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Ethan had been oddly radio silent for over a week now, and Luther was getting worried. Sure, sometimes his friend was quiet and claimed wanted some space, but Luther knew better. Kid was lonely and struggling but wouldn’t want to bother anyone about it (not that he had many people to bother). He’d finally started to get it through his skull that he wanted to help, but sometimes they had to rehash. At least Ethan had called him immediately when he found a baby at his door, that was definite progress.
Normally, Luther might just walk right in to the apartment if he was really worried about Ethan. But the guy was as paranoid as anyone with a clandestine government job, probably more since Maisie. So, he knocked.
Ethan…well, he didn’t look the worst Luther had ever seen him, but it was a near thing. His eyes were shadowed from an obvious lack of sleep. His hair was getting long again, and it hung greasy around his face.
His clothes were rumpled, with a bit of spit-up staining his shirt and jeans. The sight was both funny and concerning.
“Luther, hey—what is it? Do we have—“
“No mission, I’m just checking in.” Luther nodded. “You gonna invite me in or am I just gonna have to stand here?”
Ethan blinked. “Sorry. Yeah, come in.” He moved aside, holding open the door.
The apartment was in more disarray than Luther had ever seen it before—until this year, Ethan had only stayed there for maybe three nonconsecutive weeks of the year. But now there was homely detritus littered about: toys, burp cloths, laundry in both grownup blacks and tiny baby pinks and yellows. Past the messy sofa, the television played a news station on mute.
“Is she not sleeping through the night?” He thought Ethan got that sorted, more or less.
“She’s sleeping fine, it’s me that’s having problems,” Ethan huffed, grabbing a mug and filling it from the tap.
“How’s about you take a break and let me take over for a bit?”
“Luther, I…I can’t just leave her—“
“Did I say anything about you leaving the house? I’m talking I handle the kid while you take an hour to breathe. I got nothing better to do. Let me help,” he said.
A squeal came from the bedroom. Ethan sighed.
“Alright. But you take first shift. I’ll get her bottle.”
“Get something for yourself while you’re at it,” Luther said.
Ethan shuffled into the little kitchen while Luther slipped into the bedroom. As he suspected, Maisie was awake, kicking her little legs. She giggled when she saw Luther, reaching for him even before he moved to scoop her up.
“Hey, Little Bit,” he said, arranging her in his arms. God, she was cute. And grabby—she kept reaching for Luther, tugging on his jacket and reaching towards his face. It made him glad he didn’t wear glasses. Exiting the room, he grabbed the first suitable toy he came across—a chunky plastic donut. Maisie eagerly grabbed it and waved it before trying to stick it in her mouth. Was she teething? He’d have to ask Ethan.
“You’ll listen to me, right?” He asked.
Maisie simply stared, then turned to stick her ring in her mouth again.
Ethan had a peanut butter sandwich in one hand and a bottle of formula in the other. He moved to set his food down, but Luther grabbed the bottle before he could.
“Nope. Finish your breakfast and go shower. You look like crap.”
“Don’t curse in front of my baby,” he mumbled, but it was good natured.
Maisie fussed when he took away her toy, but was quickly placated with breakfast, eagerly grabbing the bottle with her little hands. Now having one hand available, Luther reached for the tv remote.
Technically, the apartment wasn’t supposed to have normal cable or anything, being an IMF place. It’d been easy enough for him to work around it to get Ethan set up with PBS and some other stuff. He had no idea how much it was used when he wasn’t there, but it’s the effort that counts.
It was late enough in the morning that none of the good children’s shows were still on, but there was a rerun of The Civil War on a documentary channel, which was mildly more interesting than letters, shapes, and colors.
Luther glanced down to see that Maisie had already gotten halfway through her bottle. Alarmed, he pulled it away to a cry of indignation.
“Hey, you’re gonna make yourself sick if you eat too fast, kid,” he chided, sitting her up on his lap and grabbing the nearest towel to burp her. Thankfully, this occurred without incident and Maisie was returned to her bottle, which she continued to consume with her previous hunger.
Ethan wandered in and perched on the edge of the opposing loveseat, staring at him and Maisie with the telltale blankness of someone who has been awake for far too many hours.
“Go shower, man—I’ve got this one.”
Ethan gave one last look at his daughter before standing and heading to the bathroom. Luther shook his head and turned back to the baby in his arms.
Thirty minutes later, Ethan emerged from the bathroom with damp hair and dressed in a soft t-shirt and pajama pants.
“To be clear, I’m wearing this because I don’t have anything else clean.”
“I didn’t say anything,” he said, adding laundry to his mental to-do list.
Maisie had dozed off after her bottle, resting peacefully in the crook of Luther’s arm. He was starting to see how Ethan might spend his nights watching her sleep instead of doing so himself. Speaking of—
Predictably, Ethan was conked out within ten minutes of sitting down, having listed over onto his side with his arms folded. It was precisely the outcome Luther’d hoped for. He’d probably have to go over and adjust him so he wouldn’t wake up with a sore back, but it’d do for now. The low thump of reenactment cannons and narration didn’t even make him twitch.
Turning back to Maisie, Luther saw that the baby was awake. She probably had been for a while, watching the tv. She wasn’t bleary-eyed or fussy, just…calm. It was a little unsettling.
“You’re not gonna cry and wake up your dad, are you?”
Maisie simply looked at him with an oddly cognizant look in her wide eyes. Then she turned away, enraptured by the television.
“Well, alright then,” he said. Fine by him; like he’d told her dad, he had nothing else to do, or that he’d rather be doing.