Heard You Crying

Chapter 1
Heard You Crying - Full Story

A/N: This story is basically a lot of gooey pointlessness based on Can’t Go Back. At this moment in time, I’m still undecided as to whether or not Zach will remain a teenager or shrink down to pintsize, so I had this idea that I should test out the whole toddler thing first. Hence, what is definitely the most sickeningly sweet thing I’ve ever written.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Before we go forward, Zach would like to clarify that he himself was not a believer.

Never had been.

There may have been, once or twice, a time when he enjoyed ruminating over such an idea - admittedly when rolling a joint between his lips and had a tendency towards questionable conjectural ramblings - but then again, who hasn’t? Books, TV, comics, movies - you name it; They made it sound so exciting.

The belief that many universes exist parallel to each other isn’t so far-fetched to the occasional fan of science fiction who considers himself relatively open-minded. It’s the theory in which every single quantum possibility inherent in the quantum wavefunction lies within the realm of possibility in some reality that Zach has always struggled with.

The enormity, the complexity and most of all, the absolute absurdity, was much too difficult for him to wrap his mind around. Falling into a different dimension in which the laws of physics or basic principles of our society were negated was a fascinating hypothesis - if a little too fantastical to comprehend in relative terms. Problem was, Zach didn’t really see the point in having a world where hedgehogs existed and then a world where they didn’t - or if they did, they were born with three eyes as opposed to the ordinary two.

The subtlety of the potential dissimilarities often renders the changes senseless, but the subject is so broad that there is no possibility, however small, that you could rule out in its entirety.

And had Zach ever ventured a guess at what one of those tiny, inconsequential modifications would be, it would never, ever, ever have been this.

Everything else, - everything everywhere - is the exact same as the world he is accustomed to. There are no flying dinosaurs or live action-heroes like Captain America or Iron Man (which is a real shame, too). Nor is there time travel or a strange but also awesomely badass addition to the animal kingdom (like, seriously, where is a fire-breathing dragon when you need one?)

It’s just him.

Just Zach Holden living in a world where Zach Holden doesn’t exist.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

"Arrgughhh," he moans into the side of the leathery armrest where his nose is currently crushed, blinking groggily and cursing himself for once again falling asleep on his boss’ couch.

Eric is going to kill him.

Stupidly, his greatest concern in that moment is that the July report detailing their client’s company’s finances was due at least two hours ago and that he is no mood for another threat of dismissal. It really puts a damper on his day and things between Eric and himself are tense enough as it is. His boss still hasn’t forgiven him for botching up the their last meeting with a influential client and Zach has yet to forgive his boss for being such a grade-A douche about it.

Still, the associate figures that he may as well get it over with. There’s no point delaying the inevitable.

Slowly sitting up and suppressing a yawn, he combs the office, but to Zach’s surprise, Eric is nowhere to be seen.

The relief that floods his chest is short-lived, however, as it soon dawns on him that as great as it may be now that Eric is not waiting with a razor-sharp reproach at the ready, that only signifies that the jerkface has even more time to prepare, and thus, he senses an unbearably long lecture in his foreseeable future.

Well, this sucks.

Now, not only will Eric be mad at him, but he’ll more than likely have to face the wrath of Cory, too. As she is constantly reminding him, she has deadlines too, and Zach is ninety-five percent sure that she is the reason Eric needed that document so urgently.

..Yup, he may as well pack up his things and flee.

Deciding to go ahead and ascertain to what degree of fucked he really is, the associate tentatively glances over towards the secretary’s desk and is taken aback when their eyes meet and she gives him a huge, cheery smile. Brows puckering in response, Zach has no time to decode the meaning behind that oddly buoyant reaction, before he spies Eric ’rounding the corner and his breath catches in his throat.

Oh, shit- shit- shit- He winces. This is not going to be good.

Zach is totally going to leave here with his tail between his legs, he just knows it.

Only it’s worse. Sooo much worse. Zach doesn’t know what hits him.

Because instead of dredging up all of his past failures and nailing him with a hundred different proclamations of his uselessness, - before he has the opportunity to marvel at how much bigger his boss suddenly looks than the last time he saw him, and is that a goddamn smile breaking out on his face, why is he coming so much closer? - Eric reaches for him under the armpits, plucks him from his spot on the couch, and tosses him up into the air.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Catching him with ease, the man presses a kiss to his forehead and grins, "Afternoon, sleepyhead. Did you have a nice nap?" while the blood drains from Zach’s face and his eyes gaze down in horror.

He takes in his tiny, dangling feet and rounded belly clad in a charming little button-down shirt, but he can’t believe it. His hand forms a fist in front of him, but it can’t be his hand because this hand is so small and the fingers are so stubby and now that same hand is grasping at Eric and the lapels of his shirt - and fuuuck, he’s going to fall to his death and this can’t be happening, why is this happening-

"Hey, hey, what’s wrong, short stuff?" Eric frets, soothingly rubbing his back and beginning to gently bounce him, while Zach realises with a roll of revulsion that he’s crying big, fat, blubbery tears and is helpless to stop it. "Did something happen while I was gone?" he continues, truly alarmed as he turns to face Cory who’d come to stand in the doorway at the first sign of a breakdown.

"Nothing major.." she recalls slowly. When Eric merely arches a brow in response, she hesitates before divulging, "He had another little tumble earlier-" Seeing his mouth open to argue, Cory hurriedly declares, "Before you say it, I know and I’m not sorry. I didn’t tell you because you can’t come running every time that kid falls over whenever he gets the tiniest bit overexcited. Lord knows, if that were the case, you would never leave his side-"

Unfortunately, the implications of her words aren’t lost on Eric.

"What do you mean overexcited?"

She winces. "I may have told him you were taking him swimming later-"

"Cory," Eric interrupts with a groan, cradling Zach’s head to his chest and trying to conceal the fact that he is inspecting for damage by pretending to pet his hair. "I thought we agreed never to use the S word unless the plans are one-hundred percent fool-proof."

"I know, I know," she proclaims, before gesturing to a still-sobbing Zach. "But seriously, can you blame me? Look at that face. No-one can say no to that face."

"What if I’d had some meeting out of the blue? What then?"

"Then you’d have to be the one to say no to that beautiful, angelic little face, which we both know is damn near impossible, so- oh, would you look at that. Zach still would be going swimming."

"I hate you."

"Puh-lease." She rolls her eyes and grins. "You couldn’t survive without me." And with that parting reminder, she sashays back to her desk, leaving him to calm the bawling toddler.

"Come on, puppy. No more tears," Eric murmurs, hugging him close and pacing. When that doesn’t work, he sighs before sing-songing, "Does the poor little puppy have an ouchie? Is that it?"

Zach is too overwhelmed to care about the belittling baby-talk (although, maybe there is a part of him thinking, holy shit, the great Eric West just cooed at me!) while his brain is pretty much short-circuiting.

"No? Okay, let’s see. It doesn’t sound like you’re in pain, nor is it your, ’I’m sorry, I was so bad, please forgive me’ sniffle. It could be the, ’I missed you so much,’ wail or the ’I hate you so much,’ whine. Neitherof which I’m particularly feeling at the moment… so that leaves-aha." Eric’s features soften as he palms his cheek and dabs at his tears. "My little guy is bewildered about something his tiny little brain is unable to process."

"Great deduction skills, Holmes," Cory snorts as she chuckles down the intercom.

"I thought so," he smugly responds.

"Not a compliment, hot-shot. One might just have to wonder where you got the expertise."

"Hey! If you’re insinuating that I have a gift in making little kids cry again-"

"Speaking of compliments," she quickly redirects. "Word to the wise, ’tiny little brain’ does not count. In fact, some might even consider it an - oh, I don’t know, insult. Can’t imagine why."

"It’s an endearment!" he defends. "You know, kids are tiny. Tiny things are cute."

"Tiny feet accompanied by tiny socks are cute. Brains? Surprisingly, not so much."

Grinning despite himself, he appeases his snarky assistant, "I’ll keep that in mind."

Then he returns his attention to Zach, whose cries are getting somewhat croaky and is starting to feel rather worn out. Snagging a blanket and something else Zach had failed to notice earlier from the couch, Eric settles down at his desk and wraps the soft material snugly around the boy. Holding Zach so that his head is resting against the older man’s chest while Eric’s hand supports his back and a rogue thumb rubs in comforting circles, he tucks this wild, furry.. thing between their bodies before starting to rock.

Against his will, Zach’s lids start to droop and he yawns, absently snuggling into the warmth. Before long, his cries turn to sniffles, quietly fading away.

"There we go. Good boy."

He squirms a little.

"Shhh.. Go to sleep," Eric murmurs, voice unashamedly doting, and despite every last horrible, unbelievable thing that has taken place during the past twenty minutes, the last thing Zach ever expects him to say is, "It’s okay, Daddy’s got you."

But in that moment, not even his renewed spike of panic can prevent him from falling asleep.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Zach once again wakes up on the couch. More than anything, he desperately wishes that all of this was just a messed-up dream.

No such luck, though.

It’s with a sinking stomach that he hears Eric ask, "Feel any better, kiddo?"

Zach can’t ignore the facts. This isn’t a case of everyone going crazy and suddenly forgetting that Zach is normally approximately four feet taller. No, this is… this is reality. This is how it is and, as Zach is coming to realise, this is how it’s always been. He’s the only one who doesn’t fit into this equation.

And he can’t even blame Eric.

Try as he might, he just… he just can’t. If there is one thing that is ridiculously clear in this bizarre scenario, it is that this man loves him, for Pete’s sake. Like, extraordinarily so. And it would be wrong to fault the usually closed-off, uncaring man for that.

It is nothing short of a miracle, actually.

Though, sad but true, his amazement doesn’t really change anything. Zach doesn’t want to be his son; he wants to be the grown-ass man he hired.

Knowing that there’s no way around it, Zach sighs, fiddling with the blanket as he shrugs, "’Guess."

"Need me to kiss it better?" his boss asks, and sweet baby Jesus, though he figures that such questions are probably common-place now and no-one else would bat an eyelash, Zach can’t help but shudder.

"No, fank ’oo," he replies quickly, unable to match his gaze as he stares down at his feet which have seemingly begun kicking of their own violation, and not even noticing when his lip curls in disgust.

"O-kay," Eric says slowly, forehead pinched. "Well.. I know I said that I didn’t want you colouring in the office after The Wall Incident which we will never speak of," And that he clearly hasn’t gotten over, Zach inwardly laughs, wishing he knew what had caused Eric to make such a grimace. "But Auntie Cory bought you some really great markers, which she assured would only work on your page," he says significantly and it’s obvious that the comment isn’t directed at him. "So whaddya think? You up for it?"

Is he up for this? To act as if everything is fine? To give up all hope that this is not real?

Eh… Not exactly.

But right now, does he really have much choice?

Well, he sets his jaw, rule number one of being a toddler: dumb down the language. Like, seriously. Can he even say ’I’ anymore? Or is it a bunch of ’me’s’ and ’whys?’ Without any concrete facts, his only real option is to stick with short, simple sentences and hope for the best.

Goddammit. What has he gotten himself into?

In the end, he simply nods his head, sliding off the sofa and toddling over to Eric who passes him the supplies with tight lips. Plonking down beside the desk, trying to be nice and allow Eric the chance to keep a close watch on him and all that, he sets about unravelling the large chunk of weird paper, before digging into the pot of markers. He accidentally tumbles it over and lets the contents spill over the carpet in a rainbow of bright colours, but that just adds to the authenticity.

If he’s going to do this, he’s gotta do it right. Besides, what’s the point in denying himself a little fun? If, please be to God, he wakes up and everything’s back to normal, then that’s awesome - no harm done.

Yeah, he probably won’t be able to look at his boss in the same way ever again, but then.. that’s the least of his worries. For now, Zach simply rips off the cap and embarks on a relaxed afternoon of scribbling, disappointed by how little effort it takes to look like a genuine child’s drawing.

Heavily engrossed in his work, he jerks, startled, when a hand suddenly flattens his fluffy, dark hair. "Sorry, kiddo. Didn’t mean to scare you. But you have a serious case of bed hair and I’m afraid it might be contagious." Zach doesn’t have to look up to know that he’s smirking. "Wouldn’t want the clients to get the wrong impression."

On instinct, he trails a hand through his short, fine hair, scowling.

It’s a confusing moment for him.

It seems as though his hair is thinning, like he is going bald prematurely, when really Zach just needs to wait for it to start properly growing.

Unnerved, he returns to his masterpiece in order to distract himself and only later becomes aware - much, much later. Like, so much later it’s almost embarrassing - that he has been leaning more and more on his boss’ leg when eventually the youngster is hoisted onto Eric’s lap while his materials are then dumped on the desk, so that he can work alongside the lawyer who continues proof-reading briefs as if uninterrupted.

Zach wouldn’t say that it’s uncomfortable, exactly. Frankly, the proximity feels kinda nice and Eric has a very comfy lap. But it’s weird and he’s not supposed to be enjoying this - that was never part of the plan.

The young associate has to stay focused and resolves not to slip up, so it is with unfortunate timing that the older man lightly joggles his knee to gain Zach’s attention before asking, "Is everything alright, puppy? You’re very quiet today."

"M’fine," Zach grumbles, coming to the abrupt understanding that the speech issue might not be much of an issue, after all, which only serves to sour his mood further. "No be sad."

"You’re not sad or you don’t want to be sad but you are anyway?" Eric elaborates, and Zach hates him a little, in that instant, for being so damn good at this.

"I fine!" he insists, craning his neck to look up at the older man. Man, he sounds like an idiot. "Me no sad!" No matter what he strives to say, Zach can’t seem to properly articulate his thoughts in a clear, coherent manner.

But as it turns out, his oral shortcomings carry little to no weight in the conversation and have no bearing on what Eric - who is apparently perfectly fluent in Zach-speak - actually hears.

He doesn’t know whether to consider that a bonus or not.

"Zach," he chides, "I don’t want anymore fibbing, you hear me? If you don’t tell Daddy what’s wrong, he can’t make it better."

"Nofing wrong! Eveyfing otay!"

(You’re what’s wrong. You can’t make this better, not ever, because I’m not your son and I never will be).

If anything, though, his passionate speech has the opposite effect. Eric’s brows furrow in concern and he persists, "Are you sure, puppy? You can tell me anything, you know that."

Anything but the truth.

"You’we not litening, ’Ric! I not-" Zach cuts off.

Eric’s entire body has frozen and he’s gazing down at him with wide eyes filled with shock.

It’s only then that his words register and he cringes.

Oops.

Obviously trying for casual but not at all succeeding, Eric replies slowly, "No, Zach. Not Eric. Daddy."

Forcing a confused frown and figuratively crossing his fingers, Zach tries, "But dat you name."

"You’re right, that is my name," his boss allows, while Zach feels a momentary stab of pity, hearing the hurt he tries so hard to disguise poking out of his voice, sharp and jagged. He clears his throat and rationalizes, "But Daddy’s a special name that only you get to use and Daddy likes it so much more than boring old Eric."

Zach is unimpressed by the attempt at positive reinforcement, but it occurs to him that Eric is genuinely disconcerted and likely means every word he’s saying.

Hard as it is to swallow, Zach is actually upsetting the young father.

And as much as it pains him to play along, peeping up into Eric’s almost stricken face, he knows it’s the right thing to do. Heaving an inward sigh, he widens his eyes and innocently inquiries, "Puppy ’peciaw name?"

Giving a somewhat wan smile in return, Eric tweaks his nose and says, "’Course it is, puppy. And do you know what special names are?"

He shakes his head.

"Sometimes," he leans down to murmur conspiringly, "When it’s too hard or you’re too scared to tell someone for real, they’re the best way of saying, ’I love you.’"

Maybe it is sappy and maybe it’s a little childish, or possibly another crack at manipulating the toddler into remaining faithful to the ’D’ word, but Zach thinks that if he is that insistent, then it must be important and if it’s important, it must be, to some extent, heartfelt.

His heart most definitely does not painfully squeeze.

And when Eric reciprocates the hug he most definitely does not initiate, the last thing Zach feels is pleased.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The warm, fuzzy feelings don’t linger for long.

In fact, they’re pretty much zapped in an instant. One little question - that’s all it takes.

At this stage, Zach is over by the records building with multi-coloured blocks and currently losing the fight not to give in to his urges and knock them down. Eric, on the other hand, has been mostly silent up until this point and it’s the cricking of the chair as he leans back that warns Zach that he’s about to indulge in yet another moment of fatherhood. Oh, goodie.

Face blank and dark eyes steadfastly trained on him, Eric interlocks his hands casually behind his head and queries, "Hey, kiddo?" Zach blinks, suddenly wishing he’d learnt morose code - though how that would benefit him in this situation, he has yet to determine. "Need to go potty?"

It shouldn’t come as such a shock. His stomach really shouldn’t coil like that. And yet, Zach’s jaw drops.

You gotta be shitting me.

Except not literally! Please, not literally.

"You listening, lil’ man?" the older man questions, walking over and scooping up the dumbfounded child, joggling him on his hip. "It’s been a while and we don’t want another little accident, do we? Not when you’ve been doing so well lately."

Oh, he heard, alright. Stillll working on believing. The patronizing praise really isn’t helping, either.

Zach can barely contain his horror.

So now it’s considered an accomplishment if he actually makes it to the toilet? Just how often do these ’little accidents’ occur?

Had Zach known that Eric had literally just started potty training him three weeks ago, he probably would have thrown in the towel right then.

"C’mon, no tears. It’s not so bad. I promise, I won’t let any potty-monster get you." Great, now he is crying because he has to go to the bathroom. And his mind is swarming with dark, scary images of potty monsters.

The full extent of his problems don’t entirely hit him, though, until they actually arrive at the men’s bathroom (thankfully empty) and Zach is carted into a small stall which Eric then shuts behind them. Somehow, stupidly, he never accounted for the lack of privacy. Without pausing, his boss lets him sink to the floor and automatically reaches for the toddler’s navy pants.

Coming back to reality with a thump, Zach bats weakly at his hands and exclaims, "No! Lemme do it!" Of course, Eric backs off immediately, but watches as Zach struggles to undo the one and only button with his stupid, clumsy fingers.

Dammit. Why couldn’t he have been wearing something he could slip off in a hurry? Like sweatpants or jeans with an elastic waistband? He inwardly rolls his eyes.

Of course, ’cause Eric is a debonair, egotistical bastard and naturally, he requires a well-presented, cutesy mini-me.

Exhaling forcefully in frustration, Zach turns to the a-hole in question, lower lip quivering dangerously. "’Ric, I tan’t-tan’t-"

"Zach, buddy, what did I tell you? You don’t call Daddy Eric," he rebukes lightly, but sets about the task with trained proficiency like he’s done this a thousand times before. Which, Zach realises with a shiver, he almost certainly has, and more. "Alright, uppsy daisy," Eric hums almost unthinkingly as he lifts the boy onto the lid and holds him steady, and you know what? It kind of.. helps, a little.

Needless to say, Zach still blushes furiously, but it’s that reminder that Eric is, essentially, an experienced father and not at all his superior that calms his nerves somewhat. Yes, he is more of an authority figure than ever, but this is a completely different playing field, and Zach’s at the centre of it all.

There are no mandatory formalities or pretences.

It’s just a father and his son sharing a bond that no-one can dispute, not even Zach himself, really. Because he feels it, then - the unconditional love that fuels Eric’s eternal devotion in any given situation, (and let’s be honest, a lot of those situations must be downright nasty) and there’s undeniably awe and embarrassingly intense adoration bubbling up in his chest just then, too.

He reckons it’s true then, after all, what they say; you really are at your most thought-provoking on the throne.

Then, finally, it’s over, and Zach briefly closes his eyes and gives a silent hallelujah.

After assisting the youngster in his ambition to access the unfairly high sinks (to the older man’s everlasting amusement, he’d jumped many, many times and his efforts were so incredibly pathetic that he may as well have been pretending to jump in muddy puddles like that bratty pig from that kid’s TV show as he’d told Eric to cushion his ego) and scrubbing his hands, the senior partner then carried him back to his office where Cory informed him that a client was on her way.

Zach tried not feel too disappointed.

No, seriously, he really had to work to smother his blossoming grin.

In a way, it was sad how easily trumped those little milestones they’d made throughout the day were, but Zach couldn’t help but feel excited at the prospect of some alone-time - even if he was not-so-secretly spied on by Cory - after that awkward episode where Eric was privy to his shrunken goods. It was completely reasonable, when you thought about it.

And he really didn’t want to think too hard about it.

It was with this discomforting thought at the forefront of his mind that Zach grimaced when Eric crouched down and looped an arm around him in a fleeting, goodbye hug - a tide of guilt threatening to sweep him away when he caught a glimpse of the senior partner’s subtly distraught expression as he recovered his briefcase and strode away.

He was this close to calling him back.

But then… what would he say?

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

On his return, Eric is relieved to find Zach sprawled out on the floor playing quietly.

The relief is quickly extinguished, however, when the boy merely glances up, spots him standing by Cory and doesn’t move.

Like, at all.

He smiles briefly when he notices the lawyer watching - weirdly politely, if that’s possible - and then immediately picks up where he left off.

Eric feels like his heart might just shatter.

Sure, that sounds like he’s being a tad melodramatic - and maybe he is. But this has literally never happened before and he’s at a loss as to what to do.

Where is the enthusiastic cry, (Daddy! Daddy! He can envisage it now) the mad dash to his side, the sudden force colliding with his legs, as his son grapples at his belt to be held and beams up at him with a look that says, ’you are everything to me and more.’

He has always taken his unrelenting worship for granted and he doesn’t know how he’ll ever recapture that innocent idolization now that it’s suddenly not there anymore.

Why is it not there anymore?

Noticing the strange expression on her friend’s face, Cory comes over and places a hand on his arm. Her concern only deepens when he startles.

"Hey," she murmurs, "What’s up?"

"It’s nothing, everything- I don’t know." Eric swallows hard, shaking himself visibly.

"Why don’t you start from the beginning?" the redhead suggests. "Did something happen at your meeting?"

"No, no," he waves a dismissive hand, "Nothing like that. It’s-it’s Zach."

"Zach? What about him?"

Slumping against her desk, Eric sighs, burying his face in his hands and groaning. "I-I don’t know what’s wrong with him, Cory," he finally confesses, running a hand through his hair and straightening. "At first, I just thought he was having an off day, but he’s been so abnormally fussy. And-and he called me Eric. Twice." He glances up at her. "It’s kind of freaking me out a little."

Though she is not without sympathy, Cory knows better than to profess as much this early on in the discussion. Eric… he can get a little… worked up at times.

"Eric," She nibbles her lips, feeling torn. "If he’s calling you by your first name then it’s probably nothing to be worried about. Chances are, Zach picked it up from someone else and he’s just testing it out for a while. So long as you don’t make a big deal about it or, I don’t know… overreact," She raises her eyebrows pointedly, "It should be fine."

"It still doesn’t explain the funny mood he’s been in," he perseveres, unwilling to let go of his nagging concerns that easily. "Cory, you should have seen his face when I hugged him. I may as well have been a stranger or distant relative he doesn’t like all that much."

Eric doesn’t want to admit how much it hurt when Zach not only failed to return the embrace, but went as stiff as a board as though it actually pained him.

"Hmm, I wonder where he got that from." Cory cocks a brow. "It wouldn’t happen to be the same face you pull when he wipes his nose on your suit, would it?"

"Oh, come on." He rolls his eyes. "That’s different!"

"Like Zach would know the difference," she scoffs. "You know what he’s like. Nothing gets past that kid. Besides, he probably just wants to be like his Dad. Nothing out of the ordinary there."

"I’m not so sure," Eric stubbornly counters. "It was strange… I can’t explain it. I just- something’s not right. I can feel it."

"Okay, rewind." The woman backs up a few steps. "Remember what I said about overreacting?"

"Ha ha. Mock all you want, Cory, but I’m not just being over-protective this time. Zach’s acting… look, see for yourself." He gestures to his office where his son is lying flat on his stomach, glumly squashing his Lego’s together with a staid frown darkening his ordinarily bright, animated expression.

Not good.

"Eric, everyone has bad days. He’s two," she reminds him. "Remember the terrible twos? That great legend you freaked out about so terribly that I had to confiscate your parenting books?"

"I still haven’t forgiven you for that," he mutters.

"And you’ll get them back once you’ve earned them," she comforts in what is possibly the least comforting manner ever. "But right now, you’re just proving my point. You’ve been lucky so far. Zach is a fairly happy-go-lucky child, but he is still a kid, you know? That means that there will be times when he’ll act entirely different from one day to the next and if he’s a little distant now, then, let’s be real, he’ll be glued to your side to make up for it tomorrow. And then you’ll come running off to me-"

He coughs. "Like I run off to anyone-"

As if uninterrupted, Cory continues, "Panicking about how your little puppy is never going to be ready for college and oh, no - what if he has some kind of separation anxiety?" She smirks. "Sound familiar?"

Okay, he has to concede that that isn’t all that implausible, but still. "That doesn’t render all of my points null, you know. I don’t think that this is norm-"

"Yeah, well, let’s face it, you’re not exactly the best judge of what’s normal," Cory tells him with a shrug. "I’m sorry, Eric, but I’m going to have to side with logic on this. Zach is fine. It’s just a phase. Come back to me when he’s sixteen and begging for a stomach piercing. Or a tattoo," she suddenly murmurs, tilting her head and appearing contemplative. "I could totally see him wanting some lame-ass tatt with some of that profound, symbolism shit."

Eric pales.

"On second thought," Cory winces, "Can I possibly retract that statement? It is based on flawed stereotypical, whiny-emo mental images and there is no solid evidence to base any of my reasoning."

The lawyer feels like he might throw up any second.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The clock has just struck five when Eric broadcasts it’s time to go.

Zach’s automatic response is to ask, "Do whewe?" but it dawns on him almost as soon as the words have tumbled from his lips.

For pity’s sake, you gotta be freaking kidding me.

Shooting him a confused look, Eric cocks his head to one side and half-smiles. "To your swimming lessons, remember? I thought you couldn’t wait?"

He knows he’s supposed to muster up some interest, but all Zach can feel is the despair creeping into his bones. Quiet and distinctly not enthusiastic, he mumbles, "Oh, yeah."

Judging by Eric’s astounded expression, Zach imagines this is the point where he’s supposed to whip out his victory dance. But, in actual fact, it’s probably a good thing he doesn’t.

There’s a chance it may be slightly inappropriate.

"Well," the older man recovers, blinking a little too frequently. "I guess we’d better get a move on, right, kiddo? Wouldn’t want to be late."

Without warning, Eric takes his tiny hand in his, as if it’s second nature to him, and Zach automatically attempts to shrug free. A quick glance at the senior partner’s knitted brows, however, and he soon stills.

He’s wants to assuage Eric’s fears; not add to them.

The scrunched up look which comes over his face, on the other hand, Zach is incapable of thwarting. It just feels… weird and it’s embarrassing. And if a little piece of him revels in the closeness, then his frown is all the more petulant because of it.

His foul mood, surprisingly, doesn’t last very long.

A few steps later and Zach pauses in enthralment, having to taper down the squeal that threatens to burst free from his chest.

If he applies enough pressure, the youngster’s sneakers actually light up in a dazzling flicker of green and blue.

Biting down his enormous grin, Zach hops along beside the older man and giggles in delight at every flash of light. When Eric casually asks what he’s doing, he doesn’t even pause before replying, "I a bunny wabbit!" A bunny rabbit who has to avoid the cracks in the tiles, otherwise face certain death!

Absorbed in his game of make-believe, he darts from one side of the hall to another, dragging a smirking Eric along and ignoring the amused chuckles of the anyone the pair bump into. Sometimes literally.

"Okay, buddy. Slow down a little!"

"Tan’t!" he yells back, pace quickening. "Mean old orgwe toming aftew us! Loot!"

"I thought it was a bear?"

"Dat too!"

Shaking his head, Eric mutters, "I really need to limit how long you spend watching cartoons."

"Huwwy! Huwwy!"

"I think you’re hurrying enough for the both of us."

"Tome on! Fastew! Fastew!"

By the time they make it down all seven flights of stairs, the duo are gulping down air and laughing breathlessly. "Did we lose ’em?" Eric inquires, praying the answer is yes. As enjoyable as that little pursuit was, it won’t be so funny come bedtime when Zach is crawling into his bed, snivelling about how a big, scary ogre and his grizzly sidekick are out to get him.

"Uh-huh!" He nods furiously. "Dewe no match for us!"

"You bet!" the ’hard-ass’ lawyer enthuses, bending down to his eye-level. "Up top, lil’ man."

It’s the cutest, most well-deserved high-five in history.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

At the changing rooms, it’s a different story.

At whatever cost, Zach is determined to preserve his dignity.

"Stick ’em up, puppy," Eric instructs, directing him out of his garments while the youngster pouts. "Come on, work with me here." Zach does, but only because he can smell the chlorine and it’s making his stomach flip with slow-burning excitement.

When it comes to pulling on his trunks, however, Zach puts his foot down. He orders the senior partner to look away, and if Eric is perplexed by his son’s sudden shyness, he doesn’t comment on it. Going by his tiny smirk, it even seems to amuse him a touch.

Zach doesn’t care so long as he gets his own way.

He’s curious now, amazing himself with the spring in his step as he skips along beside Eric, clutching his hand with unexpected tightness, down to the pool.

As it so happens, his ’lessons’ are a lot less about swimming and a lot more about, ’let’s see how thoroughly we can soak Eric.’

And, by association, himself.

It’s as if he is running entirely on instinct as the toddler kicks and thrashes in his boss’ grip, chortling gleefully, as Eric futilely tries to better his coordination. He coaches him on how to kick with a relatively straight leg, bending only slightly at the knees, but the boy doesn’t want to hear a word of it.

Shrieking excitedly with every splash, Zach totally gets it now.

Swimming. Is. Awesome!

Once he has calmed to the point where his boisterousness is not overriding common sense, Eric gives him a little more leeway, instructing him to hold onto the edge of the wall close to the steps as Zach stands on the older man’s legs while Eric himself keeps a secure grasp around his waist, so that he can blow bubbles.

The proximity to the water doesn’t bother him like it might other children his age, and his tiny body is apparently already familiar enough with the exercise to be careful about when to inhale.

His excitement levels, however, do start to soar once more, as does his restlessness. Giggling, he starts to wiggle and jerk eagerly in his father’s hold, which soon leads to accidentally drawing in a mouthful and coughing. This results in Eric just hopping up onto the wall and plopping the youngster between his legs with his arms weaved around his torso, giving Zach free reign to splash and spray to his little heart’s content.

For Zach, it’s like the best thing ever. He’s beginning to learn why Eric was a bit under-whelmed by his lacklustre reaction.

Later, when it comes to going near the deep end, Zach is fearless, but Eric guides him over to a quieter, shallower area where he tells him to take a deep breath and tightly close his mouth, slowly dunking him into the water and counting to three before raising him up again.

When the toddler eventually starts to tire, Eric brings him back to get dressed, where he towels him off and slips a hoodie Zach doesn’t recognise over his head, steering his arms into the sleeves. He’s too sluggish to care when the older man tugs on his underwear and pants, simply pushing his thumb between his lips and sucking quietly.

Soon, he feels himself getting strapped into his carseat and he feebly grabs a fistful of Eric’s shirt as he pulls away, whimpering, scarcely aware of what he’s doing.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

It alarms Zach that when Eric’s smiling face appears above him, he instinctively thrusts out his arms to be lifted.

He hasn’t got time to dwell on this, however, because all-too-soon, he’s being released into Eric’s apartment and all train of thought ceases.

This is… um... He’s not sure what he’d anticipated but it sure as hell wasn’t this.

The hallway is deceptively neat, - sure, there are several, stray shoes here and there, a bright blue raincoat hides among the much larger, black coats, and a small stool is propped against the wall; nothing spectacular - while the living area, in contrast, is scattered with toys, pencils, books, blankets - a crowd of colour and assorted belongings.

Not even the kitchen has escaped unscathed. There are bottles of half-empty juice cartons in at least five different flavours lining the worktop, the refrigerator is plastered with childish drawings and a range of cartoon animal magnets, not to mention the tiny, smudged fingerprints that seem to surface in the very last places you would ever expect them.

It’s a lot more cluttered and messy than the last time he was here, but… all in all, it’s really not the worst set up.

After shedding his coat, kicking off his shoes and going to the bathroom, (with only a little bit of help, he swears) Zach is left to his own devices as Eric tackles dinner in between calling a disgruntled client and clearing away the previous night’s dishes.

Bored, Zach stumbles across a little toy airplane which he picks up curiously, studying it for a moment, and after not time at all, he is ensnared in a vivid fantasy, petrified passengers screaming in terror as the plane plummets towards the ground in slow-motion, until, suddenly, Superman appears and uses his super-strength to save them all from falling-

He’s startled out of his daydream when a hand shakes his shoulder and says, "Time for dinner, buddy."

Dinner is a discouraging affair. He’s presented with mashed potatoes, baked beans and miniature, cut-up chunks of sausage, but it doesn’t seem to matter how slow he goes or how careful Zach is, a little dribbles down his chin or spontaneously flings from his fork onto the tee - adorned with some cute, goofy tiger - he’s wearing. Eric has to retrieve a napkin to scrub his face afterwards.

Worse, he lets him. In fact, it doesn’t even cross his mind to protest.

As if sensing his downhearted mood, Eric pushes his binder of paperwork aside and instead, proposes, "Wanna watch some Mike the Knight?"

Zach blinks. What the hell is that?

Getting no response, he rubs his back and adds persuasively, "It’s your favourite. C’mon, I’ll even let you stay up ’til eight."

Which is - sadly - evidently a treat.

Not one to encourage suspicion, (and fine, maybe a tinie tiny bit thrilled to have Eric’s undivided attention again) Zach timidly agrees, "Otay.." He scrambles up onto the couch beside the lawyer who immediately transfers the toddler onto his lap, draping a blanket over the two of them and distractedly stroking his blonde hair. As the kid’s show progresses, (oddly enough, it’s pretty cool. There are actual, honest-to-God dragons) Zach finds himself burrowing into Eric’s chest, thumb bobbing gently at his mouth.

Then, all of a sudden, Eric spontaneously jerks his knee, quite deliberately, and the two-year old’s musical laughter erupts throughout the room.

He grins, waiting to see that the older man will do next.

The next thing Zach knows, he’s getting bounced up and down and ruthlessly tickled, with Eric lowering him towards the ground like he’s about to fall before lifting him just as quickly. Unable to believe how much fun he’s having, Zach’s cheeks actually hurt from the prolonged brilliant beam that stretches across his face.

Eric’s grin is equally as wide as he asks, "Was that fun, huh? Does someone have the case of the tickles?" He raises his fingers and wiggles them as if he’s about to attack the toddler’s stomach again.

"No!" Zach playfully shrieks. "No mowe!"

"Are you positively sure?" He smirks mischievously. "I wouldn’t want your poor chin to feel ignored…" Before Zach can process what’s happening, Eric reaches out once again and chuckles at the resulting euphoric squeal. The boy tries to block him by ducking his head, but all that does is trap his fingers right where he wants them.

Zach keeps chortling until Eric eventually pulls away, but by then, he’s absolutely exhausted.

Yawning, he feels his eyes growing heavy and he knuckles them gently to stay awake.

All hope is lost, however, as Eric repositions him so that his head is resting on his shoulder, beginning to calmly pat his back and bounce him gently. Feeling safe and warm and protected, Zach plants his thumb in his mouth and sleepily nuzzles against Eric’s collar. Had he not been semi-conscious, Zach probably would have been astounded by how content he is, at how little protest he puts up when the older man starts to hum under his breath and sway absentmindedly, but the truth is, there is no refuting these action’s effectiveness because he’s far too sleepy to think any of these things.

Grasping at the his boss’ short strands in an attempt to cuddle closer, the toddler drowsily shakes his head and slurs, "Daddy."

"Right here, kiddo," Eric smiles, the soft kind that almost always reaches the eyes. "I’m not going anywhere."

Soft bursts of air warming his neck as Zach’s breaths slow and even out, Eric’s grip tightens on impulse, all-too-aware of the work he has to get back to and the umpteen clients he has to please, but feeling loath to untangle his sleeping son now that he finally has him in his arms again.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

-x-X-x- Two Weeks Later -x-X-x-

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

"Daddy! Daddy!" Zach cries, running over and awkwardly climbing onto his lap. "Li’ten! Li’ten!"

"I’m hearing you loud and clear, buddy," Eric assures with a smirk, placing a bracing hand on the lively toddler’s back to hold him steady. "What is it?"

The boy scowls.

"No, no, no! You havta li’ten," he demands in frustration, cupping a hand over his mouth and lowering his voice.

"Oh," Eric nods, eyes brightening in understanding. "Alright. I gotcha." Leaning down closer and tugging his own ear, Eric says with mock-seriousness, "Okay, squirt. Ready when you are."

Greatly entertained by the older man’s choice to cooperate, but wanting to maintain his air of secretiveness, he says in a hushed voice, "Daddy, you know what lawyews weaw da couwt?"

"’fraid not, puppy," Eric whispers back with mock regret, before poking his belly and asking as if it is of the highest importance, "Why? Do you know?"

"Uh-huh," Zach nods quickly, "No tell anyone."

"Never!" Eric swears, shaking his head as if scandalised, then pauses. "Well… not unless a little rascal called Zach tells them first." Knowing Zach, he’ll be itching to enlighten anyone willing to ’listen,’ provided that he stays still long enough to reach the punch line, and this is too damn cute a story to pass up.

"Daddy!"

"Okay, okay." He grins. "I promise."

"Dey weaw-Dey weaw," Zach breaks off, giggling adorably, then chokes, "Law’uits!"

Eric’s ensuing chuckle is one-hundred percent genuine as warmth floods his chest and he kisses the top of Zach’s head without thinking. "Oh, yeah. I can only imagine how disastrous it would be if that ever got out," he remarks gravely. "We’d be ruined."

Wrinkling a brow, Zach thinks long and hard for a moment, stuffing his fingers into his mouth and lightly chomping, before offering in a barely articulate jumble, "You tell Cory if reawy want, Daddy."

"That’s very generous of you," Eric laughs, gently tugging the youngster’s slippery hand away, pilfering a tissue from his desk and wiping his soggy fingers layered with tiny, red bite-marks. "I don’t think I could have lived without her knowing."

Then, blue eyes wide and hopeful, he asks,"Me tell Cory?"

"I don’t see why not," he replies distractedly, crushing the used tissue and lobbing it at the trashcan, before squirting on some sanitizer and smearing the spearmint-scented blob over both of their hands.

Pulling a face, Zach giggles, "Yut."

"Yeah," the older man agrees, rolling his eyes. "Yuck. Now your hands are actually clean." He gasps. "Whatever will we do?"

Pulling his shirt up over his face and pushing his shoulders up to cover his ears, the toddler peeks out, blue eyes sparkling as he decrees in his best grown-up voice, "Silly."

"Silly? I’m silly?" Eric scoffs. "Oh, we’ll see who’s silly now." Swiftly tickling the boy’s exposed belly, he grins at the adorable peals of laughter his actions elicit as Zach struggles half-heartedly. Bearing in mind the boy’s limits, the man stops when his face begins to redden and rights his rumpled clothes, giving his silky hair a playful ruffle. "Now enough fun and games," he announces. "Daddy’s got a lot of work to do and a certain little puppy has a top-secret revelation for Auntie Cory."

Zach doesn’t know what revelation means, but he does need to speak with Cory pretty urgently and is readying himself to leap from his daddy’s lap, (despite being told a hundred billion gazillion times not to) when he remembers something.

Turning back and tugging on the young father’s tie to guarantee he has his full attention, Zach presents him with a radiant, dimpled grin as he relates, "Daddy."

"What?"

"No!" He grumpily shakes his head, stressing, "Daddy."

It takes Eric a moment, (with Zach, it’s always about the subtext) but eventually, he catches on.

Grinning from ear to ear, Eric envelops his remarkably sweet son in a loving embrace, pecks his forehead, and says, "Love you too, puppy."

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

It’s the twitching toes, soft skin poking through the plastic net, that instantly gives him away.

Smothering a sigh, Eric tries to stay mad - he really does - but he feels his lips curve as his heart is reduced to mush.

Daintily rifling through damp towels, limp socks and dirty clothes, the lawyer has to push back the affectionate laugh that threatens to break the surface, disapproving frown on the brink of defeat, as big blue eyes peer up at him from between the sleeves of one of his softer sweatshirts.

Then comes the elated but muffled, "Boo," and that’s it - he’s a goner.

Sniggering quietly, Eric resumes trawling through the laundry basket until his hands finally make contact with a pink-faced, giggling toddler, grasping under his armpits and heaving him up onto his hip.

"Aw, kiddo. What am I gonna do with you?" he moans, carding his fingers through the scruffy, dust-speckled tuffs of dark hair and feeling his shoulders go slack at the thought of another exuberate bath-time, complete with ear-splitting squeals, great, lumbering splashes and more suds daubed around Eric’s chin than there are floating around the entire tub.

Apparently, it’s only fun if Daddy is the one with the gloopy bubble-beard that tickles your damn nose and is inexorably hell-bent on entering your locked mouth.

"’Cared you!" Zach boasts, tapping Eric’s nose and beaming.

"Oh, yeah. You scared me real good, puppy. Phew," he breathes, reaching up and pretending to wipe sweat from his brow. "Almost had a heart-attack."

What his adorably misinformed two-year-old has failed to grasp is that, as a general rule, when one wishes to frighten another, it is not advisable to yell, ’Daddy, Daddy! Me hide now!’ beforehand (while jumping on the spot and yanking at his pant’s leg, logically) and then wait for them to come find you, rather than popping out of a closet or something of the sort unexpectedly.

Truth be told, had Zach simply upped and vanished while his attention was momentarily deviated, hysteria-induced heart failure would almost certainly have been the natural outcome. At the very least, the father would be scarred for life and then accused of smothering on a daily basis.

Suddenly, Eric is incredibly thankful that his son considers ghost-hood and hide-and-seek as being one and the same.

Rubbing his nose, the youngster scowls, pausing to sneeze sweetly before protesting, "I Dost, Daddy! Not a puppy."

"Hmm, are you sure you’re not a ghost puppy?" Eric wonders, turning the tap and inserting the plug. Water gushes, a cloud of hot steam shaping as he adds a drop of lavender oil (please God, let it work this time. He Does not want a cranky toddler tomorrow) and dips in a finger to test the temperature. It doesn’t take long for the tub to fill and he shuts off the water, before going to retrieve a clean towel.

"Nuh-uh!" With a disgruntled pout, Zach mulishly shakes his head. "Just dost!"

"If you say so, puppy."

"Me not!" Had he been on the ground, there definitely would have been a stamping of his feet.

Appearing nonchalant, the senior partner shrugs. "Okay, pupp-" Zach quickly splays his hand over Eric’s mouth to halt his speech, who decides to lightly nip the tiny fingers.

Choking on giggles, the youngster yanks his hand away and shrieks, "Top it!"

"But I’m soooo hungry and you’re just too tasty!" Eric tells him helplessly, leaning down close and teasingly snapping his teeth. "Cute enough to eat - isn’t that what Auntie Cory is always saying? I might just have to gobble you up!"

"Don’t dobble me, Daddy!" Zach pleads, snorting at his father’s silliness. When Eric reacts by pretending to munch on his cute, little button nose, he schools his features into a stern, earnest frown, - which nearly causes Eric to fall into hysterics, recognising his own expression - and wags a finger, admonishing, "No, bad Daddy!"

Needless to say, that same finger is soon trapped in the older man’s mouth.

Someday, Zach will master the art of scaring the crap out of his father (although, Eric suspects it probably won’t be from hiding in a laundry basket), but for now, Eric is content having the toddler chortle as he squishes the lawyer’s cheeks together while he himself pulls an assortment of funny faces.

 

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