Chapter Text
The bathtub had never felt more comfortable.
Quackity knew it would be only a matter of time before one of his parents came knocking at the apartment door, maybe even trying to break it down.
That, perhaps, explained him being here now, back pressed against the fiberglass.
Sam was in his living room at the moment, chatting away with Fundy who has agreed to keep him distracted and have him convinced no one was home.
Quackity was not sure he would survive the day, but everything was fine. Purpled had sensed his anxiety earlier, antennae twitching as they always did before a wave of peace would wash over Quackity, muscles relaxing and head if just slightly quieter.
Everything was gong to be fine. It felt an easy lie with Purpled curled against his chest, fed and changed and already starting to get sleepy.
The sight alone made him smile, a shy little thing, rocking Purpled in his arms and fighting the urge to hum the tune of a lullaby he'd never heard before but somehow still knew by heart.
Fundy would tell Sam that Quackity was out studying with friends. The baby present was simply Charlie's nephew, and the freak out that happened over the phone earlier was simply due to the unimaginable amount of stress that came with Law School.
He could make out with Fundy right now. He really did owe him a lot for this, but he knew he couldn't dwell on it.
Quackity being conveniently out and not having to face his parents would definitely cause even more tensions— he could almost hear Ponk talking in his ear, scolding for avoiding his family, for making his friends do the dirty work, for scripting a scenario where he didn't have to face his issues.
His head was already starting to ache. The story wouldn't hold up for long, he knew that. Just how long could he hide an alien baby from the government?
Footsteps sounded through the hallway, getting terrifyingly close to his bedroom door. He held him breath, holding Purpled close, as though that would keep him still, quiet.
Purpled was already napping at this point, but Quackity did not let himself relax for even a moment, hand pressed again his lips.
Heavy footsteps rang closer, now possibly in the bedroom. Quackity could hear the two men talking, but he couldn't quite make out the words.
This was stressful. This was far too fucking stressful.
He pressed his face into the tuff off hair on Purpled's head and breathed in deeply, his antennae tickling his face. The baby cuddled closer.
Charlie had said something about Purpled's hair being too long, about it needing trimming, but Quackity fought against it.
Partially because it's patchy in places and it being long concealed that, and partially because it was the cutest thing ever. But mainly, it was the fact that every time Quackity imagined scissors being anywhere near hi— the baby, it ended in gore. Truly, the chance of someone accidentally chopping off Purpled's little antennae or accidentally cutting his scalp was small, but it was never zero.
So long hair it was.
He focused on Purpled for a moment, continuing to hold him close. It was almost grounding, in a way, to let the hugeness of having a little baby in his arms make all other problems fade away.
Hold him, soothe him, care for him, and most importantly protect him. Those were Quackity's priority. He was not more scared of his parents thinking he'd knocked someone up — which was most probably the scenario they were convinced to be true — than he was that someone would take away Purpled or hurt him.
So he kept his mouth shut, rubbing at the baby's back until he heard the footsteps again, this time moving further away.
Quackity did not leave the bathtub when the door of his and Charlie's room was closed, nor did he leave it when the door of the apartment was shut and locked.
He stayed where he was until only one pair of footsteps found him— slower, lighter, safer.
Fundy opened the curtain, looking down at where Quackity and Purpled were with something akin to amusement. "You gonna keep sitting here or what?"
Quackity did not answer, he only took the older man's hand, letting him help him up and out of the bathtub.
The moment Quackity's feet met the floor of the bathroom, he took careful, fast-paced steps back into the bedroom, and placed the baby on the bed.
Only then did he turn to Fundy — who was standing there, looking as conflicted as he always did when he looked at Purpled — and pulled him into a tight hug.
"I owe you, man." Quackity sighed, feeling the way Fundy stiffened before melting into the hug.
Touch-starved and rarely showing affection; the duality of man, of Fundy.
"Yeah," Fundy sighed, peeling himself off Quackity. "Your parents are fucking nuts."
"I know," Quackity sighed, getting seated right beside Purpled on the bed. "He give you a hard time?"
"He give me a hard time?" Fundy snorted, flopping on Charlie's bed. "He went into cop-mode, searching the house and just— asking a whole lot of questions. I think he was trying to make me fumble and catch me in a lie."
"Yeahh," Quackity cleared his throat sheepishly. "He tends to do that."
"You don't owe them shit, you know." Fundy's eyes wandered outside, glancing at the very amazing view from Quackity's room that was right out into a parking lot. "They keep treating you like a child. They're not entitled to every detail of your life."
"But..." Quackity grew prickly. Stupid. Stupid. Why is he getting worked up in their defense? "It is fair, sometimes. They're just worried. Have been, since him."
"There is no Schlatt anymore though," The name alone made Quackity stiffen, nails digging into his arm to keep himself from snapping. "And you're not eighteen anymore. You've reached a point in your life where you can just— go to them for guidance on your own accord, or go to us for guidance. You don't need your apartment raided."
"I don't need another lecture, Fundy," Quackity hated this, hated how worked up he'd already gotten. "I don't need another person to tell me what to fucking do."
Fundy blinked at him, and where Quackity was already grasping for straws trying to find something to be offended by, all he found in the man's eyes was sadness.
Quackity could throw up. "Please leave," it was pathetically choked, pleading. His arm stung. "Don't make me say something that I'll regret, please."
Fundy only nodded, quietly complying with Quackity's request and heading for the door. Quackity fought the urge to reach out.
Fundy paused at the door, glancing back only once. "I know you're upset right now, but... I'm not trying to tell you what to do. You're grown, I trust you to make the right choice here."
Quackity wasn't sure he deserved that trust.