Find My Way Home [m×m; mpreg]

thirty two

The smell of sizzling eggs cooking in the early morning is what wakes me up.  I groan as I try to open my eyes, wondering what Ian is up to.  Except... Ian's right behind me, snoring softly against the nape of my neck with his arm wrapped around my waist.

I frown.

What?

I carefully slip under Ian's heavy weight and search for one of his large shirts before putting on some boxers as an after thought.  I struggle with the added weight of our baby, but I manage without Ian waking up.

I don't bother with my prosthetic, too difficult to lean down and strap it on myself, so I limp out the room, occasionally wincing from the ache in my back.

I turn the corner and I'm faced with mom and dad.

Dad is sitting at the head of the table with his tablet in hand and his bushy brows scrunched up.

Mom is in the kitchen, flipping pancakes and scrambling eggs alongside with bacon bits.  He's so versatile in the kitchen and I wish I could be like that.

"Good morning," he greets first.

I waddle toward him, hiding behind him when dad looks up.

He's angry, I just know it.  It doesn't matter what I heard last night, I just know I added to the list of reasons why I'm a disappointment.

"Morning," I mumble softly.

"Hungry?"

I'd like to refuse, simply on principle, but my stomach growls loudly and the baby gives a sharp kick.

I frown as I rub the spot soothingly, my cheeks pinking when I look up at my mom, "Yes, we're uh, we're hungry."

He snorts, "I could tell."

It's then, in the middle of our little banter, that Ian shows up adorably disoriented.

"What's going on?" He asks grumpily.

"Breakfast is done, Max already set up the table so go have a seat.  Coffee is ready."

Ian looks confused before recollection hits and he nods.

Reluctantly, we go toward the table, dad raising an expectant brow.

Ian's focus is on me, first and foremost, as he pulls out a chair for me and helps me sit down.

I turn bright red at the reminder of last night when I sit down, Ian tries to hold in his own embarrassment as he takes the seat across from Max.

It's almost hilarious, our display, that is.

Dad in a professional suit and tie, while Ian and I are barely in our boxers.

Well, isn't this mortifying.

Soon enough, breakfast is served and we pile food on our plates like starving hyenas.

I stick the fork full of scrambled eggs into my mouth when dad begins talking.

"I took the liberty to go to your study and I have to say I'm quite impressed.  You're still working despite having resigned and the annotations done are quite accurate and incredible."

Ian nods, not feeling much like talking but still feeling pride swell in his chest.  

But... why exactly are they here?  What did they actually discuss last night?  There's only so much I could gather.

"I'm sorry," Max, dad, begins.

I face him with wide doe eyes, but I can see his guilt bright as day.

"I did and said things that hurt you-"

"Not anything that wasn't the truth," I interrupt.

"Regardless, I hurt you... both of you and this family fell apart 'cause of it."

"No, it fell apart because of our own choices," Ian states, "and I'm never stop apologizing for what happened."

My lower lip trembles.

Mom stands then and comes to my side where he wraps his arms around me, "Morgan, take a deep breath and relax, all this emotional stress isn't good for you or the baby."

I manage a weak nod, understanding what he says but unable to stop the sob that escapes my lips.

"Oh honey," he shushes.

I bury my face in his chest and bawl. Apologizing profusely, for everything, for worrying them and even running away.

"I'm sorry we made you feel this way.  We should've taken the time to sit down and have this conversation weeks ago, but I wanted everyone to have some space to think.  Clearly I was wrong because you're all as stubborn as ever," at that he glares at dad, "and I'm sorry I wasn't there, I'm sorry you felt like you couldn't talk to me, but I wouldn't have gone anywhere if you had simply opened up to me as well.  I love you, you're my baby boy and all I ever wanted was your happiness.  Above all else, I'm sorry you felt the need to run away."

Ian tugs at my (his) shirt next and I wipe my tears on the back of my hand before slumping in my chair and falling against him, his arm wrapping around my shoulders and pulling me in. 

He presses a kiss to my ear before saying, "I'm sorry, Morgan.  I promise, no more running away, no more fighting.  We really want to make this work."

I don't see my dad's nod in agreement, but I do feel Ian's sigh of relief.

Maybe things are finally going to be ok.

No more distance, no more tears.