perfect parenting already

plinys  asked:

did you say baby au? so how about fitz & jemma taking care of baby peggy together ! they're such the perfect parents! and she's already pregnant with baby number two!

I’ll bite tbh.


Leopold clears his throat, rubbing a hand over the nape of his neck.

“Uh. Is this a bad time?” He asks, taking in the full extent of the chaos before him.

Jemma’s chasing down her daughter — Penny? Polly? — who, despite being two at most, is intent on escaping her mother’s clutches.

Ophelia must have noticed his frown because she presses herself closer, craning her neck in his direction.

“Peggy.” She supplies quietly, nudging him with her hip. He nods.

Right. Margaret. As in, Carter.

Leopold’s mouth twists.

Fitz is equally dishevelled, shirt untucked and eyes wide at the sight of Leopold and his family.

“You didn’t—forget, did you?” He asks.

“N-no. This is—We’re just. Um.” Fitz stumbles over the words, kicking toys away with his foot.

He smooths a hand down his shirt.

“Toddlers, you know?” He laughs awkwardly, glancing over at the child in Ophelia’s arms. She’s got her cheek pressed against her mother’s shoulder, looking at Fitz with a mild curiosity.

Leopold follows his line of sight. He gives Lyra a small smile and she reciprocates the gesture.

“Yeah.” Leopold says. “I know.”

It’s Fitz’s turn to clear his throat, sliding an arm around Jemma’s waist as she joins him, their unruly daughter in tow. She pouts, twisting a loose strand of hair that had slipped out of Jemma’s bun around her finger.

Bright splashes of what Leopold can only assume is paint decorate the front of Jemma’s blouse. There’s a similar smudge of blue across her cheek and she rubs at it with her thumb, noticing Leopold’s eyes on her.

Ophelia’s looking at her too, but her eyes are drawn to something else entirely. There’s a soft curve of skin just barely visible beneath the material of Jemma’s blouse and it’s not a lot, but it’s enough.

Ophelia’s teeth clench involuntarily as her stomach drops. There’s an uncomfortable heaviness in her chest and she blinks back tears because now is not the time.

“We’re not interrupting, are we?” Leopold can’t help but smirk. Ophelia’s fingers tighten around his own, and he knows it’s a warning.

Play nice.

“Oh no. Come on in.” Jemma speaks up, spinning on her heel and heading for the the kitchen — or, at least, what is the designated dining area on the base — with the rest of them following suit.


They sit around the table and eat spaghetti and it’s so casual that it’s almost normal. Almost easy to ignore the fact that if he looked up, Fitz would find his own face staring back at him. And certainly almost easy to forget that this frustratingly perfect family doesn’t even belong in this world.

He’s pulled out of his thoughts when a wail pierces the silence, sharp and clean like a knife.

“Please baby, one more. Come on.” Jemma pleads with her daughter, spoon pressed against her closed mouth.

Peggy shakes her head.

Fitz makes a point of not looking across the table, not glancing at the child sitting in Ophelia’s lap, quiet and polite.

Peggy’s outburst drowns out the sound of Leopold’s chuckling but the movement in his shoulders gives him away anyway.