”

“She wanted to know if you’re her periamma or chithi,” you add dryly on Nila’s behalf.

“Tell you what,” Devika says to Nila as the little girl peers tentatively back at her, curious for her response. “How about we stick to ‘chithi?’ Makes me feel younger,” she adds to you teasingly, and you roll your eyes good-naturedly.

“Okay, Devika Chithi,” Nila mumbles shyly before turning abruptly to you. “Can I wash my hand now, Amma?”

You sigh. “Well, your mehendi won’t turn out very dark, but that’s okay. I’m gonna take her to the bathroom and wash her hand off if you’re okay with it,” you add to Steven.

“‘Course, darling.” Marc sees Devika’s eyebrows rise in appraisal at the endearment as Steven sets Nila down, allowing her to take your hand.

“I’ll be right back,” you add to your sister. “Go mingle with your guests, I’ll catch up with you later.”

Marc isn’t sure if the twinge of nerves he feels as he watches you walk away is his or Steven’s before the latter turns to face Devika.

“So how long have you known my sister?” Her tone is mild, but there’s a sharp suspicion in her gaze.

“Oh, er-”

Steven falters briefly as he scrambles to think of the date he had met you until Marc supplies quietly, “Six months.”

“Six months,” Steven answers a little more confidently. “She’s really lovely. Best thing that’s ever happened to me, really - her and her daughter.”

Devika considers him thoughtfully, her lips pursing in a way that reminds Marc of you, before she nods decisively.

“Okay, well, I don’t think I need to tell you that you’d better be good to her or else.”

Marc’s heart sinks; there’s no way he can promise that.

“Oh, no, I promise I will,” Steven says quickly.

“Good.” Devika grins as she relaxes. “In any case, we’re going to be in pretty close proximity now on since Krishna’s here in London, too, so I’d really like to see more of my sister after so much time apart.” She glances around quickly before lowering her voice and adding, “Speaking of which, she hasn’t seen our parents yet, has she?”

“No?” Steven sounds confused. “Why, will it be bad if she does?”

“Well, about that…” Devika grimaces slightly. “They kind of didn’t know I invited her until now, and they only found out because the whole room’s been talking about her - and you. Sorry about that.”

Steven shrugs. “‘S alright.”

It’s easy for him to say, Marc thinks grudgingly; Steven’s not the one who’s actually listening to what everyone’s been saying about the three of you.

“Tell you what,” Devika says brightly as an idea seems to occur to her. “Do you have your phone on you?”

“Sure.” Steven digs out his phone and Devika types a number into it.

“Here - pass it on to her, we’ll stay in touch.” Her eyes crinkle when she smiles just like yours do, Marc notes absently as he watches Steven take his phone back and pocket it. “I should go, but tell her to text me after all this wedding stuff’s over, okay?”

“I will,” Steven agrees, watching as Devika crosses the room to where a group of her friends seems to be waving her over.

“Hey.” You’re back with Nila in your arms, both of you with clean hands now as you set your daughter down and let her cling to your leg. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Steven confirms. “She gave me her number to pass on to you - said she wanted to stay in touch.”

“Oh, great.” You smile, relieved. “I’d really like that. Hey, they’ve got North Indian food here, you’re probably more familiar with some of those if you wanna try them out?”

“Sure,” Steven agrees, unable to help but return your smile in the face of just how delighted you seem to be. “Lead the way, love.”

To your surprise, you’re actually enjoying yourself more than you thought you would at the party. Watching Nila teach Steven about different Indian foods as patiently as a six-year-old can while they pluck food off each other’s plates makes something deep in your chest warm with affection, and Steven catches you smiling at them more than once over the top of Nila’s head.

What? he mouths, and you shake your head, grinning.

Just love you, you mouth in response, and he smiles so widely that his eyes crinkle at the corners, mouthing the sentiment back to you before ducking down when Nila calls for his attention again.

Your mehendi darkens with each passing minute, staining your skin a dark orange, and you trace your fingers over the letters you had hidden into the design on your palm with the index fingertip of your free hand absently.

“V,” “S,” and “M” - at least you know how delighted Nila and Steven had seemed to find their initials on your palm, but you have no idea how Marc feels about all of it. He’s been suspiciously close-lipped leading up to Devika’s wedding, and you’re not sure how to feel about his sudden distance or how to even broach the subject around him without making him feel like he has to retreat into a shell to avoid it altogether.

“Why do people say ‘naan bread’ when naan already means bread?” Nila is in the middle of wondering out loud when you bring yourself back to the present. “That’s like saying bread bread.” She grins brightly at her own joke.

“It is rather funny, innit?” Steven agrees, amused. “Sort of like saying ‘chai tea.’”

Nila squeals with laughter when she puts it together, unable to even translate the phrase “tea tea” that had sent her into such an intense giggling fit even as Steven looks down at her with so much fondness in his expression that your heart twists painfully with longing.

When the dance floor opens up after dinner, Steven’s face floods with trepidation as he glances at you warily.

“Er - sorry, did you want to, erm-?” He gestures vaguely to the dance floor and you put him out of his misery as you snort with laughter and shake your head.

“No way, I’ve got two left feet. You’re spared this time.”

He relaxes, visibly relieved, but before he can open his mouth to say something else, a shadow falls over your table as a familiar voice says your name in a thick Indian accent. Swallowing back the lump of apprehension in your throat, you turn in your seat.

“Hi, Appa,” you say as evenly as you can manage. “Hi, Amma,” you add to your mother behind your father, trying not to let their stern expressions wear your nerves down. “Long time, no see.”

“You shouldn’t be here,” your father says stiffly.

“Last I checked, we were invited,” you point out even as you climb to your feet, keenly aware of several pairs of eyes on you and your parents.

“That was Devika’s mistake,” your father retorts.

“Hallway,” your mother cautions when she notices the attention on the three of you as well. “Don’t make a scene.”

“Appa?” Nila asks tentatively, and when you turn, you realize she’s looking up at Steven anxiously. “Can we go outside?”

Steven’s eyes are wide as he stares back at her, clearly having put together what she had just called him, and you hurriedly cut in to do some quick damage control, “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea, actually. Why don’t you two wait in the lobby for me?”

Steven blinks bemusedly at you, casts a wary glance at your parents behind you, and then nods jerkily as he gets to his feet, scooping Nila up into his arms and slipping out of the hotel ballroom quietly. You exhale quietly as you turn back to your parents, following them through another set of doors and out into the gilded hotel hallway.

“What were you thinking?” your father bursts out the moment the three of you are alone. “Coming here on the eve of your sister’s wedding on a white man’s arm with that little girl-”

“My little girl,” you snap back, relieved that you no longer have to hold back now that you are no longer under the scrutiny of everyone in the ballroom. “And my partner.”

“Partner,” your father scoffs dismissively. “What does he do, anyway? Does he have a good career? Can he provide for you and your daughter?”

“I don’t see how any of that should matter to you,” you say wryly. “Do you even know your granddaughter’s name?” Your mother opens her mouth, but you cut her off heatedly, “No. You don’t get to know a damn thing about her.”

“Watch your tone,” your father snarls.

“I came for Devika,” you retort. “Not for either of you. If she wants me here for her wedding, then I’ll be here.”

“Devika doesn’t know any better,” your mother admits at last. “She wasn’t here to see what kind of shame you brought on your family. And if you know what’s best for you, your daughter, and your partner-” She spits out the word like it’s poison. “-then you’ll stay away from the wedding tomorrow. It’s an auspicious occasion, and the last thing we need is you tainting it.”

“Fine.” Your jaw clenches with the effort of keeping your voice steady. “Then you can be the ones to tell Devika why her sister wasn’t there.”

“She doesn’t have a sister.” Your father’s tone is firm and cold. “And we have only one daughter and no grandchildren. Is that clear?”

“Crystal.” You spin away from them, storming down the hallway, and round the corner just in time to nearly run straight into Steven and Nila, who had clearly come in search of you.

Both of their eyes are wide and horrified, and you realize they’ve heard every single word of your argument with your parents.

Chapter Text

All three of you are mostly quiet during the cab ride home and the trek up to your flat.

You had tried to make conversation with Steven and Nila more than once, but both of them remain unusually subdued in the face of what they had clearly overheard. To his credit, Steven had at least managed a feeble smile or two, but Nila’s mouth stays downturned in a sullen frown as you wrangle her out of her lehenga and into a pair of pajamas in the privacy of her bedroom while Steven waits down the hall for you in the living room.

“Please say something,” you sigh as you unclip the golden barrettes from Nila’s hair last after replacing her earrings with the small gold studs she usually wears. “I know you’re upset, kanmani, but I can’t help if I don’t know what’s on your mind.”

Her lower lip sticks out in a pout. “My grandparents hate me.”

“They don’t,” you protest. “They just…” When Nila fixes you with a stern stare that you’re relatively sure she’d copied from Marc, you sigh in defeat as you admit, “Not all parents love their kids. And that’s on me, not you.”

Her mouth wriggles into a contemplative frown, and you know it isn’t the last time she’s going to bring up the concept tonight.

“Is that all that’s on your mind?” you change the subject quickly before she can think of a response, wiggling your bangles off your wrists to keep your restless hands busy.

“Mr. Steven seemed upset before,” she adds after a beat, deliberately lowering her voice so that Steven won’t overhear your conversation from the living room. “When I called him ‘Appa.’”

“I think you just surprised him, that’s all.” You set aside your bangles on the nightstand so that you can reach out and smooth Nila’s hair out of her face for her. “But if he doesn’t like it, he’ll tell you, okay?”

She doesn’t look convinced, but she nods grudgingly.

“Okay.”

You press a firm kiss to her cheek before suggesting, “Go brush your teeth and let us know when you’re ready to be tucked in.”

Once she nods and retreats to go brush her teeth in the bathroom, you head down the hall to rejoin Steven in the living room. When you enter the room, you realize Marc’s fronted instead, muttering something irritably to your floor-length mirror - likely arguing with Steven - and abruptly falling silent when he notices your presence.

“Sorry,” you apologize. “Was I interrupting something? Is Steven okay?”

“You weren’t interrupting,” Marc lies, but he doesn’t quite meet your eyes. “Steven’s okay. How’s your kid?”

“A little shaken up, but she’ll be alright. Are you okay?” You close the space between the two of you, reaching out to smooth back a stray curl of hair off Marc’s forehead, but he steps backward and away from you, his expression unreadable, so you let your hand fall helplessly back to your side. “Sorry.”

“You apologize too much,” he sighs wearily. “I’m fine.”

“It’s just that a lot of stuff was said back there-” you try again feebly.

“I said I’m fine.” His tone sharpens, and you flinch back involuntarily.

He catches your expression and opens his mouth to say something else - you’re not sure if he means to apologize or snap again - but then Nila’s voice echoes down the hallway, “All done brushing!”

“Be right there,” you call back over your shoulder, keenly aware of Marc’s gaze on the back of your head and his footsteps behind you as you make your way to Nila’s bedroom.

You find Nila clambering into bed unceremoniously, pulling her covers up to her chin and peering owlishly back at you and Marc.

“Mist machine?” she requests.

“Got it.” You flip on the humidifier.

“Night light?”

“Done.” You plug the night light in and turn it on.

“Monster check?” Her gaze drifts to Marc expectantly, and he obediently kneels beside the bed to peer under it.

“Nothing here,” he says quietly, his tone still not as interpretable as you’d like it to be as he gets up to look at Nila’s closet. “And nothing here, either.”

“That’s good.” Nila relaxes marginally as you adjust the covers around her shoulders to tuck her in. “I’ve been thinking, Amma.”

“Uh-oh, that’s dangerous,” you tease mildly to stave off the inevitable serious conversation; nothing good ever follows your daughter declaring that she’s “been thinking.”

“I thought parents were supposed to love their kids no matter what,” she pushes ahead, deliberately ignoring you. “You’d love me no matter what.”

“I would,” you confirm, relieved by how easily she says it like it’s just another fact of life for her, but notice the way Marc’s shoulders tense out of the corner of your eye as he retreats to the doorway with his arms crossed firmly across his chest.

“So how come yours don’t?” Nila presses, her eyes wide and earnest, and you hesitate, trying to think of the most child-friendly version of events to tell her before giving up.

“It’s a long story, and one you’re definitely not old enough for. But what matters is that we don’t need mean people like that in our lives. Right?”

“Right.” Nila nods solemnly. “If they’re ever mean to you again, I’ll bite them.”

You snort with laughter, unable to help it. “Don’t bite anyone, please. But it’s very sweet of you to stick up for me.” You duck down to kiss her forehead. “Go to sleep now.”

“Okay.” She snuggles beneath her covers. “‘Night, Amma. I love you.”

“I love you, too, baby.” You get to your feet.

“‘Night, Appa,” she adds tentatively, and your heart stutters in your chest when you realize she’s looking at Marc behind you. “I love you.”

Marc is silent for a beat too long and you brace yourself for the inevitable fallout, but then he says at last, “Yeah, you, too, kiddo.” His voice is rough, but to your relief, he doesn’t outright scorn her affection. “Sleep tight.”

“Sorry,” you apologize quietly once you shut the door of Nila’s bedroom behind both of you once you’re out in the hall. “I really don’t know what’s gotten into her tonight.”

“‘S fine.” Marc drops his gaze away from you again, his tone neutral once more, and you falter, unsure how to thaw the unfamiliar ice between the two of you.

“Okay, well, um - I’m gonna just take my makeup off and change if you wanted to put a movie on or-?”

“Our deadline’s coming up,” he interrupts you.

“Deadline?” you echo, bewildered. “What deadline?”

“We agreed on the end of the year to figure out what this is,” he reminds you, gesturing vaguely between himself and you. “And that’s tomorrow.”

“Oh.” Your heart sinks as you swallow back the sudden thick lump in your throat. “Right.”

“Yeah, so, uh-” Marc shuffles uncomfortably. “I don’t think this is gonna work out.”

“Did I do something wrong?” You try to step closer to him, but he backs away just as quickly, and you stop in your tracks, a sharp pang of guilt at upsetting him lancing through your chest like you’ve been stabbed.

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” You’re not convinced, though, when he still refuses to meet your eyes. “Look, if it makes you feel better, I’m not gonna stop you and Steven from making things work. You two are good for each other, really. I just don’t think this - you and me - is gonna go anywhere.”

“Why?” you demand, your hurt giving way to anger in the face of Marc’s non-answers. “I thought we were doing okay.”

“Well, you thought wrong.” Marc turns away from you to head down the hallway and toward your front door, his jaw tight. “Look, it’s late, I should go-”

“No.” You catch his hand before he can slip out of reach. “You owe me a better explanation than that.”

“I don’t owe you shit,” he snaps back at you. “It’s not like I’m your kid’s dad.”

It’s a low blow, and both of you know it; you can see it in the way his eyes widen the moment he realizes the gravity of what he’s just said.

“Oh, I’m well aware of that,” you agree stiffly as you release his hand again slowly. “And you can break my heart as much as you like, but you do not get to hurt my daughter by vanishing out of her life without giving me a damn good reason for it.”

“That’s what I do,” he bursts out in frustration, whirling back around to face you. “I hurt people. It’s all I’m good for. I got my brother killed, did Steven ever tell you that?”

You shake your head numbly, an icy shard of emotion that you aren’t sure what to make of settling in your chest.

“No, he never said anything about Rand-”

“His death drove my mother insane,” Marc cuts you off sharply as if he can’t bear to hear you say his brother’s name. “She hated me for what I did, and I created Steven to let some naϊve part of my brain believe I had a better childhood than I really did because that’s how fucking pathetic I was.”

“Stop it.” Your voice cracks despite your best attempt to keep it firm. “Don’t say that, that’s not fair to you.”

Marc scoffs disbelievingly. “If I don’t leave now, I’m gonna hurt you and your kid a lot worse, and-” He squeezes his eyes shut tightly as he takes a deep breath like he’s steeling himself. “-and you deserve better,” he finishes far more feebly than he’d begun.

“There’s no such thing as ‘better.’” You step forward, reaching up to mold your palm to the curve of his cheek before he can pull away again. “Marc, I lo-”

He plasters his palm over your mouth before you can finish, his dark eyes suddenly far too bright and damp.

“Don’t.” His voice is wrecked, his tone pleading. “Don’t say it. You can’t take it back if you do.”

“I don’t want to take it back.” Your voice is muffled by his palm as you grab his fingers to peel them off your mouth. “If you still want to leave, I won’t stop you,” you add. “But don’t turn this around on me like you’re doing me a favor because you’re not. You’re the best thing to ever happen to me.”

“Steven is,” Marc corrects you wearily, letting his hand fall away from your grasp. “Not me.”

Before you can protest, he ducks down abruptly and presses a kiss so tender to your forehead that it makes your eyes sting as you briefly squeeze them shut to keep the hot tears welling in them from spilling over.

“You’re not gonna see me again,” he promises quietly as he ducks down to press his forehead to yours. “This is for the best.”

“I love you,” you insist before he can stop you again, and his eyes flutter shut in defeat like you’ve delivered him a death blow. “I love both of you. I won’t regret saying it, and I’m not taking it back. I love you, Marc.”

He remains frozen against you as you watch his face desperately for any sign that he’ll cave in and stay, but then he pulls away from you and disappears out your front door without a word. It clicks shut quietly in his wake - selfishly, you almost wish he’d slammed it shut - and the lump in your throat thickens until you can barely breathe as your eyes sting sharply.

You turn away, intending to wipe off your makeup and change as you’d intended before Marc had so thoroughly shattered your heart, but catch sight of Nila lingering in the doorway of her bedroom, her tiny fingers curled tightly around the doorframe as she chews her lip anxiously. You hope for the best-case scenario that she hadn’t heard most of your argument, but the way her little mouth is pressed into an anxious, grim line tells you otherwise.

“Mr. Marc owes a lot of money to the swear jar,” she says at last.

You can’t help but let out a watery laugh as the tears in your eyes finally fall unbidden down your cheeks, kneeling to Nila’s height so that she can close the gap between the two of you and throw her arms around your neck.

“I’m sorry he made you sad, Amma,” she adds tentatively.

“It’s okay.” You kiss the top of her head tenderly. “These things happen.” You pull back just enough to quickly swipe at your eyes with the back of your hand. “Hey, do you wanna sleep in my room tonight?”

“Can I?” Her eyes turn round with excitement at the offer.

“Of course.” You press another kiss into her hair. “Go get in bed. I’ll change and be right there.”

By the time you make it back to your bedroom with your tears dried, your face washed, and your pajamas on, Nila is curled up under your covers, wide awake and waiting for you.

“Are you still sad?” she demands shrewdly when you climb into bed beside her, shuffling closer to curl up against you.

“A little,” you admit honestly. “But you make it a lot better just by being here with me.”

“That’s good.” She leans up to plant a firm kiss against your cheek. “I don’t like it when you’re sad.”

“Yeah, same here for you.” You kiss the tip of her little nose in return. “But we’ll be okay. We always are. Now go to sleep.”

“Okay,” she agrees doubtfully, and you wait until she dozes off in your arms before following her into a restless sleep.

Chapter Text

“You absolute prick,” Steven grumbles at his reflection the moment he awakens and finds himself sprawled in his flat’s bathroom tub. “Brilliant plan, really - getting the body smashed and leaving me to deal with the hangover.”

Marc doesn’t say a word in response, seemingly refusing to meet Steven’s eyes as he stares forlornly at some point over his shoulder instead.

“What even happened last night?” Steven demands as he climbs carefully out of the tub to keep himself from falling over in his wobbly, disoriented state. “I thought things were good between you two.”

“I’m not good for her.” Marc’s voice is croaky and feeble like he’s been gargling rocks all night.

“We’ve been over this, Marc, you are,” Steven sighs impatiently as he ducks down in front of the sink to splash cold water on his face, swishing some of it in his mouth to rid himself of the sour, bitter taste lingering on his tongue. “And what’s more, after what you said to her last night, you owe her a great bloody apol-” He breaks off when he looks up and realizes that Marc is gone.

With a grimace, Steven heads out of the bathroom with the intent of brewing a strong cup of tea to try and get rid of his pounding headache when a knock at his front door echoes through the flat. He peers at the clock on the wall, surprised - who on Earth could be at his door at six AM? - before going to open the door.

Nila is standing alone in the hallway in her soft pink pajamas like she’d just rolled out of bed and made her way over, her tiny arms crossed across her chest and a serious, grim expression on her face.

“Hello, Mr. Steven.” Even her tone is graver than Steven has ever heard it sound before. “I think we need to talk.”

“Yes, I expect we do,” he agrees warily, stepping back to let her inside. “Did you tell your mum before you came over here?”

“She’s still sleeping.” Nila shuffles guiltily. “But I left her a note.”

Steven sighs wearily, resolving to text you an additional reassurance that your daughter’s safe so that you don’t go into a full-blown panic the moment you wake up and realize she’s missing.

“Would you like some tea or hot cocoa?”

“Cocoa, please,” Nila requests.

“Alright.” Steven ruffles her hair affectionately. “Why don’t you wait on the couch for me and I’ll bring it out in just a mo’?”

Nila obediently clambers up onto his couch to wait for him while he sets to mixing together a cup of cocoa for her while adding a bag of English breakfast tea to his own mug and then pouring boiling water on top. While he’s waiting for the tea to steep, he sends you a quick text, hoping you’ll see it when you wake up.

Don’t panic, love. Nila’s here at my place. Let yourself in with the spare key whenever you’d like.

When Steven returns to the living room with both mugs in his hands, he finds her watching his goldfish swim lazily around their tank, their tails swishing in the water as they go.

“Here you go.” He sets Nila’s mug on the coffee table in front of her and she twists around to sit back down on the couch properly.

“Thank you,” she says politely as she takes a cautious sip of her cocoa, mindful of its temperature; it’s terrifying how much she reminds Steven of you, especially in her careful manners and graceful poise. She sets her mug down again before turning to face him, her mouth twisting into a petulant scowl. “Mr. Marc made Amma cry.”

Marc’s presence remains conveniently missing from the back of Steven’s mind even as Steven himself winces guiltily at the thought of you in tears.

“Nobody gets to make my amma cry,” Nila adds vehemently. “And he owes ten pounds to the swear jar.”

Steven can’t help but snort derisively, but when the little girl’s eyes narrow, he backtracks hurriedly, “Sorry, you’re right, it’s not funny.”

She relaxes at that, seemingly satisfied.

“I really am sorry that he upset your mum, you know,” Steven adds. “For whatever that’s worth.”

“I’m not mad at you,” Nila reassures him, and he wonders just how a six-year-old is more mature than most adults he’s ever met. “But Mr. Marc owes Amma a very big apology.”

“Yes, I think he does, too,” Steven agrees.

Nila falls quiet, evidently having run out of things to say as her indignation loses steam, but Steven knows better; she’s chewing her lip like she’s debating something else as she picks up her mug to sip at her cocoa pensively again, which is another thing Steven knows she must have picked up from you.

“What else is bothering you, little love?” he presses.

“Did-?” She breaks off, reconsidering her words briefly before forging ahead anyway, “Did Mr. Marc break up with Amma because I called you and him ‘Appa?’”

Steven’s heart stutters in his chest, but Nila seems to not notice, her gaze fixing on her knees to avoid looking at him as she sets her mug back down on the table.

“Because I won’t do it anymore if that’s why,” she adds, her voice quivering like she’s now on the verge of tears. “It’s all a bit silly anyway, isn’t it? I don’t need a dad, really. I’ve been just fine without one all my life.” She sounds more like she’s trying to convince herself than him even as she adds, “So you and Mr. Marc don’t have to be my dads if you don’t want to as long as you and Amma are happy.”

She sniffles abruptly, and Steven’s heart cracks entirely in two.

“Oh, my sweet girl, come here.”

He sets aside his mug hurriedly, holding his arms out for her, and she clambers into his embrace, burying her face into his shoulder with another sniffle as he slides his arms around her to clutch her tightly.

“Marc and I love you and your mum very, very much,” he insists as he presses his cheek against the top of her head. “And that scares Marc a little - a lot, actually,” he amends. “But don’t think for an instant that it’s your fault because it isn’t.”

Nila trembles slightly in his arms, and he feels his shoulder begin to dampen with her tears.

“Really?” Her voice wobbles dangerously like she’s swallowing down a sob.

“Really. And you know what?” Steven adds impulsively. “I would absolutely love it if you wanted to think of me as your dad. But you should know that you don’t ever have to feel obligated to-”

“I’d like that, Appa,” Nila interrupts. She sounds small and tremulous, but her grip on him tightens as she huddles in closer.

“Me, too,” he agrees, pressing his lips against the top of her head briefly. “You’re very wise for such a little girl, you know.”

She giggles tearily. “I do know.”

Grinning, Steven presses another kiss into her hair just as you knock on his front door before letting yourself in with the spare key he had given you months earlier. You’re still in the faded T-shirt and pajama pants you had likely worn to bed, looking miserably disheveled - like you’d woken up only minutes earlier - with your hair tangled in messy knots and dark circles smudged under your eyes like bruises.

“Thanks for the text,” you say wryly, your voice still endearingly sleep-roughed. “It spared me a heart attack when I woke up. Can I come in?”

“‘Course you can,” he agrees readily.

You relax marginally as you make your way inside, shutting the door behind yourself and locking it.

“This is not a note, Vennila,” you add sternly when Nila peeks up at you from Steven’s shoulder, holding up a piece of bright red construction paper to make your point, and Steven has to squint before he can read the words scribbled haphazardly in blue crayon on its surface.

Dear Amma,

I went to bite Mr. Marc for making you sad.

Love you lots and lots, Vanilla Bean.

“You planned on biting us?” Steven asks Nila incredulously. “But I made you cocoa!”

“You got lucky ‘cause you answered the door,” she huffs even as she pulls back from his embrace and swipes at her damp eyes.

The moment the remnants of her tears catch your attention, your irritation ebbs instantly as your tone softens.

“Kanmani-”

“I’m okay,” Nila hurries to reassure you. “Appa and I were just talking, that’s all.”

She pats Steven’s knee to make her point, and he nods when you glance back at him skeptically.

“We were,” he confirms. “C’mere, love.”

You settle gingerly on the edge of the couch as far away from him as possible, and his heart shatters a little further at the guarded, wary expression on your face.

“Look, what Marc said to you last night-” he begins tentatively.

“I don’t want to talk about that right now.” Your voice is quiet, but firm enough that it cuts his brewing apology off. “Nila, you can’t just leave the flat on your own,” you add to your daughter, clearly trying to sound angry even though you can’t quite muster enough energy to do so. “And you need to tell me before you go anywhere, even if it’s here. Okay?”

“Okay, Amma.” Nila shuffles guiltily across the couch to you, and you haul her into her arms, pressing your face into her hair. “Am I in trouble?”

“Big trouble,” you confirm. “You’re grounded for a week.”

“Can I cash in my ‘get out of grounding free’ coupon?” she wonders, and you crack a wry grin.

“I’ll allow it just this once.”

“Yay!” She throws her arms around your neck, delighted, and you press a kiss to her cheek, your weary smile turning fond and warm, but Steven knows Marc’s argument with you is still fresh in your mind when you briefly meet his eyes over Nila’s head and then lower your gaze just as quickly, your smile fading.

“It’s not too late, you know,” he offers tentatively, and when you glance back up at him, visibly bewildered, he clarifies, “To go to your sister’s wedding - I mean, if you wanted to.”

You shake your head. “I’d really rather not deal with my parents again.” You smooth your fingers over Nila’s hair absently as she presses silently closer at the mention of her grandparents. “Besides, if Devika wants to see me, she’ll reach out later. It’s fine.”

It’s a testament to how well Steven knows you after all this time that he can pinpoint immediately how not fine it is, but he doesn’t push you. Instead, he shuffles closer tentatively and holds out his arms until you finally sink into his open embrace, nestling Nila between both of you as he hauls both of you close. You press your cheek against his shoulder, your head tucking beneath his chin, and he brushes his lips against the top of your head carefully, hoping it’ll soothe the sting from Marc’s argument with you at least a little.

Nila squirms abruptly between the two of you, wiggling out from your combined embrace and reaching for her abandoned mug.

“My cocoa’s cold now,” she complains, and before Steven knows it, he starts laughing, unable to help it.

You join in, too, chuckling softly despite how red-rimmed your eyes are from tears and exhaustion, and Nila looks entirely bewildered; cold cocoa is a serious problem, after all.

“Marc’s really quite torn up about it all, you know,” Steven admits into your shoulder as the two of you curl up in your bed together later that day, having retreated back to your flat since it’s more spacious so that all three of you can have a midday nap after such a stressful night and early morning. “I’m sure if you give him a little time, he’ll come ‘round.”

“I don’t want to force him into anything he doesn’t want, Steven,” you sigh as you nestle your chin into his soft curls and feel his nose nudge into the hollow of your throat as he tilts his head up to press his lips to your exposed collarbone.

When he had confessed that Marc had gotten their shared body incredibly drunk the previous night after leaving your flat, you had felt horribly guilty for Nila storming over to his place while he was hungover and miserable, but he had insisted that “it really was no trouble, I love being with her, and besides, the headache’s all gone now.”

It hadn’t stopped you from making him drink several glasses of water with breakfast and giving him some aspirin all the same, which he had seemingly been incredibly grateful for; after what Marc had admitted about his childhood the previous night, you have a feeling neither of them has ever really been fussed over enough for your liking.

“But he does want this,” Steven protests vehemently, drawing you back to the present. “He’s just too bloody stubborn and thick to admit it, that’s all. And before you tell me off for insulting him, he’s not around to hear us, so I can insult him all I like. ‘S what he gets for upsetting you.”

You crack a wry smile, but don’t acknowledge the sentiment as you press a kiss into Steven’s hair and memorize the way he melts into your arms instantly.

“I think Nila blamed herself a bit this morning,” he adds more softly, his frustration with Marc fading just as quickly as it had flared. “She thought what happened last night was because she called Marc ‘Appa.’”

“Is it?” you ask warily after a beat, your heart sticking in your throat, but Steven shakes his head rapidly.

“‘Course not. I made sure to tell her that, but I’m not sure she believed me.”

“Does it bother you?” you ask after a beat.

To your relief, Steven shakes his head again without hesitation.

“I told her I’d love it if she wanted to call me her dad.” When you look down at him, he’s chewing the inside of his lip anxiously. “If, er - if it’s alright with you, that is. I mean, she’s your daughter and all.”

“You’re kidding, right?” You pull back just enough to meet his eyes properly. “It means everything to me that you want that.”

He smiles tentatively. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You falter. “And I know she’s not yours by blood, so you don’t have to sign up for being her dad if you really don’t want to.”

Steven rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Love, I meant what I said - there’s nothing I want more.”

“Then technically, she’s our daughter,” you point out wryly. “Not just mine.”

He visibly brightens at the thought, beaming so widely that his eyes crinkle at the corners the way you love most about him.

“I like the sound of that.”

“Me, too,” you admit honestly before ducking down to kiss him tenderly.

A tiny part of you wonders just how Marc is going to handle you and Nila being an even more permanent fixture in Steven’s life than you already are, but a bigger, selfish part of you squashes that train of thought as you haul Steven closer by the collar of his shirt, smiling against his lips when his nose bumps against yours in his eagerness to return your kiss.

Chapter Text

Marc is a passing ship in the night that refuses to dock at the harbor.

As the old year fades into a new one, you don’t see even a hint of the usual furrowed eyebrows or frown that indicates he has control of the body, though Steven more than makes up for that with how present he is in yours and Nila’s lives following Devika’s wedding. He’s practically always within your line of sight, either cooking with you in your kitchen or cradling Nila in his arms on the floor of your living room while the two of them watch a movie together.

The only time you don’t see him is in the mornings - he goes to bed with you at night, and at some point, Marc must front and slip away from you because you always wake up alone. The first time it happens, Steven texts you a profuse apology halfway through your respective workdays.

I am so, so sorry, love. Marc was a bit of a prat and took over the body all night. I only just woke up at work.

It’s okay, you text him back. Marc deserves time to front just as much as you do. I’ll see you after work?

Steven texts you back an upside-down smiley face emoji and a thumbs-up, and so a routine somewhat similar to before gets established - you and Nila get Steven to yourselves after work in the evenings until you go to bed, and after you fall asleep, Marc takes the body and doesn’t return it to Steven until the following morning when he’s already at work.

“At this point, you may as well move in with us once your lease is up,” you point out one night two weeks into this unspoken arrangement as you sprawl out on the couch, your fingers lazily combing through Steven’s unruly curls while he sits on the floor and leans back against your legs with Nila in his lap.

The latter is so fully focused on The Lion King playing on the television that she’s completely oblivious to the conversation going on behind her, only tearing her eyes off the screen to beam brightly up at Steven when he kisses the top of her head fondly.

“Would you like that?” he asks you once Nila turns her attention back to the movie, seemingly mulling the idea over.

“I mean, considering you only go back to your flat these days to either feed your fish or get new clothes, or if M-” You cut yourself off awkwardly before you can say his name, but Steven catches your hesitation.

“Or if Marc fronts,” he finishes for you, grimacing slightly. “He’d get over it if I gave up the flat, you know.”

“No, you should keep it for him.” You smooth your fingers through Steven’s hair again. “It’d be good for him, I think - he deserves his own space away from me.”

Steven smiles - a soft, sad, wry little thing that breaks your heart - as he tilts his head back against your knees to peer up at you upside-down.

“You’re far too kind to him after everything he said to you.”

“He’s allowed to not want the same things as you, Steven. You can tell him I don’t blame him for any of it.” You lean down to kiss Steven’s forehead tenderly, pulling back just enough to see how his eyes flutter shut at the delicate touch.

“He doesn’t talk to me either these days,” he confesses when he opens his eyes again, his eyebrows furrowing slightly. “Honestly, if I didn’t know he was fronting at night, I’d think he wasn’t around at all.”

You open your mouth to respond, a twinge of concern burrowing its way into your heart, but then Nila twists indignantly around to glower up at you both from her perch in Steven’s lap.

“Shh. No more grown-up talk during the best movie of all time.”

You grin, unable to help it - your kid has good taste and you’ve trained her well - as Steven chuckles at the same time, ducking down to peck Nila’s forehead apologetically.

“You’re quite right, little love, we’re very sorry.”

She relaxes, mollified, and pats his cheek affectionately in return.

“It’s okay, Appa. I still love you.”

Steven’s smile softens in response, his gaze molten with warmth and tenderness.

“I love you, too, darling.”

“I know,” Nila says cheerfully and then promptly bursts into giggles when Steven digs his fingers into her little ribs to tickle her as she squirms in his grasp.

When he looks up again, the same smile he had given Nila now aimed at you, you know instantly without him needing to say it that he means the sentiment toward you as well.

It’s somewhere between midnight and dawn when you’re awoken for the first time by Marc attempting to slide out from beneath you, having taken over the body from Steven at some earlier point in the night. You turn your nose selfishly into his shoulder, not wanting to relinquish his warmth in your sleepy daze, and hear a soft sigh before his lips press tenderly to your forehead.

“Let go, sweetheart,” he murmurs so quietly that you almost don’t hear him over the sound of the heater running in the corner of your room. “I’m not Steven.”

“I know, Marc,” you mumble half-consciously, twisting your fingers into the front of his shirt to haul him closer.

He had evidently hoped convincing you of his identity would get you to release him because he falters slightly at your lack of reaction, his chin dipping back down as of its own volition to press against the top of your head in his obvious exhaustion; he’s been likely hitting the ground running every night without giving himself enough time to sleep.

You don’t dare open your eyes to try and peek up at him in the dark, irrationally afraid that if you pull back, he’ll vanish like a wisp of smoke out of your arms. Instead, you nestle yourself comfortably against him, your nose slotting into the hollow of his throat as you memorize the sensation of the thin golden chain around his neck - the Star of David necklace he and Steven never take off - making an indent in your cheek.

“I miss you,” you confess. “I miss this.”

Marc is silent for a beat, but then lets out a defeated, weary sigh that ruffles your hair.

“Yeah. Me, too.”

Neither of you speaks again for what feels like an eternity, his fingers tracing slow, lazy patterns against the base of your spine as he clutches you so tightly that you’re positive that you’d wake with bruises the following morning if his fingers tensed even a little further. At long last, you realize that he’s trying to put you to sleep again so he can slip away without you noticing.

“I know what you’re doing,” you accuse around a yawn.

“I’m not doing anything,” Marc answers neutrally.

“You’re waiting for me to fall asleep,” you retort, vindicated when he doesn’t deny it. “If you want to go so badly, you can, you know.”

He doesn’t answer you even as he silently pulls you closer, directly contradicting himself.

After several seconds tick by, he changes the subject, “Your sister texted Steven a couple of hours ago. Asked him why you never came to the wedding.”

“I’ll get her number from him and talk to her at some point.” You can’t help how irritated you sound - Marc really has no right to meddle with your relationship with your sister when he’s not even willing to have a relationship with you himself - even as you press your face more firmly back into his shoulder in a selfish attempt to hold onto him as long as you can.

“You should’ve gone,” he adds. “You said you’d regret it down the line if you didn’t.”

You scoff derisively. “Yeah, but I really didn’t want to get into it with my folks again about how much they wish it was me who’d disappeared instead of her.”

You turn away from Marc so that you don’t have to see whatever pitying look he must have on his face, peeling yourself reluctantly away from his warmth and rolling over to face the wall.

“Sweetheart-” he says softly behind you, but you squeeze your eyes shut before they can begin stinging sharply.

“If you’re going to leave, Marc, then just leave.” Your voice leaves you in a feeble whisper, and after a beat, Marc slips out of bed soundlessly and leaves your bedroom, the door clicking quietly shut in his wake.

When you no longer hear his footsteps padding down the hallway, you let your tears fall at last.

You don’t tell Steven about your conversation with Marc when he forwards you Devika’s number and her accusatory text message the following morning after he wakes up at work, instead thanking him neutrally and saving your sister’s contact information. You don’t message her, either, guilt over missing her wedding to avoid the drama of seeing your parents again swirling thick and deep in your chest like a fog you can’t quite dispel even though you desperately want to try and rekindle your lost relationship with her.

“I think you should talk to her,” Nila says one afternoon in the middle of spooning tomato soup into her mouth when you admit to her that you’ve been considering reaching out to Devika again. “She’s nice, and you miss her.”

“How do you figure that?” You set the grilled cheese sandwich you had been toasting on a plate in front of her, allowing her to tear off a piece and dunk it into her soup.

“Because you have your sad frowny-face on,” she informs you before popping the soup-soaked sandwich piece into her mouth, chewing and swallowing before adding, “You only have that face on if you and Appa are talking about Devika Chithi or Mr. Marc.”

You wince slightly - honestly, hearing Marc’s name feels a little like a knife being twisted in your chest - and Nila points triumphantly at your face.

“See?”

You huff a chuckle, conceding her point before ducking down to kiss her forehead.

“I’ll think about calling Devika Chithi later,” you relent. “For now, eat your lunch. You’ve got homework to finish up afterward.”

“It’s just worksheets,” she huffs. “I can finish them in ten minutes.”

“Then you shouldn’t have a problem doing it,” you tease and she wrinkles her nose, but can’t find an argument for you as she tears off another chunk of her sandwich grudgingly.

A sharp knock from the front door echoes through the flat and you frown, bewildered; you’re not expecting any company today until much later since Steven had been called in to cover a last-minute shift at the museum gift shop.

“Who’s that?” Nila asks around a mouthful of soup, sitting up in her seat curiously, and you wave her down.

“I’ll go find out. Keep eating your lunch, this hopefully shouldn’t take long.”

You step out of the kitchen as whoever is on the other side of the door knocks again, seemingly impatient with your lack of response.

“Coming!” you call even as you glance at yourself briefly in the floor-length mirror on the wall opposite the kitchen - disheveled hair, ratty old pajamas, and dark circles beneath your eyes, just like you don’t want to be seen by anybody but Steven - before checking the peephole of the door by standing on your toes.

An unfamiliar man and woman stand there, both clad in formal suits with manila folders in hand, and you brace yourself before opening the door.

“Hi,” you say, not bothering to conceal your confusion. “Sorry, I wasn’t aware I’d be having company today. Can I help you with something?”

Neither of them is smiling as the woman says stiffly, “My name is Erica Walker and this is my associate, John Stanton. We’re social workers who have been asked anonymously to check on the welfare of a child at this residence. May we come in?”

Your heart stutters to a halt.

Chapter Text

It takes your brain far too long to catch up to the situation in front of you as you stumble back a step.

“Yeah.” Your voice cracks embarrassingly and you clear your throat to compose yourself as quickly as you can in the face of Walker and Stanton’s unwavering stares. “Yeah, sure, come on in.”

They don’t bother taking off their shoes once they’re inside, but you can’t bring yourself to request them to as you shut the door carefully behind them.

“Amma?” Nila calls, obliviously cheerful. “Who’s at the door?”

“Is that your daughter?” Walker asks, her tone so neutral that you can’t make out what she’s actually thinking.

“Yeah. Her name’s Vennila, she’s six,” you supply.

“If it’s alright with you, I’d like to ask her a few things,” Walker requests.

“Sure.” Your fingers tremble as you head toward the kitchen. “Nila, honey, can you come out to the living room?”

“Why?” Nila’s in the middle of wrapping up her lunch, swallowing down the water you had given her.

“There are a couple of people here who want to ask you some questions,” you admit.

“It won’t take more than a few minutes.” Stanton is at your back before you realize he’s even there, his expression just as blank as his partner’s.

Nila stares at him suspiciously, but when you nod to her reassuringly, she carefully climbs down from her chair.

“Okay.” Her voice quivers apprehensively as she inches into the living room past you and Stanton. You move to follow her, but he catches you by the upper arm.

“Sorry, it’s protocol,” he explains. “We don’t want you to influence her answers. Please stay here while I check the flat for anything that might be dangerous for her.”

You’re forced to remain in the kitchen as you watch Stanton poke around your cupboards and listen to the creak of your couch cushions signaling that Nila is clambering onto them.

“Hi, Vennila.” Walker’s tone is marginally softer now in the face of the child she’s dealing with. “How are you doing today?”

“Okay, I guess,” Nila answers warily. “Can my mummy sit with me?”

Something inside you twists a little uncomfortably at the thought that she feels the need to anglicize the way she calls you to strangers; you’re her amma, after all, even if they don’t necessarily know that’s the word for “mother” in your language.

“Not right now, I’m afraid.” Walker doesn’t sound all that apologetic about it as she adds, “Vennila, I’d like to ask you a few important questions, but I need you to be as honest as you can when answering them, alright?”

“I’m always honest,” Nila informs her dryly and you’re forced to bite back a smile despite your situation.

“That’s a very good quality to have.” Walker pauses. “Are you well-fed here? How many meals does your mummy give you?”

“Yes,” Nila answers without hesitation. “I eat three big meals and snacks if I get hungry in between. Mummy just gave me lunch.”

Stanton slips out of the kitchen, evidently deeming it safe, and you busy yourself with replacing the bottles of Indian spices he had knocked over in his dismissively clumsy search as you strain your ears to hear the next question Walker has for your daughter.

“Do you ever feel like you’re in danger here?” Walker presses.

“Danger?” Nila sounds bewildered.

“Does your mummy ever hurt you or say mean things to you?” Walker clarifies.

“Of course not.” Nila audibly balks at the thought. “She’d never, ever hurt me or be mean to me ‘cause she loves me.”

“I’m sure she does.” You can’t tell if the woman believes her or not with how blank her voice sounds.

Nila is quiet for a beat before asking abruptly, “How come you’re asking so many weird questions?”

“Because if it turns out your mum’s hurting you, we may have to take you someplace safer,” Stanton answers grimly from wherever he’s searching down the hall; based on how far away he sounds, you think he’s either poking around your bedroom or Nila’s.

“Take me where?” Nila demands warily.

Neither of them answers her even as Walker asks calmly, “Does your mummy bring over anyone to your flat that makes you feel unsafe?”

“No.” Nila’s breathing is a little faster now, unsteady in her anxiety. “Mummy’s boyfriend loves me very much. He lets me call him ‘dad.’”

“I see,” Walker says neutrally, and you pray that Nila doesn’t bring up Marc and the argument you’d had with him; you doubt she will, but you never know with her. “Why don’t you wait in your room while we finish up looking through your home and talk with your mummy in private?”

“No.” Nila’s voice trembles slightly. “I want to stay with her. I don’t want you to take me away.”

“No one’s taking you anywhere as long as nothing’s wrong here,” Walker reassures her. “Please go wait in your room, Vennila.”

“It’s Nila,” Nila bursts out in frustration, but then you hear her footsteps thunder down the hall as she runs into her room and slams the door in her wake.

Now that you know your daughter is out of sight, you cautiously inch out of the kitchen to find Walker waiting for you, her arms crossed and her heeled foot tapping impatiently as she waits for her partner to join her.

“To your knowledge, have there been any problems for your daughter at school?” she asks, and you shake your head.

“Not recently, no. She was bullied for a little while by a kid in her class, but after some talks with his mom and the headteacher, we put a stop to that.”

“‘We?’” Walker presses.

“Me and my partner,” you clarify. “He’s never been a threat to my daughter, either - he loves her like she’s his own.”

“I see.” Walker tilts her head slightly, considering that, and her expression finally softens. “Sorry about all this, but we need to take any report we get seriously until they’re proven false.”

“No, I get it,” you admit. “But I’ve never once raised a hand toward my daughter - or even raised my voice, for that matter. She’s my whole world, I’d do anything for her.”

Walker smiles a little wryly. “You’d be surprised how many parents say the same thing in our line of work and don’t actually mean it.”

Your stomach turns at the thought even as Stanton returns to the living room.

“Place is clear,” he confirms. “Sorry for the trouble, ma’am.”

You do your best to nod, but your vision is already blurring rapidly at just how narrowly you’d avoided your worst nightmare coming true.

“Sorry, um - you said someone anonymously asked you to check on my daughter?” you ask, hoping your voice sounds steady.

“Yeah.” Walker frowns slightly. “It’s not often, but it does happen when there’s been a bit of a row between family members. Can you think of anything like that happening recently?”

“Yeah.” Your voice breaks and you struggle to clear your throat again. “Yeah, my parents and I fell out years ago and ran into each other recently. It didn’t go well, but I never told them anything about my daughter or gave them any reason to think I’d be hurting her.”

“Well, in either case, our work’s done here now that we know your daughter’s doing alright,” Walker reassures you. “We’ll let ourselves out, but you have a good day now.”

“Yeah, thanks.” You watch them go and just barely bring yourself to lock the door in their wake several seconds after it clicks shut behind them before you make your way back to the couch and collapse onto it, burying your head in your hands.

“Amma?” Nila’s hands are patting worriedly at your cold fingers when you force yourself back to reality. “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” you lie as you lower your hands to manage a weak smile back at her. “I’m fine, kanmani, don’t worry.”

“Are they gonna take me away from you?” Her eyes are wide and tear-filled when they meet yours, and you shake your head firmly.

“No. No, they aren’t. You’re staying right here.” Your voice cracks, though, and she launches herself at you, her arms sliding around your neck as her entire body wracks with shuddering sobs in your embrace. “Shh, it’s okay, baby girl,” you soothe her, all the while feeling a lot like you’re about to fall to pieces yourself. “It was just a check-up, that’s all. Nobody’s gonna take you away.”

“I called Appa from my iPad when I was in my room,” she admits tentatively. “He said he’d be home soon.”

You wince instinctively - Steven’s boss is not going to like him leaving work early - but the damage is already done.

“It’s okay.” You smooth her hair down, trying not to let your fingers tremble. “You didn’t have to call him, we’re okay.”

She hesitates as she pulls back, her teeth sinking into her lower lip as she searches your face warily for any sign that you’re lying to her.

“Do you promise we’ll get to stay together?”

“I promise,” you insist. “Nothing could ever keep us apart, Vanilla Bean.”

She huddles back against you wordlessly, pressing her nose into your shoulder as her tears splash against your shirt and dampen the fabric, and you allow yourself to squeeze your eyes shut while she’s not looking at your face, giving yourself time to try and recompose yourself before Steven gets home.

He finds you both still curled against each other on the couch a little less than ten minutes later when he lets himself into your flat, his expression softening with sympathy the moment Nila peels herself out of your arms to lift her arms toward him in a request to be held.

“Oh, my little love,” he murmurs soothingly, crossing the space between himself and you to lift Nila out of your arms. “Come here, it’s alright.”

He cradles her close and allows her to bury her face into his shoulder, lifting his eyebrows in a silent question over the top of her head even as you shake your own head numbly; you can’t bring yourself to speak for fear of falling apart now that Nila no longer directly needs your comfort.

“You two had quite a bit of a scare today, yeah?” he adds softly to Nila, who nods mutely into his shoulder. “What did they say?”

“They said I could stay here,” she mumbles so quietly that it’s a miracle Steven even hears her.

“Good. That’s good.” He relaxes visibly - had he been as afraid as you were that Nila would be taken away from you? - as he rubs Nila’s back reassuringly.

“I was really scared, Appa,” she adds, her voice breaking. “They kept asking me weird questions.”

“Like what, my darling?” Steven presses a kiss into her hair.

“Like if Amma ever hurt me.” Nila burrows further into Steven’s embrace, but you don’t miss the way his expression tightens slightly as he buries his face into her hair, your stomach twisting with nausea when you remember what Marc had confessed about their own mother. “But she’d never do that,” Nila adds vehemently.

“You’re right,” Steven agrees as he smooths his hand down her back one last time. “She wouldn’t. Now tell you what, why don’t you sit here with her while I make you both some cocoa?”

“Okay,” Nila agrees, her voice so subdued that you almost don’t recognize it as hers as Steven deposits her back on the couch beside you.

“I’m good,” you manage to get out, your voice embarrassingly hoarse and feeble. “I’m just-” You gesture feebly toward your room at the end of the hallway. “-gonna change my shirt real quick.”

You don’t really need to - you’ve had far worse than a few tear splotches on your shirt in the past - but you need to take a minute to breathe without your family’s eyes on you. Steven’s eyebrows furrow, his mouth opening to protest, but before he can stop you, you push yourself off the couch and head down the hall, shutting your bedroom door behind you.

Once it hits you that you are finally alone, you sink onto the edge of your bed as your chest tightens to the point where you can barely breathe. You try to inhale through your nose and exhale through your mouth despite how difficult it feels to pull in any oxygen as you squeeze your eyes shut as tightly as you can and bury your head into your hands to keep the room from spinning.

You’re distantly aware of your door opening and closing quietly again before a pair of broad hands land on your shoulders.

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re having a panic attack, but I’m gonna talk you through it, okay?” You nearly break down when you recognize Marc’s low, soothing voice, the raw, ragged wound that you had told yourself would heal in his absence now aching all the sharper.

“Marc-” you choke out.

He hushes you softly before adding, “I need you to breathe - you’re gonna hyperventilate and make yourself sick if you don’t.”

“I can’t,” you protest past the tight lump in your throat. “I can’t breathe.”

“Yes, you can,” Marc insists patiently. “Come on, same time as me. In-”

You struggle to copy him as you hear him suck in a deliberately deep breath.

“-and out,” he breathes as he exhales, and you follow his lead. “Let’s try that again. In - and out.”

You take another deep breath and release it in time with him, allowing him to carefully tug your hands down until his blurry face fills your tear-filled vision.

“One more time, you can do it,” he encourages you, his voice softer than you’ve ever heard it. “In-”

You suck one last deep breath in at the same time he does.

“-and out.” He exhales, and you let out the breath you’ve been holding as well, feeling the knot in your chest ease just a little in response.

“Where’s Nila?” you manage to ask.

“Out in the living room, drinking the hot cocoa Steven made for her and watching Encanto for the fifty millionth time.” Marc’s mouth curves into a tiny smile at that even as his tone remains low and gentle like you’re a wild animal he’s afraid of spooking. “She’s okay. She’s right here, she’s not going anywhere.”

“They were gonna take her away.” A sob catches in your throat, making your voice crack embarrassingly. “I can’t lose my baby, Marc, I can’t, she’s all I have-”

“Shh.” Marc’s hands cradle your damp cheeks - how long have you been crying? - carefully, his warm, rough thumbs sweeping over your skin delicately. “No one’s gonna take Nila away from you, I promise. You’re such a good mom, they’d have had to be blind not to see it.”

When you can only shut your eyes again, unable to bear looking at the warmth of his gaze when you know he’ll be gone again in a few minutes anyway, you feel him shuffle forward until the mattress dips beneath his weight as he settles beside you, his arms sliding properly around you at last.

“I’ve got you,” he reassures you as you bury your face into his neck, another sob hitching in your throat. “I’ve got you, sweetheart, it’s okay. Everything’s gonna be okay.”

“But it’s not,” you protest through your tears, your fingers coming up to twist into his shirt. “Because you’re gonna leave, and I’m gonna miss you all over again, and I don’t want you to go.”

Marc is silent for what feels like an eternity before the tension drains out of him like air being let out of a balloon as his chin presses into your hair.

“I’ll stay,” he promises at last. “If it’ll make you happy, I’ll stay.”

“But you don’t want to,” you hiccup through your tears.

“Yeah, I do.” Marc pulls back just enough to meet your eyes steadily. “I, um - I’m probably gonna say this wrong ‘cause I got it off Google Translate, but, uh - naan unnai kadhalikiren?”

He trails off awkwardly at the end, his voice lilting up like he’s asking you a question, and you can’t help a watery little laugh when you realize what he’s trying to say.

“I appreciate the effort,” you reassure him, and he winces.

“That bad, huh?”

“Kind of,” you agree, unable to stop yourself from smiling all the same at the thought of Marc looking up how to tell you that he loves you in your own native tongue. “More importantly, did you mean it?”

“Of course I did,” he says, sounding offended at the thought, and you surge up to kiss him eagerly, your nose bumping clumsily against his in your desperation as he freezes briefly against you, startled.

“I love you, too,” you whisper against his lips, and he comes to life against you, his hands steading you at your waist as he returns the kiss.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs as he pulls back just enough to kiss the bridge of your nose and then ducks to begin peppering kisses across every inch of your face that he can, seemingly not caring about the tears still staining your skin. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I never should’ve said the things I did that night.”

“It’s not me you ought to be apologizing to,” you point out, and when Marc pulls back with a raised eyebrow, you remind him, “There’s a feral little girl in the living room who’s threatened to bite you if she ever sees you again.”

He huffs a breathless, rueful chuckle that makes your heart stick in your throat as he leans down to kiss your forehead tenderly.

“Yeah, I’d deserve it if she did.”

“Hey, no, we’re not doing that.” You shuffle upright to face Marc properly. “We’ve got a lot to talk through and work out, but I don’t want you beating yourself up any more than you already have been, okay?”

He blinks slowly once, then twice like he’s struggling to process what you’re saying and failing miserably, and you take pity on him, pushing yourself upright to kiss the furrow between his eyebrows that you refuse to admit you’ve missed terribly.

“I mean it,” you insist. “None of it was your fault - Randall, your mom, none of it.”

His mouth has fallen open when you pull back, his eyes suddenly misty as he stares back at you.

“You don’t even know what happened back then,” he protests weakly.

“I don’t need to,” you answer with a confidence you’re not sure you should have. “If you ever want to talk about any of it, then I’ll listen. But whatever happened back then, I know you deserved so much better than what you got.”

Marc opens his mouth again, seemingly to argue feebly again, and you cut him off with another firm kiss that he melts into like it’s all he’s been waiting for his entire life.

“You do owe ten pounds to the swear jar, though,” you admit when you pull back. “Nila’s orders.”

Marc stares at you for a long beat before he bursts out laughing for the first time in all the months you’ve known him, his eyes crinkling at the corners prettily. You start giggling, too, unable to help it, and when he drags you back into a kiss, he’s still smiling broadly against your lips.

Chapter Text

When the two of you emerge from your bedroom and return to the living room, Nila’s glare is so frosty that you can practically feel Marc physically wincing behind you.

“Hello, Mr. Marc,” she greets him stiffly as she pauses her movie to focus her full ire on him.

“No biting,” you warn her preemptively before she can so much as bare her little teeth. “We’ve already talked and made up, that’s what matters.”

She scowls and turns her head pointedly away with a cartoonishly dramatic “hmpf!” when Marc inches closer to the couch she’s perched on and kneels to her height.

“I’m really sorry, Nila,” he says quietly. “I know I hurt you and your mom with what I said, and you don’t have to forgive me if you don’t want to. But I love both of you very much, and if you’re okay with it, I’d like one more chance to do better.”

Nila purses her lips stubbornly. “Do you promise not to make Amma cry anymore?”

“I promise,” Marc confirms.

“No take-backs?” She squints suspiciously back at him.

“No take-backs,” he agrees.

Reluctantly, she nods at last. “Okay. One more chance.”

You know her forgiveness isn’t quite as easily earned as that - your kid can really hold a grudge, and you wonder if that partly comes from you - and are proven right when she refuses to let Marc take over his old role of “monster checker” that night during her bedtime routine.

“Amma can do it,” she informs him bluntly, and he falters in the middle of kneeling beside her bed.

“Oh. Okay, kiddo.” He backs away from the bed, dropping his gaze guiltily away from her, and you give him a helpless shrug before proceeding to check under the bed and in the closet for monsters.

“Give her time, she’s still hurting,” you reassure him once Nila’s tucked in for the night and the two of you are outside in the hallway. “She’ll forgive you eventually.”

“I know.” Marc grimaces. “Doesn’t make it any easier, though.”

All you can do is lean up to kiss the corner of his mouth reassuringly, unsure what other comfort you can provide him, and he ducks his head down to your shoulder, nestling his cheek there and sliding his arms around your waist while he tucks his nose into the divot between your jaw and neck in a well-practiced motion you know he must have borrowed from Steven.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” he says after a beat into your skin. “The social workers who came by today - did they say who called them?”

“They said it was an anonymous tip,” you admit. “But I’m pretty sure I can guess who called them.”

“You think it was your parents?” Marc presses grimly, his arms tightening around you at the thought.

“Oh, I know it was them.” You roll your eyes good-naturedly. “Probably their way of getting back at me for causing a scene the night before Devika’s wedding.”

“Think she knows?” Marc wonders and you shrug slightly, careful not to dislodge him from your shoulder.

“Would it matter if she did?”

“I think it would.” He pulls back to meet your eyes. “You should talk to her. She obviously wants a relationship with you, so she should know what they’re really like.”

“I’ll think about it,” you relent and he nods, ducking down to press his lips to your forehead.

“Okay, sweetheart.”

“I’d offer to put a movie on,” you suggest wryly as you lean back to squint up at Marc’s face teasingly. “But you look pretty dead on your feet. When’s the last time you slept a full eight hours?”

He pinches your hip lightly even as he smiles fondly, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“You’re one to talk, raccoon eyes.”

You make a show of letting your mouth fall open in mock indignation and he chuckles as he soothes your offense with a quick peck to your cheek.

“Let’s turn in early just this once, yeah?”

“Yeah.” You steal another kiss to his lips this time, unable to help it now that you know you can, and feel him smile back into the kiss.

“Oh, those fuckers,” Devika’s voice snarls through the phone as your eyebrows shoot up; you don’t think you’ve ever heard your sister swear in your entire life. “I knew they weren’t happy about what happened with you after I disappeared, but telling you not to come to my wedding and calling social services on you is a whole other level of ‘fucked up.’ They’re really gonna get it from me if they call me again and act like they didn’t try to completely ruin your goddamn life.”

She’s so loud in her rage that even though you are in the kitchen and haven’t put your phone on speaker, Steven hears her from where he’s sitting on the floor of your living room and teaching Nila the rules of chess, his eyebrows rising in alarm to match your expression.

“Twenty pounds for the swear jar, Devika Chithi,” Nila calls obliviously, squinting at the chessboard in front of her as she attempts to memorize each piece, and Devika snorts derisively when she overhears your daughter.

“Tell her I’m very sorry and I’ll pay the swear jar when we meet up for lunch tomorrow,” she says and you relay the message to Nila, who seems satisfied as she nudges a pawn experimentally forward and stares warily at Steven for his next move. “Speaking of which, it’ll be really good to see you three again and get to know Steven and Nila without the stress of a wedding in the way,” Devika adds in your ear. “Krishna can’t wait, either.”

“That means a lot.” You cradle the phone against your ear as you stir the pot of Maggi instant noodles and sautéed vegetables in front of you, sprinkling in some garam masala, salt, and turmeric while discarding the original seasoning packet the noodles had come with. “We’d love to get to know him, too.”

“I’ve really missed you, you know,” she admits quietly, the sentiment so sudden that you’re distracted entirely from dinner preparations.

“I’ve missed you, too, Devi,” you confess in return. “It’ll be good to make up for lost time.”

“Seems like that’s all I’ve been doing since I came back,” she says wryly. “Good thing we’ve got time now.”

“Yeah.” You smile, unable to help it. “We do.”

As the sizzle from the stove grows louder, Devika asks, “What’s on the menu for my favorite niece tonight?”

“Your only niece is getting Maggi with vegetables tonight,” you answer, grinning. “Only the best of nostalgic classics, as you can tell.”

“God, she really is a mini-you - I remember you used to eat nothing but Maggi when you were little.” Devika sounds fond as she says it. “I’ll let you get back to it, I don’t wanna distract you while you’re cooking. But I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“See you tomorrow,” you confirm. “I love you.”

“Love you, too.” A click tells you that your sister’s ended the call and you hang up your side as well, pocketing your phone and peering back into the living room just as Steven moves another chess piece.

“Checkmate,” he sighs amusedly and Nila groans dramatically in defeat.

“Can I try again, Appa?” she pleads.

“‘Course you can, my little love.” He ducks across the board to press a brief kiss to her forehead. “C’mon, help me reset the board.”

“You may as well wrap it up for later ‘cause the noodles are almost ready,” you suggest.

“Noodles!” Nila screeches excitedly, ditching the chessboard entirely to race into the kitchen and cling to your legs. “Did you put peas in it?”

“Yep,” you confirm. “And carrots, onions, and peppers - I only put the veggies you like, don’t worry.”

She squints suspiciously at you. “Are the peppers the karam kind?”

“No, just capsicum - bell peppers,” you reassure her.

“Oh, good,” she says fervently with relief as Steven enters the kitchen, evidently having put away the chessboard in the wake of Nila’s abandonment.

“One of these days, you’ll really have to teach me more Tamil to keep up with you two,” he complains good-naturedly.

“Knowing how smart you are, you’ll pick it up even faster than I did growing up,” you tease him in return and he flushes, ducking his head modestly.

“Oh, well, I don’t know about that,” he mumbles shyly, taking the opportunity to kiss your temple, and you lean up to peck the corner of his mouth in return.

“Set the table for me?” you request.

“You got it, love,” he agrees, Nila trailing after him to help him bring bowls and forks to the table.

An abrupt flash of lightning and a low roll of thunder outside make both of them jolt, Nila’s wide eyes turning to you.

“Is it gonna rain a lot tonight, Amma?” Her voice quivers slightly, betraying her unease.

“Maybe a little more than I thought,” you admit as you peer briefly out the kitchen window at the looming reddish-gray clouds obscuring the night sky. “But the storm should blow over by morning.”

Both Nila and Steven are quiet through dinner, to your surprise - usually, if the two of them are in a room together, then you don’t think there’s even such a concept as “quiet” since their stream of conversation is rapid and often difficult for you to keep up with - and they opt to put on a movie afterward instead of continuing their chess game. The television flickers once in a while as thunder continues to rumble quietly outside - you hope the power doesn’t go out - and at some point during the movie, Nila falls asleep in your lap and you only notice when her head lolls onto your shoulder unconsciously.

“I’ve got her.” Marc has fronted between one breath and the next, scooping Nila out of your arms and cradling her against his chest in an easy, smooth movement to avoid disturbing her. “Sorry,” he adds in a hushed voice to you. “I know it’s Steven’s night, but he usually prefers me to front when it’s storming outside.”

“You don’t have to explain, Marc, I’d never turn down either of you.” You lean over Nila’s head to peck Marc’s cheek - earning a faint smile in return - before reaching for the remote to turn off the television. “Could you put her down in her room? I need to run the dishwasher, but I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Sounds good.” He drops a kiss on top of your head before climbing to his feet carefully and making his way down the hallway, Nila still sound asleep in his arms with her cheek pillowed against his shoulder.

You turn on the dishwasher, double-check that the front door is locked, and then finally turn out the lights in the apartment, making your way down the hall to Nila’s room. You find Marc kneeling by her bed and pulling the covers up over her shoulders, his eyebrows furrowing slightly when yet another roll of thunder makes the floor beneath you tremble slightly; the storm must be bad if the whole building is reacting to it.

“Everything okay?” you ask in a whisper as you settle on your knees beside Marc, smoothing your fingers over Nila’s hair as she turns unconsciously into your touch.

“Yeah,” Marc lies. “It’s fine. I’m just-” He gestures feebly toward the door. “-gonna get ready for bed.”

“Okay.” You feel your mouth twist into a concerned frown as you watch him go before turning to check on Nila one last time. After determining that she’s comfortably tucked in, you turn on her humidifier and night light, check for monsters purely out of instinct, and then press a goodnight kiss to her forehead before slipping out of her bedroom.

You find Marc already climbing into bed by the time you enter your bedroom, his jaw clenching slightly when a fork of lightning illuminates the sky outside.

“I never knew Steven was scared of thunderstorms,” you point out as you join him, sliding under the covers and slotting in at his side.

He exhales wearily as he lets his forehead drop to your shoulder, allowing you to reach up and smooth your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck.

“He’s not the only one. Go ahead and laugh, I know it’s dumb.”

“I’d never laugh at you for being scared of something, that’s mean.” You press a kiss into Marc’s soft curls and he relaxes marginally in your hold. “I just didn’t expect it, that’s all.”

He’s quiet for a beat, seemingly considering whether to voice what’s on his mind or not before finally confessing, “Randall died during a storm. Drowned in a cave we were playing in that flooded.”

“Oh.” You haul him closer automatically, your grip on him tightening. “I’m sorry, Marc.”

“Nothing to be sorry for - it was my fault.” You can practically feel the way his eyes squeeze shut briefly, his eyelashes fluttering like butterfly wings against your skin. “I was the older brother. I should’ve known better.”

“Don’t go down that road,” you insist. “You may have been older, but you were still just a kid yourself.”

Marc huffs a wry chuckle. “That’s what Steven said.”

“You should listen to him more.” You kiss Marc’s temple again. “He’s a smart guy.”

He rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “No wonder you fell for him - nerds, the both of you.”

“Yeah, we kind of are.” You scratch your fingernails gently against the base of his scalp and watch his eyes flutter shut with contentment. “Then again, his alter’s a pretty smart guy, too - when he’s not being a stubborn dumbass.”

You can feel the way Marc’s skin warms against yours as he flushes slightly with embarrassment.

“I said I was sorry.”

“I know, I’m just giving you a hard time.” You duck down to kiss the tip of his nose, smiling as it wrinkles in response. “I love you.”

He returns your smile faintly. “Love you, too, sweetheart.”

A crack of thunder outside - sharp and loud enough to startle even you this time - makes Marc flinch and burrow further into your embrace automatically, and you tighten your arms around his shoulders to squeeze him close even as you hear footsteps patter down the hallway.

“Kid incoming,” you warn just before the door flings open.

“Amma?” Nila falters in the doorway when she realizes Marc is beside you, her little fingers clutching the wooden frame. “I-I got scared.”

“I should go sit with her for a bit in her room,” you murmur apologetically to Marc, moving to untangle yourself from his side, but he places a hand on your knee to stop you before turning to Nila.

“If you want to, you can stay here with us,” he offers.

Nila hesitates, but another flash of lightning and a subsequent clap of thunder makes her squeak with fright and clamber onto the mattress hurriedly, settling herself under the covers and between the two of you as she huddles into your side while trembling like a leaf.

“It’s okay, kanmani,” you croon reassuringly, sliding your arm around her shoulders to squeeze her close. “It’s just light and noise, that’s all.”

“Bright light and loud noise,” she grumbles, her voice muffled by your oversized T-shirt.

“If it makes you feel better, thunderstorms scare me and Steven, too,” Marc admits.

For the first time since he and you had made up a few days earlier, Nila peeks warily up at him.

“Really?”

“Yeah.” He holds out his hand to her and she tentatively takes it, watching as his broad fingers close around her smaller palm to squeeze it gently. “That’s why I wanted to stay here with your mom tonight - ‘cause she makes me feel safe.”

Your heart cracks a little when his dark eyes briefly dart back up toward you, telling you silently that he means it.

Nila smiles shyly at last - an olive branch. “Amma makes me feel safe, too. She gives really good hugs.”

“She does,” Marc agrees as he opens his arms properly for her, and she shuffles into his embrace without hesitation, seemingly warmer toward him now that they’ve found common ground in your comfort.

You press closer as well until you can slide your arms around both of them, ducking down to first press a kiss to Nila’s forehead and then the underside of Marc’s jaw.

“Still scared, baby?” you ask Nila, who shakes her head firmly even as she tucks it against Marc’s chest.

“Not as much anymore. I know you and Appa will protect me.” She peers up at Marc again, clearly gauging his reaction to what she had called him. “Right?”

“Right,” he confirms without hesitation, and she relaxes fully in his arms, nuzzling closer. “We’ll be okay, kiddo.”

“I know.” Nila says it as easily as if she were announcing that grass is green, her eyes already drifting shut as her breathing begins to even out, and Marc glances up at you, managing a tiny smile that you return as you shuffle in even closer so that you can press another kiss to each of their cheeks.

Yeah, you think to yourself fondly, your little family will be just fine.