Happy Daddy Day!

So, the idea for this tidbit was inspired by a line from a KakaSaku fanfic on FFdotNet, House of Crows, by Her Naruto Holiness, SilverShine (if you are interested [and you should be], you may find her under my Favorite Authors.). I wholeheartedly recommend anything she's ever written, ever. Especially House of Crows, which is a fantastic example of damn good story-telling, regardless of whether you like the pairing or not.

Anyway, that's my plug for a fellow author.

So, this returns to the other side of the Everlong cast. I will shamelessly admit to an overwhelming fondness and affection for that duo, though Tokio and her kids are pretty high up there (especially the absolute LOVE that is Tokio and Sano's relationship). Somehow, though, Saitou and Misao beat them out. I guess it should come as no surprise (to long-time reader-stalkers, lol) that I have a thing for kids and their dads; I'm not sure what it is, but it positively warms and breaks my heart, all at once. It might be because you expect mothers to have that mysterious maternal instinct, but men aren't necessarily expected to feel the same connection with their offspring. So when they do, it's something really lovely. For me, at any rate.

This peek into years past sees Saitou at 27, and Misao at mere months—seven, or thereabouts. Saitou isn't quite at the point where he's okay with being a dad, but he's getting there. Yaso is periphery supporting cast, as usual (though don't be surprised if she makes an actual appearance soon…ish. You know how I do, Faithful Readership, lol.)

And for those curious, the line that spawned this was: "'Hello, my love.'"

That's it.

And that's all I'm giving you.

A final note of sorts: mood music was "Daughter" by Loudon Wainwright III.

Enjoy. ^_^

Disclaimer: Not mine, not now, not ever.

Father Knows Best

Rating: T (Because NewDaddy!Saitou is a bit of a potty-mouth)

Genre: Family Fluff/Humor

Summary: "Hello, my love."

XoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoX

June 19, 1994

This couch was bullshit.

Hajime Saitou opened aching eyes to a bleary world. He blinked the sleep away, slowly, once, twice, thrice, and then a fourth time, before his vision sharpened. It took a few more moments to realize that his extremely uncomfortable couch wasn't the reason why he had awakened: the distressed, unhappy little sounds from the crib not too far from him were, and Saitou sighed wearily.

So far, Saitou could say with complete confidence that being a father sucked. His mother was scandalized by the opinion, and browbeat him into taking it back (and he had, just to make her stop already), but in the privacy of his own mind, his opinion remained. His mother could say Misao was just a colicky baby all she wanted, but Saitou was convinced that this whole "kids" thing just wasn't his bag, and the fact that Misao was having such a miserable time was proof of that.

That Yaso had little interest in Misao didn't help.

He wondered, briefly, as he was dragging himself up off the couch with exhaustion weighing him down, if Yaso or his mother were already up. But Misao had him well-trained, even at almost seven months, and he made his way over to the crib before those agitated little sounds turned into full-on crying and wailing.

It would take hours before she cried herself tired, he had learned from cold, hard experience, and Saitou didn't think he could deal with it, not today.

Misao's face was scrunched up as she whimpered, her cheeks starting to pink up. He sighed again and reached in and picked her up and settled her against his shoulder, then went hunting for a bottle. Misao quieted down for a few moments, gumming a little fist, before she began snuffling his shoulder, and then whimpering again.

"In a minute," he murmured, sticking the bottle of cold formula into the microwave, but as soon as it started to heat, he went looking for a pacifier to keep her busy until the bottle was ready.

This was a familiar routine for Saitou. Very soon after bringing Misao home, Yaso had suddenly lost interest and retreated, not just from the new baby she had lobbied so stridently for, but from everything. Saitou had been baffled and appalled to so suddenly become Misao's primary caretaker. He knew nothing about how to take care of a baby, and the idea that he now had to was daunting in a way no single other thing in his life had ever been.

So he'd called his mother and begged for her help.

Masu Saitou had been living with them since two weeks after Misao had come home. It was she who had taught him how to change a diaper and swaddle Misao, burp and bathe and cut her finger- and toenails. It was Masu who taught him how to quiet Misao when she was crying, or when she was colicky.

And it was Masu who took care of Yaso while Saitou bumbled around trying to figure out how not to accidentally kill the child he hadn't even wanted.

It was only recently that Masu had coaxed Yaso into seeing a doctor, and had her daughter-in-law diagnosed with post-partum depression. So far, the Saitou matriarch was trying to get Yaso back to her old self without drugging her up, and not a day went by that Saitou didn't see his mother trying out some new and vaguely frightening concoction courtesy of the local Japanese apothecary's.

Saitou just focused on keeping Misao happy and stayed out of it.

The microwave beeped, and he opened it, grabbed the bottle and elbowed the door shut, then went to the drying rack, where all the bottles and their accompanying nipples were. He grabbed one at random that looked like it would probably fit and then screwed it on with one hand, something that he had gotten to be extraordinarily proficient at these past seven months.

After checking to make sure the formula was at the right temperature (though it was more out of habit than necessity at this point, because he had heating up the formula down to a science), he went back into the living room, flopped down onto the couch that had become his bed, and upon taking the pacifier from Misao's mouth, gently prodded her little rosebud mouth with the bottle nipple until she latched on. Once she was sucking contentedly, he slouched further down into the shitty cushions and gloomily surveyed the coffee table, which was strewn with piles of student work, some of it graded, most of it not—Misao had had a bad night last night, and he had spent half the night driving aimlessly through downtown Stanford before she had finally fallen into a sleep so deep nothing could stir her.

Saitou went through the mental list in his mind, categorizing what could wait and what couldn't, and dreading the office hours he was going to be treated to this week; the first big exam for the long summer semester was next week, and he was always slammed with anxious and freaked-out students for the days leading up to any exams.

Misao was halfway through her bottle when the bedroom door opened, and Masu shuffled out, yawning. As soon as she saw her son and granddaughter, however, she brightened and made a beeline for them.

"Good morning," she murmured, leaning down to kiss his forehead, and then laughing and doing the same for Misao when the baby pushed her bottle away and gave Masu a milky smile.

"Morning." Saitou murmured, allowing Masu and Misao to love on each other until Misao was ready to go back to her bottle, having learned—again, the hard way—that being a baby didn't mean Misao was tractable or willing to go along with things if she didn't feel like it.

"How long has she been up?" Masu asked, rubbing her nose against Misao's, who laughed and grabbed Masu's cheeks.

"'Bout thirty minutes, now," Saitou said, leaning his head back and yawning hugely.

"And how much sleep did you get last night?" Masu asked, cocking her head as she eyed her son.

Saitou stared at the roof while he considered the question, and did a little math in his head.

"Five hours," he decided finally. "Total."

"How much of it uninterrupted?" Masu asked.

"Three of them," he said. "Is she ready for the bottle again?"

"I think she'll take it if you offer," Masu said, and Saitou lifted his head and lifted the bottle back up to Misao's mouth.

She immediately opened her mouth and Saitou stuck the nipple in, then adjusted her against him again, this time so she was leaning back against his chest, so she could track Masu as the older woman rose and went to the kitchen to start breakfast.

"Yaso's still asleep," she said, and Saitou nodded but said nothing; his mother had taken to informing him on Yaso's progress (or lack of the same, more usually) a few weeks after she'd moved in with them and it had dawned on her that Saitou hadn't asked. That lapse in care and concern had earned him a stinging rebuke, but it had not prompted a change in behavior, and Masu had finally just decided to offer up the information whether he asked or not.

It wasn't lack of care or concern, though. It was that Saitou was overwhelmed, with his schooling, with his TA-ship, with Misao. All three of these things demanded huge amounts of his time, and with Yaso well in hand courtesy of his mother, well…he just sort of considered it handled and didn't really deal with it. He was already busy dealing with one of the other three things, usually, and in those rare moments when he wasn't, he was usually comatose.

Masu got breakfast started, then disappeared back into the bedroom. Misao, in the meantime, had finished her bottle, so Saitou set the empty bottle on the coffee table, grabbed one of the burp cloths he always had handy, and threw it over his shoulder before he settled Misao against it and began coaxing a burp from her.

She let out two small ones, but still seemed a little too squirmy, so he rearranged her so she was sitting on his thigh, burp cloth spread over his lap, before he went back to rubbing her back, using his other hand to hold her belly and keep her steady. The next burp was a belch that was accompanied by some of the formula, but Misao only wrinkled her nose and sent him a milky, gummy grin, and Saitou found himself smirking back in spite of himself.

His spit-up learning curve had been abysmal, and it was only in the last month that he'd gotten wise and become a little more proactive about keeping her vomit off of his person. He suspected Misao of gaining some sort of entertainment from her ability to somehow or another always manage to throw up on him, regardless of his mother's insistence that not only was that ridiculous, it was crazy.

"Happy Father's Day!" Masu sang from the bedroom doorway, and Saitou looked over and was surprised by the brightly wrapped gift in her hands.

"Huh?" he asked, gaping at her.

"It's Father's Day today," Masu said with a smile as she sat down next to him. "And since you're now a father, it is my great privilege to wish you, for the first time ever, a Happy Father's Day."

Saitou stared at his mother, then looked at Misao, who was eyeing the gift with interest.

"Oh," he said finally, not sure how he felt. "Thanks, Mom."

"You're welcome," she said, beaming still in spite of his lackluster response. "I have cards for you, and a present from all of us. Even Misao," she singsonged, sending her granddaughter a loud kiss when the baby looked up at her and blinked her jade-colored eyes before cooing and grinning again.

"Oh," he settled for once more.

Masu took Misao from him—and he was a little reluctant to give her up, something he was becoming increasingly aware of, but had no real explanation for just yet—and he accepted his cards and present.

The card from his mother was not a surprise; Masu had always been a big fan of greeting cards, and Saitou had a suspicion that Masu singlehandedly provided at least a quarter of the Hallmark Company's annual revenue. As with every card he'd ever gotten from his mother, his first Father's Day card was tasteful, appropriate, and sentimental. He smiled faintly, able to picture his mother standing in the greeting card aisle with determination in her gaze, picking up each card and meticulously examining each of its components before she judged it either worthy or unworthy of a second look.

Yes, Masu Saitou elevated picking the perfect card for any occasion to a high art form.

"Thanks Mom," he said when he had read through the card, and this time it was said in a much warmer and genuine tone than previously.

"You're welcome sweetheart," she said, leaning over to kiss his cheek.

The second card was a surprise, because it was from Yaso. At least, ostensibly it was: Saitou recognized, once the astonishment had lessened, his mother's hand in the format of the card, and though he saw she had taken great pains to hide it, Saitou knew Masu and not Yaso had written the "personal" message inside. He couldn't say he was disappointed, not really. He knew his wife wasn't feeling like herself, knew she wouldn't have been interested in something so mundane as a card as she was now. But his mother had gone to a lot of trouble to make it seem like Yaso had been behind it, so he played along with the deception, for Masu's sake.

He didn't think he had done a very good job of it, because he saw the sad tinge to her smile, but she ignored it and murmured that yes, she would make sure Yaso heard that he had appreciated her card.

But the third card…this one had been completely unexpected.

It was from Misao.

Well, logically, he knew that this card was as much his mother's doing as Yaso's card was; Misao was seven months old, and not quite up to standing on her own just yet, never mind walking (she crawled fast as all hell, though). There was no way a vertically-challenged seven month old child had been a part of the card-selecting process.

But those were definitely her hand and foot prints on the inside of his card, with his mother's meticulous cursive noting that Misao was 6 months and 3 weeks old at the time (Masu was very into being exact when it came to things like that; Saitou was more willing to settle for approximations, because it didn't really matter in the grand scheme of things).

And there was something so incredibly strange, and arresting, about that. Logically, this wasn't really a card from his daughter. Logically, Misao had no interest in what day it was, or if there was any particular special meaning attached to it.

But the gesture still made his heart flop over in his chest.

He snuck a look at Misao; she was gnawing on one little fist, the other tugging on the two bracelets Masu always wore on her left wrist, gifts from her children for her birthday and Mother's Day respectively (Dad always has great taste in jewelry, Saitou thought distractedly).

"Misao, Daddy's looking at you," Masu said, jiggling her granddaughter, who at her name looked up at her grandmother. Masu pointed at Saitou. "Daddy's looking at you."

Misao followed the gesture, and as soon as she saw Saitou staring at her, she grinned at him; he grinned back, and reached out to smooth down the perpetual cowlick that no amount of water could conquer.

"Buh buh," Misao said.

"Thanks," Saitou said dryly, and Masu laughed.

The gift turned out to be a new satchel, for which he was grateful; his old one was much abused and held together pretty much by spit and tape these days—not unlike the man who used it, he thought sardonically.

"Thanks Mom," he said for a third time, leaning over to kiss her cheek.

"You're welcome, Hajime," Masu said. "You deserve something nice."

Involuntarily, his gaze flickered to Misao—happily waving the discarded wrapping paper around—before returning to the satchel; he rubbed the leather with his thumb slowly.

"I have nice things," he said.

"Yes, you do," Masu said warmly. "Here, you take Misao, and I'll clean up this mess and we can have breakfast."

Saitou set the satchel aside and reached for Misao, who immediately let go of the paper to strain forward into his grasp. Masu chuckled as Saitou grabbed and lifted the baby back into his lap.

"A Daddy's Girl if I ever saw one," she said, amused. "This one's picked her favorite."

Saitou eyed his mother but decided against saying that it wasn't picking when there wasn't a choice; Misao barely ever saw her mother, that Saitou was aware of. Little wonder he would be her favorite—he was the only parent she ever saw.

Masu seemed to know what he was thinking, because she wagged a finger at him.

"She's not nearly so eager to get to me as she is to you, Hajime. And she whines for hours when you leave for school."

His heart jerked.

"What?" he asked, a little sharply.

"She misses you," Masu said, rising from the couch, shredded gift wrap and torn ribbon in hand. "She gives me the most pitiful little look and asks for "Buh buh." I didn't realize what "Buh buh" was until just the other day, after you'd gone for your office hours. She stuck her lower lip out and watched the door and asked for "Buh buh." It's really adorable."

"That doesn't mean anything, she makes all sorts of noises for attention," Saitou said, and flushed when his mother sent him a surprised look.

Misao had scared a year off his life when she had figured out how to roll onto her stomach and almost rolled herself right off the couch in the process. In an effort to avoid more nasty surprises further down the line, he had gone to the university library and checked out a few books on the matter of infant development and milestones, which he read during his lunch hour, during a lull in office hours, and on days when he wasn't lecturing or otherwise supposed to pay attention during the class he was TA-ing.

"All of you kids talked early," Masu said after an awkward pause.

"That doesn't mean anything," Saitou insisted, still uncomfortable that he had let it slip that he was aware of where Misao was supposed to be, developmentally. "I called Dad and you and Hiroaki "No" when I was learning how to talk."

"Well you believe what you want," Masu said nonchalantly, continuing on to the kitchen. "But for the record, development varies from baby to baby. The books don't get everything right."

Saitou made a face at her back, then looked back down at Misao, who was beginning to drowse. He settled her against his shoulder, and she murmured a few nonsense sounds before she shoved her fist in her mouth, eyelids drooping. He gently slid her fist out of her mouth, and she wrinkled her nose, but settled down quietly again, and Saitou slouched down in his seat and got comfortable (relatively, anyway).

His gaze returned to the cards, sitting on the coffee table with his work and Misao's empty bottle.

"What a fucked up dichotomy," he muttered, smirking a little.

"Buh buh."

Saitou looked over at Misao and found her watching him.

Something was different, though. Maybe it was just the fact that today was Father's Day, and he was on the other side of that holiday for the first time. Maybe it was his mother's completely ludicrous insistence that Misao had christened him "Buh buh" (even though he knew that wasn't true, and he had a shit ton of scientific evidence—he thought—to back that up). Maybe it was that he spent the vast majority of his time, these days, dodging baby vomit and changing toxic diapers and driving around without a proper destination in mind so a fussy baby might finally settle down and sleep, if he wasn't in class or teaching or grading. Or maybe it was just that it had been seven months since she had come home from the hospital, and he had gotten used to her.

But whatever it was, it was like he was seeing her for the first time.

And she was actually pretty cute…for someone who was constantly plotting the sneakiest way of getting spit-up on all of his clothes, anyway.

She was a tiny little person who depended on him for everything (which was terrifying), with Yaso's eyes and hair, and very little of him in her, unless you counted the stubbornness and temper (which was also terrifying, for different reasons).

But, slowly, it was beginning to dawn on him that this tiny little person who depended on him for everything, with Yaso's eyes and hair, and maybe his difficult personality, was his tiny little person. Yaso was his wife, but Misao was his in a way Yaso would never be, because Misao was a part of him. Probably not the best part (especially if he was right about the personality), but definitely a part.

And that was pretty…profound, when he thought about it.

Saitou grinned at her, and she smiled back, drooling on his shoulder.

"Hello, my love," he murmured, rubbing a hand gently over the back of her head.

"Buh buh." Misao cooed happily.

Maybe this "kids" thing isn't so bad after all, he thought, nuzzling her cheek and getting a noseful of that pink baby smell that seemed to generate spontaneously from all babies, no matter what scent their clothes or baby products were.

The smell of milky spit-up hit him at the same moment that he realized his shoulder was warm and wet.

"You are the most disgusting thing in my life," he said with a sigh.

Misao babbled gibberish interspersed with "Buh buhs." Saitou wasn't sure what she was saying, but he was reasonably sure it wasn't agreement.

"You're also lucky you're mine," he said, deciding his first order of business was to start a load of laundry, because this had been his last clean shirt. "Congratulations on being devious, by the way: I totally didn't see that one coming."

He grabbed the burp cloth he had discarded and mopped up the mess on her chin, and didn't bother with what had dribbled onto her onesie; she had a billion others to choose from, and she probably needed a change anyway, or she would soon. Then he sat her on the couch and shrugged out of the shirt, pitching it in the general direction of the laundry basket.

"You'll be coming along, of course," Saitou said to Misao, who watched him with interest from where she sat. "No way you get out of not having to deal with that torture, especially since that tower of gross over there is mostly your fault."

Misao blinked at him; Saitou glowered back.

"Pleading innocent, huh? A likely story."

"What are you doing?" Masu asked, baffled, and Saitou flinched, and sent her a guilty look.

"Nothing," he said.

Masu seemed to decide it wasn't worth pursuing, because she only said breakfast was ready. So Saitou scooped up Misao and deposited her in her high chair, and gave her a handful of Cheerios to occupy her with (actually, so she could work on her developing motor skills, although if anyone asked, he was fully prepared to absolutely deny it and say he just thought you were supposed to give kids Cheerios), while he and his mother ate breakfast. Masu detailed what she planned to do today; Saitou listened and offered his opinions only when asked. Of his own plans for the day, he only said he needed to do laundry, and finish grading.

"What time should I put Misao down for her nap?" Masu asked.

Saitou frowned. "I'll put her down," he said.

Masu raised an eyebrow. "You said you still have a lot to grade," she said slowly.

"She can hang out while I do that," he said, a little defensively.

Masu watched him for a moment, then smiled slowly.

"Okay."

Saitou was suspicious of the blithe capitulation, but decided to just accept it and move on.

In short order, he had dug up a tank top and changed into it and a pair of jeans and socks and shoes after a quick shower. Misao was changed—both her diaper and her clothing—and after strapping on the baby carrier and wedging her into it, they ventured down into the apartment complex's basement, where the ancient washing machines and slightly less ancient dryers were located, and Saitou started a load, then wandered outside.

He got a "Happy Father's Day!" from every person he saw, and every woman cooed and gushed over how adorable Misao was, especially when she hid her face against his chest. After the third time it had happened, Saitou retreated to the basement; Misao was at the stage where strangers made her uncomfortable, and though the advice said not to keep the baby away from strangers just because they freaked the kid out, Saitou didn't want to deal with it today.

Also, the gushing was annoying.

"You're not allowed to gush," Saitou decided, sitting on the washing machine containing their laundry; he had discarded the baby carrier, and Misao was currently snuggled against his chest, tucked in the crook of one arm, drowsing. "Saitous don't gush. Well, Mom—Grandma—she gushes, but she's special, so she's allowed. Otherwise, we don't gush. It's not dignified, and we're a very dignified people. Also, it's annoying. The gushing. So you're not doing that."

There was no response—gibberish or otherwise—from the warm body in his arms, and when he glanced down, he found her dead asleep. A peek at his wristwatch confirmed that it was time for her mid-morning nap…

…which sounded like a great idea, actually.

Saitou carefully maneuvered the baby carrier into something resembling a very uncomfortable pillow, then carefully stretched out over the washing machines, settling Misao—who was starting to whimper and whine in her sleep as she was being moved—on her stomach against his chest, one hand on her back. She quieted almost immediately once the moving stopped, and Saitou relaxed a little. This was an incredibly uncomfortable place to nap—hell, he almost missed the shitty couch, now—but he was too tired to care. If Misao was going to nap, it was in his best interest to have a nap of his own while she was out, because once she woke up, he wouldn't be getting any peace.

And strangely, that thought didn't bother him as much as it would have even yesterday.

Huh, he thought sleepily, rubbing his daughter's back gently. That's funny.

And then he joined his daughter in blissful, contented unconsciousness.

Which was probably not how he had been imagining how he was going to be spending his first Father's Day as a new father.

But that was probably okay anyway: that was undoubtedly much better than anything he had been expecting.

And since I missed Mommy's Day (on accident), you get a little of that too, in the form of Mama Saitou being all Mama-Bear-awesome with her poor idiot son, lol.