(no subject)
"Elliot's phone buzzed in his pocket for the fourth time in ten minutes and he ducked into the bathroom to answer it after squinting at the screen. Private number.
"Hello?"
"Hi, Elliot Whitley?"
"Yes?"
"My name is Lana and I'm representing MTV--"
"Piss off," Elliot growled into the phone and jerked it away from his ear.
"I'm calling on behalf of Matt Malone--"
At the same time that Elliot said, "Tell him to piss off, too..."
He heard Matt's agitated voice in the background. "God damn it, I told you not to say that. Tell him it's Eddie and Marshall!"
"I'm calling on behalf of Elizabeth Dalton and Marshall Whitley..." her correction was accompanied by Matt's audible sigh of annoyance.
Elliot barely stopped himself from punching the end call button in time and put the phone back to his ear. "I don't want to be recorded, filmed, or otherwise traced. I'm not authorizing any of this interaction for use on any of your shows, cameos, specials, or whatever other thing you might call it in order to try and get around legally..."
"Jesus Christ," Matt swore as Lana tried to make a noncommittal response.
As much as he should have been listening to her, Elliot was utterly distracted by Matt in the background. "Am I on speakerphone?" Elliot demanded. "What do you want, Malone?"
"Fucking interns," Matt muttered and there was a shuffle and a scrape before his voice came through more crisply. "No, I'm fine, now that you've bollixed it up any how, I've got it...listen, Elliot. I need a favor--"
Elliot snorted and rolled his eyes. "That's rich, isn't it?"
"Shut up, you--" Matt cut himself off and took a deep breath. I'm not going to let you bait me right now. Just listen. Eddie...Eddie has not been handling things well this tour. She needs a few days to sober up and get her head on straight. In the meanwhile, someone has to be there for Marshall. You're his father, you need to be there for him."
"I am working Matt, I'm not sure what you expect me to do here--"
"You go find your boss and you tell them you have a family emergency, that you need the rest of today and three more days..."
"I can't do that!" Elliot interjected.
"I just cancelled the end of our European tour, Elliot. France, Spain and Portugal. Thousands of fans have paid to see us play. My band is going to be fined and the label is already on my ass, and the guys are already pissed off, yeah? So I think you're perfectly capable of taking a few days off for your son, here."
"Why don't you call your babysitter?"
"God damn it!" There was a loud band and muttered cursing and Elliot was fairly certain that Matt had just slammed his fist down on the table. "Let me explain something to you, you little weasel. Child protective services is there with Eddie right now and if you don't get over there in the next forty five minutes, they're going to place Marshall in foster care. Foster care. Strangers. You know what happened to Eddie in foster care?"
Elliot swallowed and looked down, rubbing his foot against the tile on the bathroom floor. Then he cleared his throat. "Yeah. Yeah, I know."
"Do you want that for your son?"
Elliot sighed. "No."
"Alright then." Matt sounded vaguely relieved. "So can you please go over there and stay with him until I can get there? I'm trying my best to get home as soon as possible but I'm on the other side of the planet and the airlines aren't working with me right now."
"I don't have rights to custody, Matt..." Elliot felt it prudent to remind him.
"You still have legal custody, Elliot. That's enough in an emergency situation. I've already been on the phone with them. Stop wasting time."
-------
The cab pulled up and Elliot paid the fare as he climbed out, stomach already in a knot. He'd come straight from the studio and didn't have so much as a change of underwear but he'd already talked things through with Matt and they'd decided it was best for Elliot to stay with Marshall at the house rather than bring him back to the tiny apartment Elliot rented with three other guys.
A woman Elliot didn't know opened the door. "Elliot Whitley?"
He nodded and as he was ushered inside, she introduced herself as Stephanie-with-child-services. Eddie was banging things around in the kitchen, reorganizing cabinets. "Eddie?"
She lifted her head and looked straight into his soul but didn't say a word.
"It's best if you didn't," Stephanie steered him into the living room where Marshall was quietly playing with a handful of toys. Marshall looked up when he came in and Elliot felt Stephanie's expectant eyes on him.
"Elliot!" Marshall exclaimed and clambered to his feet with the exuberance that only small children managed.
"Hey....hey, M-Marshall," Elliot did his best not to recoil and reached down for a high five. Matt had told him a hundred times how stupid it was that he shied away from the affection of small children. That he was afraid of his own son. But Elliot had read the articles. The ones that said adults who had been abused as children had a high percentage of becoming sexual offenders as adults. And it wasn't that he didn't trust himself not to molest a child, it was that he was terrified that somehow, something innocuous would arouse him and he'd have to live with that knowledge. That he was a pervert. That he was no better than Daniel.
Not long after, Eddie's ride arrived and she came to hug Marshall. On the way past, she touched Elliot's arm but that was the only acknowledgment she gave to him. It was only minutes later that Lana gave Elliot her card with instructions to call if anything came up, and then she was gone too.
Anxiety was a blunted flutter in the background of Elliot's medication-induced calm and he let himself be tugged down onto the floor where Marshall handed him toy after toy, waiting for Elliot to play with him. "Um...what does this one do? Why don't you show me?" Time and again, Elliot tried to hand whatever object it was back for a lesson on the best way to play, only to have Marshall tear it away from him and cast it aside, then pick up something anew.
Elliot was being driven mad by a combination of frustration and boredom when the doorbell rang and he got up to answer it. Through the peephole, he could see a young man with a Bluetooth headset, very similar to the one he wore at work.
"Who is it?"
"Jared, from the studio..."
"Eddie and Matt aren't here," he said, tensing. "There's no filming for a couple of days."
"Nah, dude. I have like, Panera and stuff? Mr. Malone wanted to make sure Marshall ate something decent for dinner. And I have some instructions for you too?"
"Oh, thank God..." Elliot wrenched the door open and let the young man inside, then helped him unpack the paper bag. There was a salad, a pressed sandwich, two bags of chips, two apples, a crock of macaroni and cheese, a crustless peanut butter sandwich, a bottle of water, and a chocolate milk.
An envelope was marked, Elliot in the center and on the back flap, TELL MARSHALL TO WASH HIS HANDS. Appropriate, because Marshall was already standing at the table, grabbing for things. "Hey," Elliot said, putting his arm out. "Stop. Go wash up."
"Okay!" Marshall disappeared into the bathroom and Elliot went to the kitchen sink to clean his own hands. On the way, he read the letter, which appeared to be the printed copy of an email that Elliot was cc'd on. He hadn't even checked his phone.
Elliot,
Contrary to popular opinion, I am not a completely unsympathetic bastard. I realize the position you're in is uncomfortable at best. Try not to panic, for Marshall's sake. The liquor is in the cabinet above the dish drain, next to the cups. Refrain, if you can, until Marshall is in bed, sometime around 8pm preferably, though have no doubt he will let you know if he's not ready. Having a bath helps. Make sure he's got his stuffed guitar. There's books on the shelf beside the bed. Sometimes he refuses. Best to let him call the shots. Within reason, mind. He's usually up by 6:30. Cereal in the cupboard by the refrigerator, bread in the breadboard for toast. Whichever fruit he's agreeable to. Lunch around 11:30, nap at 1pm. Don't let him sleep past 4 or you'll regret it later. I'll face time if I can. Text with questions. You can do this.
Matt
"Elliot!" Marshall called him from much farther away than the kitchen. "I need help! I spilled..."
Elliot dashed into the living room where Marshall was vigorously rubbing lukewarm macaroni and cheese into the sectional. "What--?! How did you? I thought you were..."
"I wanted to watch tv," Marshall explained. "The lid was stuck. Then it came off and I spilled."
Elliot stared at the mess helplessly. In the back of his mind, he could hear Daniel screaming over minor in fractions, but Marshall was looking up at him with an angelic, innocent face and pasta-covered hands. "Elliot?"
That was the first lesson.
-----------
"Elliot! I pooped!"
"Um," Elliot's back was to the bathroom as he leaned against the door jamb. "That's good. Just...finish up, flush the toilet, and wash your hands."
"But I need help!"
"What do you mean, you need help?"
"You have to wipe my butt!"
Elliot flushed. He'd made Marshall wear underwear in the bathtub the night before. There was no way he could do this. "You're a big boy," he reasoned. "You can do this."
"But Mommy always helps!"
"That's the sort of thing mommies do," Elliot said. "But I'm not a mommy. I'm an Elliot. And you're a big boy. Here." He ducked into the bathroom, avoiding looking at the child and carefully folded some toilet paper into a small, neat square, passing it behind him. "Now you do it."
"I can't!"
"Yes you can. Just try." The irony of those words was not lost on him. But it was much easier convincing a three year old than it was a twenty-three year old.
"Okay...I did it!"
"Good job. I knew you could do it." Relief flooded Elliot and he helped Marshall adjust his waistband as he stood at the sink, splashing in the water.
Less than an hour later however, Marshall was squirming at the bus stop. "My bottom is itchy," he complained. By the time they'd arrived at the mall, he was whining and begging to be carried. "I hurt!"
Elliot had to take him into one of the stalls, kneel down on the grimy floor and clean him up with toilet paper while he whimpered and danced in place.
That was the second lesson.
--------
"Hello?"
"Elliot, Is everything okay? I've rung three times..."
"I know, Matt, I know. We're at this ridiculous place called Chuck E. Cheese's. I can't hear my phone over the sound of the mechanical rat and his back up band."
"You're where?!"
"Chuck E. Cheese? Marshall wanted to go. We took a cab from the mall."
Matt snorted. "He's got you eating out of his palm, doesn't he?"
"You said let him call the shots, within reason. I didn't think it would hurt. Better than letting him destroy any more of your place."
"Any more?"
"Uh....figure of speech."
"Right. Look, they cancelled my flight to Frankfurt. I'm trying to get one direct to to NY but I want to say good night to Meatball first. Is he within reach?"
"Uh...." Elliot scanned the floor in front of the robotic band where Marshall had been dancing.
"Elliot, tell me you can at least see him."
"Uh...." Damn it, he'd been right there! "Call you right back."
"Elliot!"
Ten minutes and two security guards later, Marshall was found in the ball pit. Elliot dialed Matt and handed the phone directly to Marshall.
"Daddy!" Marshall squealed and Elliot leaned back against the wall. Lesson one needed a refresher. He was beginning to understand why he'd been kept in a closet.
---------
"Elliot? I don't feel good..." Marshall reached over and took his hand.
"What do you mean?" Elliot asked, distracted with concern as Marshall turned over his hand and promptly vomited into it. It was all he could do to contain himself from reconciling and flinging the half digested pizza, ice cream, and candy everywhere and he choked down his own bile. The cab driver pulled over and promptly put them both out, then sped off without a look back.
Elliot had to carry Marshall three blocks to a convenience store and cleaned them both up in the bathroom. A quick Google search told him that the closest bus stop on the line they needed was four blocks away. Matt and Eddie's place was six, so he decided to hoof it. By the time they made it back, Marshall was asleep in his arms and Elliot's back was killing him.
Lesson three. Or was it four? He was beginning to lose track.
-----
Taking care of Marshall was a life-changing experience and nobody was there to walk him through it. Not his grandmother, who was unable to fly out to help and grew exasperated with him in a very short time on the phone; not the family babysitter who was out of town at a wedding, and certainly not Matt, who was spending a lot of man hours being jettisoned all over Europe and north America, trying to get home but being stalemated by the jet streams that seemed to have it out for them both.
By the third day, the terrifying moments were fewer and far between. Elliot was woken from a dead sleep on the couch by a wriggling Marshall who was making his way up, beneath the blankets, from the bottom of the couch.
"What are you doing?" Elliot asked in alarm, but much too exhausted to open his eyes. He tried anyway. Everything was a blur.
"I just need a hug," Marshall said, snuggling into Elliot's arms.
Elliot had felt that way for the last couple days himself and he found himself nodding. "Okay, alright. I've got you." Two hours later, Elliot woke for the second time that morning, and this time there was a warm, pliant little body tucked against his chest. He stroked the hair out of Marshall's eyes and looked at him. This was the closest they'd ever been. Elliot could see the fine, translucent hairs on Marshall's face. The part of his full, pink lips, the delicate curve of his jaw.
For the first time, he let himself acknowledge that Marshall was a beautiful child. That he'd had a hand in that, and yes, that was narcissism speaking. He'd managed to keep this beautiful child alive for the last two and a half days. Alive, and dare he go so far as to speculate, happy?
After he carefully extricated himself from the embrace, he went to relieve himself and make a cup of tea. When he returned, Marshall was standing on the ottoman, pointing the remote at the television.
"Whoa, hey, no..." Elliot moved to set his cup on the entertainment center but Marshall was already plopping down.
"I want to watch Curious George," he said, offering up the remote.
"Okay," Elliot tried to find the right channel but there were hundreds. He ended up giving the remote back to Marshall and easing down beside him. "What do you say we stay in today? Have a lazy day? And then we go out to dinner tonight?"
"To McDonald's?" Marshall proposed.
Elliot pulled a face. He couldn't help it. "No, better than McDonald's."
"Taco Bell?"
"No, better than that, he laughed."
"Better than Taco Bell?" Marshall sounded amazed but then quickly shifted gears. "Will you make me pancakes for breakfast?"
And only after Elliot had googled a recipe, hunted down and combined the ingredients in the cabinet, and made hot, fresh, pancakes, did Marshall tell him that they were in a bag in the freezer.
It was a nice day, although they ended up being not so lazy after all. Marshall refused a nap, and at Sharon's suggestion, he strapped the boy into a stroller and went out for a walk. Marshall fell asleep on the way to the library, and Elliot perused the aisles for awhile, then took the elevator up to the top floor so he could get a comfy chair. Later, they stopped at the playground, which was a mistake because it brought all of Elliot's anxiety out again. Was he supposed to hover nearby or sit back on the benches? And what would Matt do to him when he returned if Marshall had...broken his face or a limb?
He lured Marshall home with the promise of early dinner, but that meant a bath first, and Elliot came out of that excursion looking like he'd wrestled an octopus. So he said forget it to taking Marshall out to the French restaurant with the pomme frites and ordered Mexican takeout instead and they watched cartoons until Elliot was sure the cartoons had subtle messages about parenting rather than pandering to the idiotic whims of children. Of course, it could have been the anxiety and the sleep deprivation talking. Elliot had never felt so exhausted in his life. Which is probably why he fell asleep the same way he woke up-- with Marshall snuggled tightly against him.
He woke when the boy shifted and his arm tightened to keep him from falling off the couch.
"I've got him," And Elliot startled awake to the sound of that soft but gruff voice. Matt cradled Marshall against him and kissed him as he carried him into the other room. By the time Matt returned, Elliot had set himself to rights and was putting his shoes on.
"Did you call a cab already?" Matt asked, pausing on his way to the kitchen.
"Not yet. I will now."
"Why don't you stay awhile, have a drink, fill me in?" Matt looked tired. Weary. But he beckoned Elliot after him. Elliot stood and followed Matt to the liquor cabinet, and he wondered if Matt just wanted to see how much advantage he'd taken of the congenial offer to help himself. In truth, he'd been much too afraid to imbibe while he was on watch. What if something happened? But now Matt was back, and the onus was on him. Elliot was just a guest here, no longer a live-in babysitter.
Matt had taken two tumblers down and had a bottle of Jameson in hand. "This alright?"
Elliot nodded and Matt poured one glass neat.
"Ice? Ginger ale?"
"Blasphemy," Elliot murmured.
Matt breathed out a chuckle and poured a second glass, then handed it to him. "I'll let Bess know we agree on something. She'll be thrilled."
Elliot passed Matt a small smile and looked down. "How...how is she?"
"She's...," Matt took a large swallow and immediately topped off his glass. "She's angry with herself for letting it happen. Embarrassed that someone called her in. Determined to get back to us as soon as possible... She'll be... alright." Matt sounded like he was trying to convince himself.
"She's strong." Elliot looked everywhere but at Matt. The situation called for something more than awkwardly standing there, avoiding eye contact. But it was Matt and Elliot could no more reach out to hug him than he could Marshall that first day. For entirely different reasons.
"She is." Matt cleared his throat and stepped away from the sink. "Come on. Tell me about Marshall. You managed and nobody burned the house down and everyone is alive, eh? I didn't hear from you as much as I thought I would."
Elliot hadn't dared to call Matt, though. He'd put Sharon on speed dial for the hundreds of minor questions that came up, and googled a lot of others. He shrugged. "We went out a lot."
"You went out?" Matt looked surprised. "Aside from the rat place?"
Elliot nodded and sipped his Jameson. "We went to the mall, the park, the playground, the library...I had to take him to my apartment to get clothes. We went out to eat, for a lot of walks, too. He wanted to be outside. He likes the bus."
"Well shit," Matt chuckled and took a drink. "Colour me fucking impressed."
"I know." Elliot looked into his glass and swirled it, then cleared his throat. "It wasn't easy, but not for any of the reasons I was expecting..."
"Oh?"
"I...ah...I should...I want to..." Swallowing, Elliot glanced up. Matt's expression was intent although his eyes were weary. He ducked his head again, fiddled with the sleeve of the cardigan he'd fallen asleep in. "Caring for Marshall was difficult. More difficult than it should have been because I have gone to lengths to avoid the responsibility. It's a full time job, and frankly, I'm exhausted. It's only been three days and..."
Tears suddenly filled Elliot's eyes and he had to snuffle or risk snot dripping from his nose. "You've been doing it for three years and I...I'm sorry. I get it now. What you've...Why you've...I'm going to come more. I promise. I'll come."
"Hello?"
"Hi, Elliot Whitley?"
"Yes?"
"My name is Lana and I'm representing MTV--"
"Piss off," Elliot growled into the phone and jerked it away from his ear.
"I'm calling on behalf of Matt Malone--"
At the same time that Elliot said, "Tell him to piss off, too..."
He heard Matt's agitated voice in the background. "God damn it, I told you not to say that. Tell him it's Eddie and Marshall!"
"I'm calling on behalf of Elizabeth Dalton and Marshall Whitley..." her correction was accompanied by Matt's audible sigh of annoyance.
Elliot barely stopped himself from punching the end call button in time and put the phone back to his ear. "I don't want to be recorded, filmed, or otherwise traced. I'm not authorizing any of this interaction for use on any of your shows, cameos, specials, or whatever other thing you might call it in order to try and get around legally..."
"Jesus Christ," Matt swore as Lana tried to make a noncommittal response.
As much as he should have been listening to her, Elliot was utterly distracted by Matt in the background. "Am I on speakerphone?" Elliot demanded. "What do you want, Malone?"
"Fucking interns," Matt muttered and there was a shuffle and a scrape before his voice came through more crisply. "No, I'm fine, now that you've bollixed it up any how, I've got it...listen, Elliot. I need a favor--"
Elliot snorted and rolled his eyes. "That's rich, isn't it?"
"Shut up, you--" Matt cut himself off and took a deep breath. I'm not going to let you bait me right now. Just listen. Eddie...Eddie has not been handling things well this tour. She needs a few days to sober up and get her head on straight. In the meanwhile, someone has to be there for Marshall. You're his father, you need to be there for him."
"I am working Matt, I'm not sure what you expect me to do here--"
"You go find your boss and you tell them you have a family emergency, that you need the rest of today and three more days..."
"I can't do that!" Elliot interjected.
"I just cancelled the end of our European tour, Elliot. France, Spain and Portugal. Thousands of fans have paid to see us play. My band is going to be fined and the label is already on my ass, and the guys are already pissed off, yeah? So I think you're perfectly capable of taking a few days off for your son, here."
"Why don't you call your babysitter?"
"God damn it!" There was a loud band and muttered cursing and Elliot was fairly certain that Matt had just slammed his fist down on the table. "Let me explain something to you, you little weasel. Child protective services is there with Eddie right now and if you don't get over there in the next forty five minutes, they're going to place Marshall in foster care. Foster care. Strangers. You know what happened to Eddie in foster care?"
Elliot swallowed and looked down, rubbing his foot against the tile on the bathroom floor. Then he cleared his throat. "Yeah. Yeah, I know."
"Do you want that for your son?"
Elliot sighed. "No."
"Alright then." Matt sounded vaguely relieved. "So can you please go over there and stay with him until I can get there? I'm trying my best to get home as soon as possible but I'm on the other side of the planet and the airlines aren't working with me right now."
"I don't have rights to custody, Matt..." Elliot felt it prudent to remind him.
"You still have legal custody, Elliot. That's enough in an emergency situation. I've already been on the phone with them. Stop wasting time."
-------
The cab pulled up and Elliot paid the fare as he climbed out, stomach already in a knot. He'd come straight from the studio and didn't have so much as a change of underwear but he'd already talked things through with Matt and they'd decided it was best for Elliot to stay with Marshall at the house rather than bring him back to the tiny apartment Elliot rented with three other guys.
A woman Elliot didn't know opened the door. "Elliot Whitley?"
He nodded and as he was ushered inside, she introduced herself as Stephanie-with-child-services. Eddie was banging things around in the kitchen, reorganizing cabinets. "Eddie?"
She lifted her head and looked straight into his soul but didn't say a word.
"It's best if you didn't," Stephanie steered him into the living room where Marshall was quietly playing with a handful of toys. Marshall looked up when he came in and Elliot felt Stephanie's expectant eyes on him.
"Elliot!" Marshall exclaimed and clambered to his feet with the exuberance that only small children managed.
"Hey....hey, M-Marshall," Elliot did his best not to recoil and reached down for a high five. Matt had told him a hundred times how stupid it was that he shied away from the affection of small children. That he was afraid of his own son. But Elliot had read the articles. The ones that said adults who had been abused as children had a high percentage of becoming sexual offenders as adults. And it wasn't that he didn't trust himself not to molest a child, it was that he was terrified that somehow, something innocuous would arouse him and he'd have to live with that knowledge. That he was a pervert. That he was no better than Daniel.
Not long after, Eddie's ride arrived and she came to hug Marshall. On the way past, she touched Elliot's arm but that was the only acknowledgment she gave to him. It was only minutes later that Lana gave Elliot her card with instructions to call if anything came up, and then she was gone too.
Anxiety was a blunted flutter in the background of Elliot's medication-induced calm and he let himself be tugged down onto the floor where Marshall handed him toy after toy, waiting for Elliot to play with him. "Um...what does this one do? Why don't you show me?" Time and again, Elliot tried to hand whatever object it was back for a lesson on the best way to play, only to have Marshall tear it away from him and cast it aside, then pick up something anew.
Elliot was being driven mad by a combination of frustration and boredom when the doorbell rang and he got up to answer it. Through the peephole, he could see a young man with a Bluetooth headset, very similar to the one he wore at work.
"Who is it?"
"Jared, from the studio..."
"Eddie and Matt aren't here," he said, tensing. "There's no filming for a couple of days."
"Nah, dude. I have like, Panera and stuff? Mr. Malone wanted to make sure Marshall ate something decent for dinner. And I have some instructions for you too?"
"Oh, thank God..." Elliot wrenched the door open and let the young man inside, then helped him unpack the paper bag. There was a salad, a pressed sandwich, two bags of chips, two apples, a crock of macaroni and cheese, a crustless peanut butter sandwich, a bottle of water, and a chocolate milk.
An envelope was marked, Elliot in the center and on the back flap, TELL MARSHALL TO WASH HIS HANDS. Appropriate, because Marshall was already standing at the table, grabbing for things. "Hey," Elliot said, putting his arm out. "Stop. Go wash up."
"Okay!" Marshall disappeared into the bathroom and Elliot went to the kitchen sink to clean his own hands. On the way, he read the letter, which appeared to be the printed copy of an email that Elliot was cc'd on. He hadn't even checked his phone.
Elliot,
Contrary to popular opinion, I am not a completely unsympathetic bastard. I realize the position you're in is uncomfortable at best. Try not to panic, for Marshall's sake. The liquor is in the cabinet above the dish drain, next to the cups. Refrain, if you can, until Marshall is in bed, sometime around 8pm preferably, though have no doubt he will let you know if he's not ready. Having a bath helps. Make sure he's got his stuffed guitar. There's books on the shelf beside the bed. Sometimes he refuses. Best to let him call the shots. Within reason, mind. He's usually up by 6:30. Cereal in the cupboard by the refrigerator, bread in the breadboard for toast. Whichever fruit he's agreeable to. Lunch around 11:30, nap at 1pm. Don't let him sleep past 4 or you'll regret it later. I'll face time if I can. Text with questions. You can do this.
Matt
"Elliot!" Marshall called him from much farther away than the kitchen. "I need help! I spilled..."
Elliot dashed into the living room where Marshall was vigorously rubbing lukewarm macaroni and cheese into the sectional. "What--?! How did you? I thought you were..."
"I wanted to watch tv," Marshall explained. "The lid was stuck. Then it came off and I spilled."
Elliot stared at the mess helplessly. In the back of his mind, he could hear Daniel screaming over minor in fractions, but Marshall was looking up at him with an angelic, innocent face and pasta-covered hands. "Elliot?"
That was the first lesson.
-----------
"Elliot! I pooped!"
"Um," Elliot's back was to the bathroom as he leaned against the door jamb. "That's good. Just...finish up, flush the toilet, and wash your hands."
"But I need help!"
"What do you mean, you need help?"
"You have to wipe my butt!"
Elliot flushed. He'd made Marshall wear underwear in the bathtub the night before. There was no way he could do this. "You're a big boy," he reasoned. "You can do this."
"But Mommy always helps!"
"That's the sort of thing mommies do," Elliot said. "But I'm not a mommy. I'm an Elliot. And you're a big boy. Here." He ducked into the bathroom, avoiding looking at the child and carefully folded some toilet paper into a small, neat square, passing it behind him. "Now you do it."
"I can't!"
"Yes you can. Just try." The irony of those words was not lost on him. But it was much easier convincing a three year old than it was a twenty-three year old.
"Okay...I did it!"
"Good job. I knew you could do it." Relief flooded Elliot and he helped Marshall adjust his waistband as he stood at the sink, splashing in the water.
Less than an hour later however, Marshall was squirming at the bus stop. "My bottom is itchy," he complained. By the time they'd arrived at the mall, he was whining and begging to be carried. "I hurt!"
Elliot had to take him into one of the stalls, kneel down on the grimy floor and clean him up with toilet paper while he whimpered and danced in place.
That was the second lesson.
--------
"Hello?"
"Elliot, Is everything okay? I've rung three times..."
"I know, Matt, I know. We're at this ridiculous place called Chuck E. Cheese's. I can't hear my phone over the sound of the mechanical rat and his back up band."
"You're where?!"
"Chuck E. Cheese? Marshall wanted to go. We took a cab from the mall."
Matt snorted. "He's got you eating out of his palm, doesn't he?"
"You said let him call the shots, within reason. I didn't think it would hurt. Better than letting him destroy any more of your place."
"Any more?"
"Uh....figure of speech."
"Right. Look, they cancelled my flight to Frankfurt. I'm trying to get one direct to to NY but I want to say good night to Meatball first. Is he within reach?"
"Uh...." Elliot scanned the floor in front of the robotic band where Marshall had been dancing.
"Elliot, tell me you can at least see him."
"Uh...." Damn it, he'd been right there! "Call you right back."
"Elliot!"
Ten minutes and two security guards later, Marshall was found in the ball pit. Elliot dialed Matt and handed the phone directly to Marshall.
"Daddy!" Marshall squealed and Elliot leaned back against the wall. Lesson one needed a refresher. He was beginning to understand why he'd been kept in a closet.
---------
"Elliot? I don't feel good..." Marshall reached over and took his hand.
"What do you mean?" Elliot asked, distracted with concern as Marshall turned over his hand and promptly vomited into it. It was all he could do to contain himself from reconciling and flinging the half digested pizza, ice cream, and candy everywhere and he choked down his own bile. The cab driver pulled over and promptly put them both out, then sped off without a look back.
Elliot had to carry Marshall three blocks to a convenience store and cleaned them both up in the bathroom. A quick Google search told him that the closest bus stop on the line they needed was four blocks away. Matt and Eddie's place was six, so he decided to hoof it. By the time they made it back, Marshall was asleep in his arms and Elliot's back was killing him.
Lesson three. Or was it four? He was beginning to lose track.
-----
Taking care of Marshall was a life-changing experience and nobody was there to walk him through it. Not his grandmother, who was unable to fly out to help and grew exasperated with him in a very short time on the phone; not the family babysitter who was out of town at a wedding, and certainly not Matt, who was spending a lot of man hours being jettisoned all over Europe and north America, trying to get home but being stalemated by the jet streams that seemed to have it out for them both.
By the third day, the terrifying moments were fewer and far between. Elliot was woken from a dead sleep on the couch by a wriggling Marshall who was making his way up, beneath the blankets, from the bottom of the couch.
"What are you doing?" Elliot asked in alarm, but much too exhausted to open his eyes. He tried anyway. Everything was a blur.
"I just need a hug," Marshall said, snuggling into Elliot's arms.
Elliot had felt that way for the last couple days himself and he found himself nodding. "Okay, alright. I've got you." Two hours later, Elliot woke for the second time that morning, and this time there was a warm, pliant little body tucked against his chest. He stroked the hair out of Marshall's eyes and looked at him. This was the closest they'd ever been. Elliot could see the fine, translucent hairs on Marshall's face. The part of his full, pink lips, the delicate curve of his jaw.
For the first time, he let himself acknowledge that Marshall was a beautiful child. That he'd had a hand in that, and yes, that was narcissism speaking. He'd managed to keep this beautiful child alive for the last two and a half days. Alive, and dare he go so far as to speculate, happy?
After he carefully extricated himself from the embrace, he went to relieve himself and make a cup of tea. When he returned, Marshall was standing on the ottoman, pointing the remote at the television.
"Whoa, hey, no..." Elliot moved to set his cup on the entertainment center but Marshall was already plopping down.
"I want to watch Curious George," he said, offering up the remote.
"Okay," Elliot tried to find the right channel but there were hundreds. He ended up giving the remote back to Marshall and easing down beside him. "What do you say we stay in today? Have a lazy day? And then we go out to dinner tonight?"
"To McDonald's?" Marshall proposed.
Elliot pulled a face. He couldn't help it. "No, better than McDonald's."
"Taco Bell?"
"No, better than that, he laughed."
"Better than Taco Bell?" Marshall sounded amazed but then quickly shifted gears. "Will you make me pancakes for breakfast?"
And only after Elliot had googled a recipe, hunted down and combined the ingredients in the cabinet, and made hot, fresh, pancakes, did Marshall tell him that they were in a bag in the freezer.
It was a nice day, although they ended up being not so lazy after all. Marshall refused a nap, and at Sharon's suggestion, he strapped the boy into a stroller and went out for a walk. Marshall fell asleep on the way to the library, and Elliot perused the aisles for awhile, then took the elevator up to the top floor so he could get a comfy chair. Later, they stopped at the playground, which was a mistake because it brought all of Elliot's anxiety out again. Was he supposed to hover nearby or sit back on the benches? And what would Matt do to him when he returned if Marshall had...broken his face or a limb?
He lured Marshall home with the promise of early dinner, but that meant a bath first, and Elliot came out of that excursion looking like he'd wrestled an octopus. So he said forget it to taking Marshall out to the French restaurant with the pomme frites and ordered Mexican takeout instead and they watched cartoons until Elliot was sure the cartoons had subtle messages about parenting rather than pandering to the idiotic whims of children. Of course, it could have been the anxiety and the sleep deprivation talking. Elliot had never felt so exhausted in his life. Which is probably why he fell asleep the same way he woke up-- with Marshall snuggled tightly against him.
He woke when the boy shifted and his arm tightened to keep him from falling off the couch.
"I've got him," And Elliot startled awake to the sound of that soft but gruff voice. Matt cradled Marshall against him and kissed him as he carried him into the other room. By the time Matt returned, Elliot had set himself to rights and was putting his shoes on.
"Did you call a cab already?" Matt asked, pausing on his way to the kitchen.
"Not yet. I will now."
"Why don't you stay awhile, have a drink, fill me in?" Matt looked tired. Weary. But he beckoned Elliot after him. Elliot stood and followed Matt to the liquor cabinet, and he wondered if Matt just wanted to see how much advantage he'd taken of the congenial offer to help himself. In truth, he'd been much too afraid to imbibe while he was on watch. What if something happened? But now Matt was back, and the onus was on him. Elliot was just a guest here, no longer a live-in babysitter.
Matt had taken two tumblers down and had a bottle of Jameson in hand. "This alright?"
Elliot nodded and Matt poured one glass neat.
"Ice? Ginger ale?"
"Blasphemy," Elliot murmured.
Matt breathed out a chuckle and poured a second glass, then handed it to him. "I'll let Bess know we agree on something. She'll be thrilled."
Elliot passed Matt a small smile and looked down. "How...how is she?"
"She's...," Matt took a large swallow and immediately topped off his glass. "She's angry with herself for letting it happen. Embarrassed that someone called her in. Determined to get back to us as soon as possible... She'll be... alright." Matt sounded like he was trying to convince himself.
"She's strong." Elliot looked everywhere but at Matt. The situation called for something more than awkwardly standing there, avoiding eye contact. But it was Matt and Elliot could no more reach out to hug him than he could Marshall that first day. For entirely different reasons.
"She is." Matt cleared his throat and stepped away from the sink. "Come on. Tell me about Marshall. You managed and nobody burned the house down and everyone is alive, eh? I didn't hear from you as much as I thought I would."
Elliot hadn't dared to call Matt, though. He'd put Sharon on speed dial for the hundreds of minor questions that came up, and googled a lot of others. He shrugged. "We went out a lot."
"You went out?" Matt looked surprised. "Aside from the rat place?"
Elliot nodded and sipped his Jameson. "We went to the mall, the park, the playground, the library...I had to take him to my apartment to get clothes. We went out to eat, for a lot of walks, too. He wanted to be outside. He likes the bus."
"Well shit," Matt chuckled and took a drink. "Colour me fucking impressed."
"I know." Elliot looked into his glass and swirled it, then cleared his throat. "It wasn't easy, but not for any of the reasons I was expecting..."
"Oh?"
"I...ah...I should...I want to..." Swallowing, Elliot glanced up. Matt's expression was intent although his eyes were weary. He ducked his head again, fiddled with the sleeve of the cardigan he'd fallen asleep in. "Caring for Marshall was difficult. More difficult than it should have been because I have gone to lengths to avoid the responsibility. It's a full time job, and frankly, I'm exhausted. It's only been three days and..."
Tears suddenly filled Elliot's eyes and he had to snuffle or risk snot dripping from his nose. "You've been doing it for three years and I...I'm sorry. I get it now. What you've...Why you've...I'm going to come more. I promise. I'll come."