temporary equations

by ceruqlean

Summary:

A baby turning up on the doorstep, a chaotic family in apartment 2166 of a Hell's Kitchen building, and the many tales of surviving this for everyone involved! Beckett Cobalt certainly has many thoughts about this new development in his life, and so does Joana Oliveira, who stays in the same building down the hall. And when word reaches Leo Valavanis, he does, as well.

Chapter 1: Doorstep Surprises

Summary:

Inspiration Credits to Becca and Krista Ritchie for Burn Bright and Inspiration Credits to ABT and NYCB

Notes:

I love this trope with (found) family.

 

Beckett Joyce Cobalt peered at his baby brother’s girlfriend as nicely as possible as she sat on one of the barstools, before him. It was the week before her last final exam, and she was the only one awake in the apartment, aside from him. Charlie was in Prague, as expected. Tom was sleeping, tired from his tour obligations. Eliot was out somewhere. Ben was on a hiking trip with their father and uncle Ryke, which took convincing from Harriet to go to, needing a much-needed break after his final exam.

 

“Morning,” Harriet Stevie Fisher stiffly said, while grabbing the coffee pot. Beckett was not used to people being more intimidated by him than his twin brother. But here Ben’s girlfriend was, doing precisely that. Beckett smiled, extending a plate of sandwiches stuffed with the jackfruit “meat” that was prepped by his baby brother before leaving for his trip.

 

“You have a day off?” Harriet asked, and Beckett nodded placatingly. He countered the nod with a gentle explanation. “I have a lay-off period before the residency.”

 

“Residency?”

 

“Residency,” Beckett simply answered, gauging if she wanted to know more. She looked like she had questions, but remained tight-lipped. So, he asked, “Are you ready for your last final?”

 

“Yeah, it’s chem. It will be a breeze,” Harriet lifted her shoulders, sharing. The faintest of a smile graced her face. Beckett nodded approvingly and happily, knowing the joy of feeling in the element before something big. That was the rush he felt before every performance and rehearsal. Every day, he felt this, and it was a gift. He knew it, and he would never take that for granted. 

 

The only two people awake in the household worked together to ensure the home was spotless and well-maintained. It was a routine the two were used to when they were in each other’s vicinity. Thanks to Ben, that was quite often. Beckett ruminated in his head as he reloaded his Instagram account again, sitting on the couch, as Harriet put on an episode of CSI on her laptop. A break from studying, she called it.

 

Okay. This was good. He did not accidentally post anything. No one got access to his account other than himself and Audrey. Everything was alright. He decided that, as he murmured to himself, “Four.”

 

The screen reloaded a fourth time, and satisfied, he kept his phone aside on his right side. Beckett then lifted his head and immediately averted his eyes from how his brother’s girlfriend’s binder was resting on the table, the edges of it not at all parallel to the table’s edge. He stifled the urge to correct it and instead took a breath. One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three. 

 

When he lifted his head, the binder was gone, back in its user's lap.

 

The apartment was silent without all of his brothers, except for the voices from Harriet’s laptop, but he was simply glad to realize that they were alright. Soon enough, Tom also woke up, the kitchen occupied with his shenanigans. The fourth of five brothers. It filled Beckett with pride to know that The Carraways was taking off from the ground the way his brother wanted. With this tour, it reached people in ways previously unimagined.

 

“Don’t do that, Thomas,” Harriet said, listening to Tom, the conversation something Beckett tuned out. Tom’s voice was heard. “I do not have another choice.”

 

“Since when did you start mingling with the enemy?” Harriet asked, and Beckett would have reacted if he did not know the enemy in question was Nothing Personal’s Phoenix St. Pierre. 

 

“I am not mingling, Harry,” Tom said, and this would have spilled into a heated argument that would have had Harriet blasting a playlist that she definitely called the “Songs Tommy Hates” if not for how the apartment’s wall-mounted phone rang loudly. Tom hopped off the couch to answer. “Yeah, send it upstairs… Harry’s ordered a new textbook for her summer class… thanks, Barry.”

 

Barry, the new concierge of the building, was still adjusting to his role. It was a process, and Beckett, well, to put it simply, did not want to be harsh, but sometimes, it was hard to think that kindly of the man.

 

“Why would you even buy a hardcover when there are ebook options?” Tom commented, waiting by the door, and Harriet scowled. She stood up from the couch as well, approaching her nemesis.

 

Beckett sighed. The bickering around him made him content. At least, that was what he was feeling before his brother’s shout alarmed him. He immediately stood up and ran to the door.

***

Brown hair. Blue eyes. Incessant cooing.

 

There was no textbook at their doorstep. 

 

“This is not… Maeve,” Harriet said. “I just met her last week. I know what she looks like. I am not wrong?”

 

“Why would Jane leave her baby, our niece, at our door like this?” Tom asked, looking at Harriet with incredulity.

 

Harriet said, “I don’t know, Dude. Wiki does not give information about every Cobalt ritual.”

 

Beckett sighed. “I assure you, there is no Cobalt ritual that says to leave a baby at anyone's, even family's, doorstep.”

 

He closed his eyes, rubbing his temples like his twin would, if he were here. “This is not even Maeve.”

 

This was a baby car seat carrier with a baby inside. The elevator doors dinged open, and Barry sauntered out of it, holding an Amazon package. Harriet winced, her eyes flitting from the baby to the textbook. Tom took the package wordlessly, speechless for once, passing it to Harriet.

 

Barry stared at the baby car seat carrier on the floor, and he blinked twice. He teetered on his feet and said, “Have a good day.”

 

What the fuck was that reaction? Did he not know how this human got here? How was he the concierge? 

 

Beckett tamped down every thought he had, composing himself. It did not take him a minute longer to realize that, in fact, yes, Barry had no idea how a baby car seat carrier ended up at the front door of their apartment. At 2166. Or he was pretending. That meant someone in the building had to be behind this, or Barry or someone else from the building staff was acting.

 

Security cameras would give answers. 

 

Yes, they would. He assured himself. He needed O’Malley on this.

 

Barry was unfortunately ignored by everyone except Beckett, who looked at him with composure. He wished him the same when Tom asked, “How did this get here?”

“How am I supposed to know that?” Barry questioned, shrugging his shoulders. Tom was about to give the man a piece of his mind when he was held back by Beckett, who whispered. “Calm down. Let’s think properly before involving anyone else.”

 

So, that was that.

 

“Who is this?” Harriet murmured to the two as Barry walked away. Beckett wanted answers as well, and his eyes flickered to the baby. What the fuck? He had a life that was both busy and exhilarating, yet at the same time, it was also boring. But this was out of his realm. Even his cousin, Luna, the writer of the family and the one who made the impossible possible with her crafting, would not have imagined this happening.

 

Beckett’s eyes then narrowed. Was that a note tucked to the little human’s side? He bent down and grabbed it. A neatly-folded note in pastel blue was in his hands, and opening it only revealed:

 

2166

 

He is yours.

 

Tom snatched the note, and he paled. 

 

Harriet said, waving her hand, not in eye contact with the note, “Hellooo?”

 

“Here, vertically challenged Harry,” Tom rolled his eyes, bringing back the note from near distance with his face. 

 

He passed it to Harriet, who read it. She immediately blurted, “He is not mine.”

 

“Two loving parents would adopt him if he were mine for one. Second, he would only meet me when I am a resident,” She said, scoffing to herself, like she had some inside joke. She murmured, “I would then give my bone marrow.” 

 

Beckett blinked. “What?”

Harriet tilted her head up to look at a dumbfounded Tom and a confused Beckett. 

 

She said, “Grey’s Anatomy? Izzie Stevens?”

 

Tom glared at her. “That is what you are thinking of right now?”

 

Harriet glared back. “What do you want me to do, Thomas? Start writing a song called ‘Baby at my Doorstep’? Blast ‘Mama’ by My Chemical Romance?”

 

Beckett pointed out. “You are stressed.”

 

“I am stressed,” Harriet nodded, muttering, chewing on the side of her lip, and glaring at the baby boy. She did not mean to, of course. It was simply her facial expressions. 

 

Tom let out a breath, raising his arms, speaking the obviously-held conclusion in all of this. “He is not mine, either.”

 

Harriet winced. “The note is to 2166…”

 

“Yeah, Harry,” Tom sing-songed. Harriet added, looking up at Beckett. “Who in 2166 is the mom, I guess, talking to?”

The three in the hallway stilled. The mother, whoever she was. There were many possibilities if Beckett accounted for the people living in 2166. His brothers. Three of them, particularly.

 

Along with all these thoughts, Beckett felt a combination of bafflement and anger. Angry that there was a baby abandoned at their doorstep. Baffled that there was, in fact, a baby at their doorstep.

 

Tom looked at Beckett accusingly, with a hint of amusement and a grimace. Tom and she, in unison, hesitated to point out the obvious. 

 

Unfortunately, Beckett’s first thought went to Eliot in this matter. Then Charlie. He grimaced as he thought of Ben, who was now in a relationship. He noticed how his brother's girlfriend's eyes widened. There was no doubt that she was trying to do some mental math to figure out something, perhaps if her boyfriend was a father at twenty. The math, however, was flawed because the variables had not been defined yet. They didn't even know how old this baby boy was.

 

Establishing paternity was happening. Definitely happening.

 

“If this note is even true,” Harriet added, wincing. The baby boy cooed loudly, making the three jolt in surprise. Beckett dispelled a breath. He looked up at the ceiling and then at the baby again. 

 

What the hell? Beckett Joyce Cobalt thought again.

 

As if the predicament were not enough, the door down the hall opened, and Beckett closed his eyes in annoyance. Joana Oliveira’s voice mingled with the chiming of what had to be a sparkly cocktail dress she was wearing. Was it red again, he thought, remembering the week before. He buried that thought immediately.

 

“Harriet?”

“Jo,” Harriet’s glum voice filled the hall as she waved at her friend. The resident squatter. The brat down the hall.

 

“What the fuck?” The voice returned, making Beckett’s body tense. “Is that a car seat for a baby? You said you were not pregnant, Harriet."

 

"I am not," Harriet promised.

 

Tom and Beckett exchanged a glance.

 

Tom shouted, "You had a scare again?"

 

"Relax," Harriet murmured, ducking her head.

 

Beckett dispelled another aggrieved breath. He made the mistake of opening his eyes in that moment.

 

And, indeed, the youngest Oliveira was wrapped in red.

Chapter 2: A Baby? A Baby.

Summary:

Inspiration Credits to Becca and Krista Ritchie for Burn Bright and The Movie Three Men and a Baby for Some Scenes

 

Beckett gritted his teeth, watching as Joana smirked. He was busy as it was, and Joana just had to stand there in red. In fucking red. And Beckett stifled the urge to scream at Harriet, who pulled Joana inside the apartment. 

 

Tom and Beckett looked at each other. Tom sighed. “Do we bring him inside?”

 

“No, Thomas,” Harriet’s voice bellowed from the apartment’s living room. “We should just leave the baby outside.”

 

Tom rolled his eyes. He held onto the carrier and brought the cooing baby inside. Beckett closed the door instantly and looked at the car seat carrier on the glass table. Joana sharply looked at Harriet. For once, Beckett understood that. This would be the second time that Ben and Harriet had a pregnancy scare, something Beckett did not know. Neither did Tom, who was peering at Harriet.

 

Beckett sighed. He was going to call Ben tonight. As always, Beckett was scared of Ben prying away again. His going to Alaska had stayed on Beckett’s mind more than he could ever admit aloud. He could tell it was on everyone’s mind, especially Harriet. 

 

“If I were pregnant, the first person, after Ben, I would tell would be you, Jo,” Harriet said. That was news to Beckett. He had not realized that they had become that close. 

 

She harshly whispered. “Look. The car seat is clearly not new. There is a baby in there.”

 

Joana nodded, slumping against the couch. Beckett would have snarled in annoyance, but he was actually quite used to this sight. For reasons that he was not privy to, his baby brother’s girlfriend and this brat wrapped in red fabric had become close friends. Very close now, he realized.

 

“This is not Maeve.”

“I said the same thing,” Harriet said. Tom looked at her. “Yeah, the dumbest thing to say.”

 

She tilted her head back to peer up at him. She asked, smirking, “When did you become a dad?”

Beckett bristled. Tom and Harriet looked at each other. Tom intervened, “The note just said that he—”

He pointed at the baby boy with blue eyes and brown hair. Harriet finished the sentence. “—Was someone’s child in this apartment.”

 

Joana clapped, trying to beckon Beckett’s attention. She had no idea that his attention was always on her when she was in view. It was magnetic. Annoying. He looked at her, crossing his arms, while she pointed out, “He has your hair color. You are a dad. Now, you can let that mattress off your back.”

Joana put a hand over her mouth, murmuring whore between fake coughing. Beckett scoffed, “You think a lot about the mattress on my back.”

 

Harriet opened her mouth about to say something, and in the last few months, he had gotten to know how much she talked about science whenever she could get a chance. 

 

Beckett and Eliot once stumbled inside the living room to see her mumbling about organic chem in her sleep. She likely was going to point out how hair color alone did not make Beckett the boy’s father when Tom clasped a hand around her mouth. He whispered something to her and winced as Harriet dug her elbow into his side.

 

Beckett rubbed his temple, irritated. “Get out.”

“You were not the one who invited me here.” She smiled at Harriet, who shrank back at any attention. His mom once pointed it out, and ever since then, Beckett could not stop noticing it. He hated that. Sometimes, he wanted to tell his baby brother’s girlfriend that shrinking back like that would never do anything good. 

 

What was she going to do when she got praised in the future? Cower? 

 

His fingers flexed, his head looping around that irate urge to change things the way he wanted to. That urge was worse than whatever he felt when he wanted to be clean. Simply clean, free of any contaminants internally and externally. 

 

But that urge was easier to think about and control than the pesky, loopy thoughts he got when he feared that the meticulous ways with which he lived his life were stripped from him. Those thoughts were hell. He could not do anything then. Even going out to enjoy fries at his favourite spot felt like an endurance sport.

 

Beckett wryly stated. “Did you finally get it in your head that you want to be invited here by me?”

 

Joana stomped her foot. “No.”

“No?” Beckett arched an eyebrow as Tom continued whispering in Harriet’s ear. Broken sentences were heard. You’re oblivious. Keep quiet. 

 

“Get it in your head that not everyone’s dying to—” Joana was about to complete her sentence when Harriet stood up. She held up her arms. “We need to plan our next steps.”

 

She pasted a sticky note on Tom’s face, making him close his eyes, as she took a seat on the glass table before him. He was used to these antics. He was once designated as the guy who held up Harriet’s flashcards as she studied. 

 

Beckett glanced at the baby.

 

He said, “A DNA paternity test.”

 

“Right,” Harriet said, nodding. She scribbled that on the Post-it note.

 

2. DNA Paternity Test

 

She murmured, “What if he is Ben’s?”

 

“You are going to be a nineteen-year-old stepmother,” Tom said, and Harriet smacked his shoulder.

 

Joana looked at Harriet, pointing at Beckett. “It’s his. Trust me.”

 

Beckett rolled his eyes as Harriet pointed out. “We need to get food and clothes first.”

“And diapers,” Tom said, cringing.

 

1. Necessities for the Baby

 

Harriet added, scribbling:

 

3. Find the Mom

 

“For now,” Beckett said, gently prying the marker away. “This is enough.”

“We cannot tell anyone,” Beckett said. “Except O’Malley and Eliot. We also need to call—”

“Let’s not tell Ben,” Harriet said, and Tom’s eyebrows nearly reached his hairline. 

 

Joana winced. She picked at the ends of her red dress and said, “That’s a bad idea.”

 

For once, Beckett agreed with her.

“He is on vacation. He is not—” Harriet exhaled. “Telling Ben will freak him out.”

 

“What will freak him out?” Eliot’s voice was heard as the door flung open.

***

Joana never thought a day like this would arrive. She did not hold in her laughter, as she burst. She was so entertained right now. Only if there was some food and Coca-Cola to upset Beckett that she could relish in as she saw this unfold. She would have left if not for how Harriet told her to stay. Girlhood professed that Joana should listen to that request.

 

Anyway, why would she leave when she can prick Beckett?

 

Okay, she did feel a teensy bit bad for Harriet, though. The idea of your boyfriend having a baby that you only just got to know about was depressing. If Ben was the dad, Harriet should break up with him. Joana felt an ick as she thought of being in her twenties and being a stepmom. With college, that was even worse. Pobrezinha.

 

She patted Harriet’s shoulder. She didn’t say it, but her pat sure did. Break up with Ben if he is the dad. But she didn’t really think the boy was the dad. She looked at Beckett, and she crossed her ankles. She did not like him. Not his voice. Not his face. Not anything.

 

She stretched out her legs, the heels of her feet feeling sore.

 

This was surely Beckett Cobalt’s baby. She needed a laugh, and this was it. But she found herself leaning over and looking at the baby. He cooed. 

 

“What’s his name?” She cut into the chatter that was happening around that she did not pay attention to. She definitely did not notice how she only paid attention when Beckett spoke. Even if she did, Joana was clear on telling herself that it was that sensual voice.

 

“We just found him. His mom left us a note, not even bothering to address the dad, and you think we know his name?” Beckett questioned. 

 

He definitely looked at Harriet. “Can she leave now?”

 

He did, Joana thought as she looked away from the baby, sitting back.

“No,” Harriet said. Beckett looked slightly taken aback. Then, he smiled, as if he liked that Harriet was comfortable enough to say that. Joana hated that Beckett was attuned to other people like that. Fuck that, she thought. He just liked to be that attentive to fuck with others. Or fuck others.

 

Tom lounged back on the couch, slinging an arm around Harriet. “You can keep us two out of this.”

He pointed a finger at Eliot and then Beckett. “Figure out who the father is between you two and Ben and Charlie.”

 

Eliot softly murmured something in fucking French, and Joana hotly said, “Speak in English.”

 

Beckett translated, “He said that he does not think Ben is the father. Between everything that had happened, Ben would not have the time to father a child.”

 

That was a good point. Joana lifted her shoulders in support of that, because that meant her friend would be emotionally unscathed. Harriet said, “But you know who has the time for this?”

Tom pointed at Eliot, who grinned. He looked quite calm for someone who could be a dad. He looked like he would enjoy the challenge of raising a child. Stupid. Joana murmured, “I thought you guys were supposed to be smart.”

 

“Clearly not,” Harriet said, and then she shrank back like it was a sin to speak like this. Joana found that irritating, but she was not going to be honest. Today. The baby’s presence was already too much.

 

“Why are you calm?” Tom asked Eliot. “You seriously cannot—”

Eliot spoke over Tom, looking at the baby. “If I thy father, then thy mother perhaps is—“

 

Joana made a face. “Perhaps?”

 

“Perhaps because he is fu—“ Harriet trailed off. She winced.

 

Yep, swearing before babies was a no-no.

 

“Anyway, we don’t know his age yet for you to share your list of possible mothers,” Tom said. He looked at Harriet, who had a grimace on her face. “Harry here refuses to check his teeth.”

“Why do I have to do it?” Harriet scowled. 

 

“It’s practice for when you become a doctor,” Tom said, shrugging, and of course, he got a soft smack on his head. And of course, he exaggerated as if it really did hurt. It did not. Anyone could tell.

 

“Belle-Sœur is not doing pediatrics,” Eliot said. He grinned, mouthing surgery.

 

Harriet groaned. “Ugh. Someone’s got to check if he is teething.”

 

She stood up and went into the kitchen to wash her hands. She returned with gloves on, and she moved forward, her face scrunching. Tom said, “Let me hold him.”

 

“Any time now, Thomas,” Harriet said, and he rolled his eyes. He stood up and grabbed the baby. If Joana had to guess, that finesse came with handling Maeve, the Cobalt family’s first grandchild.

 

“Can you stand still?” Harriet asked Tom, as she bent. She softly held the baby boy’s chin, and she stuck her finger in his mouth, trying to get a feel of his gums. She gazed as much as she could and then winced as he nibbled on her pinky finger as she moved back. 

 

“My guy, I am not your food,” She said, as she pried away her finger. She turned around and said, “Gums are red where the teeth are supposed to come through. He drools a lot. And he is biting. Trying to bite. He is teething.”

 

“So he has to be at least six months or older,” Beckett noted. Joana glanced at him.

 

Harriet nodded, “That’s the hypothesis.”

 

Tom cursed under his breath and then said, “So, can anyone go and buy diapers and baby food?”

Joana’s nose crinkled. That sudden smell.

 

Tom nodded. “Yeah, that smell…”

“Little guy here has pooped.” He explained, still holding onto the baby boy.

 

“I can go,” Harriet said. Eliot stood up. She looked at him tersely. “If you go, everyone will know, and can you imagine the Celebrity Crush headlines? Because I can.”

 

Joana mimed a mic with her hand and spoke into it, acting exactly like one of the tabloid people that haunted the Famous Ones. “Breaking News: Beckett Cobalt is a dad, because he did not know how to use a condom.”

 

Harriet blinked at her. Beckett was about to obviously retort when Eliot mumbled something in French. And for that, a pillow landed on his chest. Ben Cobalt’s girlfriend shouted, “Stop it with the French right now!”

 

“I told you to learn French,” Tom pointed out, and Harriet warned. “The only reason why I am letting you talk shit is that you have him in your arms.”

“It stinks,” Beckett said. “Harriet, you don’t have to go. I will.”

Joana lifted her head. “Do you even know what you have to buy?”

“Do you?” Beckett asked, and Joana nodded, standing up. “I actually do know what you can buy for a six-month-old.”

 

“That is assuming he is six months old,” Tom said, and he tapped the baby’s head with his nose. “This stinky guy can be older.”

 

“Can we please call him something other than that?” Harriet asked. Eliot laughed while Tom glumly pointed out. “You called him little dude a while ago.”

 

“Now, I don’t want to.”

“Thy father should name you, but until then,” Eliot proposed, standing up. “We need a nickname.”

 

“What an irresponsible mom,” Tom said. He looked angry. “She did not even tell us his name.”

 

Harriet added, “Not even who the dad is.”

 

“Are we even sure that the baby’s mom dropped him off?” Joana asked, and Beckett thought it was the perfect time to suggest:

“Blue?”

“Blue?” Everyone looked at him.

 

Joana scoffed, “That’s so original. Blue because he is a boy.”

“Blue because he is a Cobalt,” Beckett said. He looked at the baby so fondly that Joana’s chest stirred with emotion. She could not stop herself from noticing how he was taking a stranger into his fold like it was so simple, so easy.

 

“Can we cast a vote?” Harriet asked. Eliot crossed his arms. “You have a suggestion?”

Tom said, “Don’t take any of Harry’s suggestions. She wants to name the bird Ben wants to bring home Luciferase.”

Joana looked at Harriet, which made her shrug defensively. “It’s a good name. It’s an enzyme. And you can have so many nicknames. Lucy, Lucifer.”

“Yes, because calling a bird the Devil is such a great idea,” Tom said. Harriet flung a leg at his foot, and he screamed, moving back. “I have a baby in my arms!”

 

Beckett sighed. “We are calling him Blue. We are not arguing about this.”

“Now, who will go to the store and get things we need?”

 

Harriet said, “It’s a really bad idea for any of you Cobalt brothers to go.”

“Don’t you have an exam soon?”

 

Harriet groaned. Eliot took that as an answer. He raised his hand. “I will go.”

“And here I thought the Cobalts were supposed to be smart,” Joana yawned, standing up. She could not take the stupidity anymore. She pointed at all of them, “If any of you go, you will be on Page Six, Celebrity Crush, and every evil gossip column.”

 

“So I will go,” Joana said. She told Harriet, “You owe me for this.”

“Sure, yeah,” She rolled her eyes. “I will treat you to a dinner at that spot in Greenwich Village.”

Beckett’s molten gaze landed on Joana, and she crossed her ankles again. She stood up, ignored him, and went to the door. “Will be back in twenty minutes.”

She was helping Harriet, her friend. Nothing else, really. And she wanted to breathe air that was not foul. Not the way it was stinking in the Cobalt apartment living room.

 

That was what she thought. And it was the truth. Of course, it was, she asserted mentally as she turned around to close the apartment door and go downstairs. But she almost hit herself against a brick wall, aka a man.

 

“You are not going alone,” Beckett Cobalt said, and that was that.

***

“Seriously?” Harriet spoke. “Pasting a beard on Beckett’s face will make him incognito?”

“Yes, it will,” Eliot said. Beckett really never enjoyed being Eliot’s model, but he was not going to complain today. This beard was going to help hide who he was as he shopped for diapers, baby food, and other things Blue was going to need.

 

Joana paced around in the hall as O’Malley locked down the floor. In this building, mostly old people, socialites, and high-level employees in the corporate chain resided. They really didn’t care that a baby had shown up at the doorstep of the Cobalt brothers’ apartment. But they also did not mind signing the NDAs O’Malley was shoving in their faces. This process included the building employees.

 

Barry had agreed to contact the building’s management to secure the camera footage that could provide some information. But that would take time. Patience is a virtue, and it was one Beckett had. But no one else in the room he was in had.

 

He tilted his head to glance at the crack of the door. Joana Oliveira was pacing in the hallway, angry. He liked that she was angry. She was beautiful when she was irate, even when she wasn’t, but he will never admit that. 

 

A little voice murmured about the benevolence, too, but he was not paying attention to that. He could not. Too much of this would just squander his focus on ballet. He was at the cusp of everything. He could not let anything distract him.

 

“C’est parfait,” Eliot said. He bowed, while no one clapped. He stood upright, grinning.

 

Beckett stood up. He could smell the substance that was used to paste the beard on his face. It was not glue, but whatever it was, it smelled awful. Harriet bit her lip. She sighed. “It doesn’t look that bad.”

“Can you go now, please?” Tom whined. “The stench is unbearable.”

 

“It’s not good for Blue to be in a full diaper that long, too,” Harriet added. Beckett nodded, deciding to call Hans. As he worked on dialling his number, Eliot suddenly said, “Blue is not a crier. Isn’t that lovely?”

And, of course, after a few minutes, Beckett put on a baseball cap, Blue burst into tears.

 

“Bye,” Beckett said, not laughing and holding it in remarkably.

 

“You just had to jinx us?” Harriet shouted over the cries that had everyone cringing. It was worse than the sounds an ambulance siren makes. 

 

“I am going to throw out that box of—” Tom warned, and Beckett shut the door.

 

***

“I can go to the store by myself,” Joana said. She sounded agitated, and she was. She stalked forward, not giving any space to Beckett, ramming the cart ahead.

 

Beckett looked at her. He smirked, and she wanted to desperately punch that smirk off his face. “Not everything is about you, Oliveira.”

“And not everything revolves around a Cobalt, Cobalt,” She said, stopping the cart right before the shelves with baby food.

 

She asked, a little annoyed with herself, because why the fuck did it matter if he didn’t? “You don’t trust me with Blue?”

“I don’t trust anyone with Blue,” Beckett said, looking ahead, his jaw tense. “Even myself.”

 

That was a revelation. Joana did not expect that. Out of everyone in the apartment, Beckett was the calmest. He was the one who calmed everyone else. He was the one who called the baby Blue, implying he was a Cobalt. Accepted, fealty shown without any complaints already. It was annoying. But it was also fair. Remarkably so.

 

“Is Blue yours?” Joana asked, the cart between them. 

 

“I don’t know.”

An honest answer. Beckett looked down at his phone. “But we will know soon.”

 

He looked at Joana. “You said you know what’s best for a six-month-old.”

She did. Thanks to a spurious girl she had known a long time ago, she happened to know a lot about babies. Even now, Joana felt so glum when she realized she had helped the wrong person. Someone who was not worth all that she did. 

 

“You should buy that,” Joana said, pointing at the box that was the Kendamil porridge. Then, she tapped at the many purees that teething babies around six months old have. 

 

And Beckett took them all. Stacks of them. She rolled her eyes. The rich and their credit cards and trust funds.

 

She snorted as she saw him put a pack of Hale Co., Pampers, and Huggies diapers. He looked at her. “Blue might get rashes. It’s a try and test situation.”

Joana’s throat closed. She felt bad. She also felt moved. She was out of her mind. 

 

One of the store attendants, who was organizing the cereals meant for toddlers, giggled at them. She pointed at the cart that was brimming. “I am sorry, but I have to ask, is this your first baby?”

“No.”

“Yes.”

The store attendant frowned. Beckett scratched at his fake beard, and he was about to rectify the situation with some truth when the store attendant said, “Oh.”

She looked at Beckett. “You both are very sleepy.”

Joana did not nod. She looked beautiful. She did not look or feel sleepy. She was wearing a pretty red dress for fuck’s sake, under this sweater she put on with the windy New York weather.

 

“I understand,” She added sympathetically.

 

“How old is your baby?”

“Six months,” Beckett said. Joana wanted to stomp her foot. She wanted to crush him because how dare he go on with these lies?

 

The store attendant laughed. “Good to see you two already use months instead of weeks. It’s really annoying when parents do that.”

 

Why the fuck was it annoying? Can’t parents do what they want? Joana kept quiet.

 

“Can we go?” She looked at Beckett. “Blue is waiting.”

 

And I don’t think your brothers and Harriet can hold off a crying baby with a stinky diaper any longer. She stressed silently.

 

“Right,” Beckett said. He tweaked his baseball cap and waved at the store attendant, who gushed over them. She sounded so happy when she said, “Blue is such a cute name. I am sure you chose it.”

Yeah, any praise for anyone else when she was in the room was just not cutting. Joana sweetly said, “Blue is the nickname I chose.”

Beckett looked at her, silently saying You are taking all the credit.

 

I am. Joana lifted her shoulders. She added, “We call him Blue, short for Bartholomew. The name he chose.”

 

Now, the store attendant looked unimpressed. Exactly.

 

“Let’s go.” Joana said, pleased.

 

 

***

 

When Beckett and Joana opened the door to the apartment, they came to a stop, seeing the scene before them. Beckett had never really wanted to laugh like this before, but he did now.

 

Eliot had a royal blue mask on and was strewn across the glass table. He was sleeping, with a pillow on his covered face. Tom was on the couch, holding onto an open textbook that had to be Harriet’s. Next to him was strewn Harriet with a baby on top of her.

 

The stench was quite unbearable, but whatever fragrance spray was used helped. But the important thing was that the apartment was silent. Joana said, “They could have just lulled him to sleep.”

“You expect them to take the easier way?” Beckett murmured, and he heard a faint snort. He liked that. No, he didn’t. He shook his head. He said, “Eliot must have read him a play he likes. He must have cried even more.”

“Then, Harriet would have read her organic chem notes to him. She does that more than she thinks she does,” Joana said. Correct. Exactly what must have happened.

 

“And Tom must have played one of his demos,” Beckett said. Joana said, “Blue’s ears must be tired.”

 

Which was why he was asleep on Harriet. Tired. Cute. Blue was adorable. And as much as Beckett wanted to deny it, he looked a lot like Ben, which meant he looked a lot like their father. Connor Cobalt.

 

A Cobalt. Another young Cobalt. Beckett was already starting to believe that. If his twin were here, he would tell him not to fall for this. He would tell him to wait for paternity establishment. Beckett would, but his heart wasn’t. 

 

Beckett kept the bags down and moved forward. He pried Blue away from Harriet’s hold. He was going to have to find a way to change his diaper without waking him up.

 

He turned around. For the first time, he was about to thank Joana Oliveira for her help, for her outrageousness, because it felt like a glimmer of light in the dark, but what he saw surprised him. In very un-Joana movements, she went outside, flinging the door open. She did not even respond to the way O’Malley called her name.

 

”What was that?” O’Malley murmured to himself.

 

Beckett stayed silent, his eyes very hawkish and observant of what had just happened. O’Malley sauntered inside and whispered, “The NDAs have been signed. Barry’s talked to whom we need. We will have everything tomorrow morning.”

 

“Great.”

O’Malley asked, “Do you have a doctor in mind?”

“Yes, I do,” Beckett said. He would have preferred to involve Farrow, but he was on vacation with Moffy. And he did not trust the others about this. However, Beth Anne was a friend and owed him. And she happened to have an aunt who worked as a genetic counsellor in New York’s Metropolitan Medical Hospital. 

 

Her aunt would know the right people for this.

 

Beckett trusted that.

 

And he also knew that Beth Anne could be talkative, but she was trustworthy. He knew that.

 

He looked at O’Malley. “Tomorrow, you are getting Beth Anne and the others to sign NDAs too.”

 

O’Malley raised an eyebrow, saying him too?

 

Especially that motherfucker.

 

Caressing Blue’s mane of brown curls, he whispered, “Let’s get this diaper changed.”

 

***

 

Blanchard (10:11 a.m.): You won’t believe what happened.

 

Blanchard (10:12 a.m.): Tell Mrs. Valavani I said hi.

 

Leo glanced at his phone before focusing on the ingredients list he had in his hand. He was craving the trahanosoupa his mother made, and her only condition was that he had to go get whatever she wanted from the store. It was a grocery run he was only doing so he could get what he craved.

 

He groaned in annoyance when he got a call. It was Beth Anne.

 

“What?”

“Hi, Beth Anne. How are you? Did you have lunch? Do you want to come over? My mom has made some great food.” Beth Anne chimed. “That’s usually what you say when a friend calls.”

 

“What do you want?” Leo said after she finished her self-greeting example.

 

“Okay, Beckett called, and don’t cut the call,” Beth Anne warned. She started speaking, and the more he heard, the angrier Leo got. This man’s entire technique was mechanically strict—rigid—but this was the state of his personal life. If that did not show that he was just perfect in principle and nothing more, then what did?

 

Leo cringed, listening to the next move being a paternity establishment. He grabbed another tin and crumpled the list his mom gave him, tucking it into his jeans pocket. Knowing that his dad was outside, inside the parked car, he was about to head to the self-checkout section when he felt a tap on his shoulder.

 

“Leo.” He tensed, hearing that voice.

 

Beth Anne gasped, her pesky voice reverberating in his ears. He should have ended the call.

 

“Is that your ex-wife’s voice?”

Yes, it was, and he turned around. He wanted to glare at her. But he couldn’t, not when his head tilted downwards to see who was with her. This was why he hated coming home, hated the lay-off period until the annual residency. His childhood neighbourhood was tainted, and he hated that tainted was the word that came to his mind right now.

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 2 of "It was like coming home, only to no home I’d ever known."