Unsettled

Barricaded

It's a thin line between love and hate.

That's how the line goes, in the song by The Persuaders. His actions had forced her across the line - and she was determined never to cross back again.

Holidays and birthdays were particularly difficult - not necessarily his own, or hers - but those held for Max. They were substantially less painful, or at least the wounds dealt were easier to manage in his opinion, once they figured out how to better coordinate - to avoid such things as the year one disaster.

No, the things that hurt the most and dealt the most damage between them ended up being the things that neither parent could predict. The things that happened once and then the miracle of the moment was gone.

"He said Dada today!" He announces, triumphant. It was the first 'first' he could claim, that was truly his. He shifts Max in his arms to initiate the handoff, allowing his fingers to linger just a bit over her skin as she accepts their son into her arms. She doesn't like it, flashing him a frown, so he quickly refocuses.

"Sure...." She doesn't believe him.

"He did!" Tom insists. "Bet I can get him to do it again...."

It shouldn't irk him so much that she is doubtful, but damnit - Max said something more than indistinguishable coos and babble. He squats, folding himself down a bit to settle and stare into those tiny eyes that are currently focused on the polka-dot print of his mum's dress.

He makes a series of goofy faces to attract Max's attention before speaking to him, "Come on Maximilian, my little man. Say Dada again. Prove to your mum that you can."

He can feel her watching him and despite knowing better, looks to return her gaze. He can't help it. Still. He wants to give her a warm smile, but he knows the look he would receive in return. Better to keep the focus on Max.

"Say Dada! Dada!"

"Now you're just leading him into it."

Tom straightens, now indignant. Max had said Dada! He had set Max down in his playpen so that he could dash over and check on something and the moment he had started to take a step away: out came the words. "Oh, like you didn't do everything in your power to ensure that he learnt to sit up andcrawl while on your watch."

She is balancing Max on her hip, absently letting him play with her fingers. "Max did that all on his own." When she looks away from him, down to look at their son, the tender smile he so desires comes out. Why can't she look at him like that anymore?

No - no he knows the answer to that.

He can tell the exact moment now, always the precise moment that the memory occurs to her. They'll be getting on, mildly better at any rate, and then her face changes. Sometimes he has enough sense to make himself scarce, sometimes he chooses to stay and re-live the pain right along with her.

She's still gazing lovingly at Max, tickling him now to elicit bubbled laughter from their pink-cheeked son. "Did it all on your own, didn't you baby?"

He blames his previous line of thought for the next thing to tumble out of his mouth. "Likely story. Could've at least warned me he was mobile."

And of course, in response to his tone, she bites back with equal vehemence. "You're such a brilliant man. You figured it out."

They're arguing again. Not ten minutes of exposure and back to arguing. It was the thought of what sent them down this path that had done them in, yet again. Whenever one succumbed to the memory, the other always followed. "Sure! After having a heart attack!"

She's bopping to an unheard rhythm, keeping Max entertained while she glares at his father, at him. "Maybe you should keep a better eye on your son."

Tom glowers, "Maybe his Mum should-"

"DA!"

Both of them stop, turning to look at Max who has one hand clutching the fabric of his mother's dress, one hand stretched out - fingers splayed widely. Tom points, unable to contain his absolute glee. It'll only make matters worse but he can't help but rub it in.

Finally! A first that is all his!

"See!"

She's got her eyebrows knit together, looking down at Max with wonder and a hint of frustration. Tom can see her internal conflict as though she were muttering the thoughts aloud. She's excited, thrilled to hear the start of what will surely be a very well-spoken child, if Tom has anything to do with it - but also annoyed that Max said something akin to daddy.

Max has always seemingly clung to her - preferred her. Is this the start of a new phase? As she looks up Tom watches closely to see if he can just once catch the tail end of a loving look from her again. She's too busy examining Max's motions to notice, then looking in the direction that Max seems to be indicating, "He's - he's looking at the car, Tom."

"I was just standing there. And anyway, that's my car."

Fuck. Fuckity fuckity fuck fuck. She can't even give him this one thing. One single first.

She shakes her head, rolling her eyes at his insistence. Her excitement has waned. "Did you even read the parenting books? Babies tend to master the da sound faster because of the development of their jaw muscles."

"Yes! But he said Dada!" He's following her towards the house now. Their time is waning. Once she hits the stoop she is out-of-bounds. "Look if he said Mama first I'd still be thrilled but - for fuck's sake -"

"Language, Hiddleston!"

He stops where he is on the sidewalk, standing firm with the diaper bag dangling from his shoulder. "Max said Dada. That's what happened. Simple as that."

She rounds on him, still trying to keep the baby entertained while giving Tom the best death glare she can muster. Damn the woman can multitask. She grabs the diaper bag from him and walks up the stairs to go inside. "Whatever. He'll be ready to go at 10. Don't be late."

He almost shouts after her: When the fuck am I ever late? But she's already on the stoop, two more steps and she's inside. The stoop rule, it has saved him more times than he can count.