It was a joke. Because he was older than most of them, at least at the start. Even if it was only by a couple of years. And he’d been married and divorced already. You know, like an old person. And he had two jobs. He wasn’t in school. He didn’t appear to have parents. He seemed reasonably intelligent and often gave salient advice. He was responsible to a fault.

And it annoyed him to have kids he would’ve had to father before the age of ten calling him “Dad,” so of course it was a joke.

It was funny. Back when they were dreaming up all the ways they’d spend the money they’d save from not having another war, and writing policy on cheap, unlined paper in the back room of Marie Roget’s. Hey, Dad, what do you think of a flat tax on tobacco products?

There is no such thing as a ‘flat tax,’ Pavel.

What if we tax the licenses to sell the products and base it on the amount of inventory they can keep in stock so small business owners pay less?

You’re a smart girl, Genevieve.

Thanks, Dad.

It got progressively less funny after people started shooting at them, but more appropriate. Especially since he had the original copy of Recipes for Better Living and was familiar with the text.

Dad! I can’t figure out how to load this fucking gun!

Dad! How do these incendiary things work?

Dad! We gotta make dinner for forty people and all I have is three cans of tomato soup and a bag of noodles!

…Dad, I don’t wanna die.

What are we going to do now, Dad?

He didn’t know. He never knew. But he could put together a reasonable facsimile of knowing. He read off instructions and he did damage control, and he told a lot of people not to be stupid, they weren’t going to die. People that later died anyway, despite his frequently salient advice.

“Dad” was less of a nom de guerre and more of a necessary function — which nobody else was going to do, so he did it. Even if he hated it and he was terrible at it. He was responsible for all these dumb kids and an entire revolution full of even more dumb kids whom he’d never met. Responsible to a fault.

After it was over and they were all just trying to put their lives back together, he never let anyone call him that anymore. Not even the occasional woman who thought that kind of behaviour was cute. He was careful not to get into situations where someone might start calling him that again, and really mean it. He knew how to operate contraceptive charms.

But by the time that kid in the blue uniform came running into the theatre, desperately seeking chocolate cake, he looked the part a lot more. And once again, it was a function that needed doing.

They didn’t call him that, though. Not often. Diane gave him a new name long before she got it out of him about “Dad.” She did eventually get it out of him, like “Stan’ Up an Fight” from Carmen Jones; Diane was a world champion at getting things out of people, and especially him. She was better about “Dad,” because she knew how much it hurt. She’d already done him an injury with Carmen Jones, and she wasn’t a cruel person, just equal parts playful and pragmatic.

It didn’t really matter what they called him, anyway. The function was the same. He came right out and admitted that the usual bunch who went with him on supply runs were “his kids.” They were kids, even if many of them were older than he was when he was responsible for a whole revolution. He was still older than they were. He was responsible for them.

He was responsible for Alba.

It was only natural that she wanted him to be responsible for Erik, but he didn’t see it that way at the time.

She pulled him aside during a quiet moment and said, “Hey, Mordecai, can we go somewhere and talk?”

That was all right. That was one of many services he provided — primarily for her, but for anyone else who needed it when he wasn’t busy with her. Just talking.

It was alternately boring and terrifying during the siege, your mind turned on itself when it got too quiet. Sometimes people just wanted to fill the silence, and sometimes they were scared. He’d quit telling people they were stupid and they weren’t going to die after the revolution, he learned that lesson well. Mainly, he listened and nodded. Sometimes he rephrased what people were saying and said it back to them, they liked that.

“How’s the war treatin’ ya, Morph?” she said. She was teasing. She only called him that to tease him. Not like Diane, who had decided it was not just a name but an identity. Rather like “Dad,” come to think of it. Yeah, he’s that guy who rearranges himself to suit other people.

“About as well as can be expected, Alba,” he said. He figured she had a subject in mind and she didn’t really want to talk about him.

It turned out she did really want to talk about him, just not like that.

She lifted her belly with both hands and said, “You about ready for this damn kid to pop out?”

“Now?” he cried, upstarting.

“No, not now,” she said. She gazed down at herself. “Not that I’m not ready, but I don’t think he is. Are you, though? All done studying?”

“No! Please make your best effort to keep that bun in your oven until it is fully baked, and then have it near someone who isn’t getting his entire medical experience from an abandoned library! My mother wanted me to be a doctor, but I wanted to go to the movies. Seven months is not nearly enough time to further my education!”

She considered him. “Yeah, but you’re trying, aren’t you?”

“Of course I’m trying! I’m in charge of you! I want you to know you can rely on me, on us — just not yet!”

She put her hand on his leg and stopped him from talking. “How would you like to be in charge of him?” she said gravely.

He glanced down at his comparatively tiny body. “I don’t think that’s medically possible, Alba, but I really wouldn’t like you to try.”

“No, not now,” she said, grinning. “Calm down. I’m sorry I scared you. Everything doesn’t have to be right now. I mean eventually.”

“We’re all happy to help you, dear, but I really think you’d better be in charge of him when he gets here.”

“Oh, me first, yeah,” she said. “But I want to establish a chain of command in case one of us gets shot.” She shrugged. “I’ve been thinking about it. Two-hundred soldiers can’t share the poor little sucker, and he’s got multiple dads — who are just as likely to get shot as I am. I don’t want them to fight over him. You’re a volunteer, you can run off whenever you want to, and you’d know how to take care of a coloured kid, in case something happens so I can’t.”

“Alba…” He took hold of her hands. “We’re going to do our very best to keep you safe, both of you, do you know that?” He wasn’t listening. He knew better than that, but he didn’t want to hear what she was saying. “I’m scared all the time, too, and we don’t know what’s going to happen. We never know that. But we…”

“Mordecai, I’m not talking emotions, I’m talking practicality. What I need to hear right now is, ‘Yes, Alba, I’ll take care of your damn kid for you if for some reason you can’t. For a couple minutes or a couple months or the rest of my life if needed.’ Can you bang yourself into the shape of a legal guardian or not?”

“Legally?” he cried. Rather like “Now?” a few moments before.

“Well, as near,” she said with a wave of her hand. “If I tell everybody about it, they’re not going to mess with me, or with you. I just thought I’d ask you first so you don’t flip out. Or flip out now instead of later, I guess.”

“Why me?” he said.

She planted both hands on her hips and inclined her head in his direction. “I’ve been telling you, but I’ll tell you again. I need an individual who’s free to take Erik away somewhere safe. A coloured one who knows how to look after a coloured kid. A responsible one whom I like. You’re my first choice.”

“Seth is all those things, why don’t you ask him?”

“Mordecai, get real. Seth can’t take care of himself.”

He had to concede the point. “Diane, then!”

Alba sighed. “Diane has a whole country to take care of.”

“And she’s very good at it!” he said.

She frowned and looked away. One hand remained pensively on her belly. There was a line of brass coat buttons running down it, loose but with little room to spare. The sleeves were down to her fingertips when she didn’t roll them up. They didn’t do uniforms in maternity sizes. In retrospect, it was disturbingly like Calliope’s shirts.

“I will talk to Diane,” she said. “She can be backup, if she wants it.” She levelled her gaze at him, dark grey and intense. “But you’re still my number one. And you know how I get when I can’t have what I want, ‘Dad.’”

She knew about “Dad.” Maybe not all of it, but enough to know the word stung. She was good at hitting people’s buttons too. Maybe that was why they got along.

“Alba, I’m forever telling you no.”

“Sometimes I let you,” she said. She lowered her head and the pale filaments of her hair seemed to crackle with electricity. There may have been a low rumble of thunder just at the edge of hearing, or it could’ve been a shell. “When I really want something I don’t hear ‘no,’ and you know it.”

“You hear it,” he replied. She wouldn’t get that pissed off if she didn’t hear it. Then she downshifted the car and ran over it. And sometimes reversed and ran over it again, until it stopped even making a crunching noise in protest. He winced and shook his head. “But if that’s what you need from me, I won’t say it.”

“Now, I don’t just want you to leave with him, I want you to take care of him,” she said. “Don’t make my handsome Erik Rudi a doorbell baby. This is your responsibility. If I’m out, you’re in. And you’re in until something takes you out, understand me?”

“I think it’s far more likely if something takes you out, it’s going to go through me first, Alba.” Which was fine with him. Diane and her family would make much better caretakers. She had two houses! He didn’t have one. Probably he didn’t even have a room anymore, if it hadn’t been blown up they would’ve rented it to someone else when he took off with the army.

“Ha-ha-ha, yeah, no,” Alba said. “Maybe in the city, but not when I’m out in front of the wall with George. It’s better that way. And after I pop this kid out, it needs to be that way more of the time. I’m not priority number one anymore. If something tries to go through you to get to me, you get the hell out of the way. I’m better at looking after myself than he will be. If you have to leave me behind to keep him safe, then that’s what I want you to do. I don’t like to hear ‘no,’ but I’d rather have it now than when it really matters.

“There’s only one person who really matters to me, and it’s not me anymore.” She smiled tightly, without humour. “I’m not one of those oh-so-well-mannered upper-class twits who runs around pretending everyone is ‘dear,’ and neither are you, so get it straight in your head. If you abandon my only dear one to save me, for the rest of your short life I will make you suffer, do you have that?”

“I suppose I do,” he said. He eyed her up and down. And you’ve made it very clear that’s what you’ll do whether I agree to it or not, so that’s the end of it.

He was a little jealous of Seth, who couldn’t even take care of himself.

She grinned at him. There was a glint in her eye that was very George-like. “Can I hear some enthusiasm? Can I get a ‘hell yeah?’”

“Hell yeah, Alba,” he said evenly.

Let’s bring another tiny life into this awful world, in the middle of a goddamn siege, and make me responsible for it! Hell yeah!

“I like it, I love it, I want some more of it!” Alba crowed. “Let’s pick it up and knock it down! Babies are a piece of cake, Mordecai! Anyway, everyone’s going to help you whether you want it or not. You know that?”

“I know it,” he allowed.

She tipped her head towards him and smiled. It was terrifying. “But remember, you promised.”

He didn’t really, he just gave in, but he let her tell him he promised. And he kept that promise.

She did her best to make it easier for him. She died so he didn’t have to choose between her and Erik, and while she was dying he chose her, of course he did. She must’ve known he would — very much unlike Seth and Diane, who could’ve come to save her in that damn hotel and didn’t.

He couldn’t do that. Not save her. He helped her as best he could, like always, but he couldn’t save her. But she had made it very clear she wasn’t priority number one anymore and he tried to tell himself that she would’ve been satisfied with the way things shook out. Not happy, he couldn’t work his way around to happy, not after how mad she had been. She wanted to live, she wanted Erik for herself, and she didn’t like to hear “no.”

Sometimes she thought it was his fault. It was, but not that way. He hadn’t engineered it on purpose to get her child away from her. But even though her brain was almost literally burning up, she had kept enough control of herself not to kill him. There was a deeper part of her that remembered he’d promised, maybe that’s what kept him alive. And sometimes…

She had not called him “Dad.” No. Not even “Daddy.” It was “Poppa,” and he occasionally consoled himself with the idea that she might’ve meant a grandfather. She never talked about her family, or whoever might’ve been in charge of her before he got the job. She didn’t appear to have parents, and she’d been younger than he was when he kicked his family to the curb.

It didn’t matter; the function was the same, and he was just as bad at it as ever. There was just nobody else willing to do it. There was literally nobody else.

He did eventually get Erik out of the hotel, but that was more luck than bravery or even a conscious decision. His own brain had been firing intermittently enough at the time that he’d still been afraid Alba, cold and dead in the bed upstairs, might hurt him if he didn’t do what she wanted.

Every once in a while, when he really screwed up, he was afraid of that even now. Like she was going to burst through the front door with blood all over her and ice in her hair, tell him she always knew he’d break his promise, and then burn him to death with a gesture. Die in fire. I did, and it was your fault.

Maybe she’d known he was just stupid enough that a healthy dose of terror would keep him in line for the rest of his life. Or maybe she’d known he was just smart enough to realize how stupid he was and bend over backwards to compensate for it. Either way, Erik was only eight and he needed a… a person to take care of him. Even if this person was not very good at that, Erik had gotten rather used to this person over the last eight years and would be annoyed if he had to adapt to a whole new caretaker all of a sudden.

Anyway, Seth lived under a bridge and Diane was dead.

He had Erik call him “Uncle.” He was too old to be Erik’s dad. It was better that way. Sometimes he thought of himself like a pair of training wheels. Or a little red tricycle. Okay, at some point you are going to grow out of me. You’ll have a girlfriend to help hold you up, and then a wife and a real family. I’ll sit in the back of the closet and you can keep me around for sentimental reasons, but you won’t really need me anymore.

He was prepared for his eventual obsolescence and anticipating it like a salaryman might view a Sun’s Day afternoon from a Tiw’s Day morning.

So what in the hell did Milo, who was twenty-three years old and already eyeing a premade family with a very nice girl and a daughter for himself, want with a… a…

What in the hell did Milo — Ann and Milo! — want with him?

Milo did not require parents! Okay, probably he did at some point, badly, but he couldn’t go back and fix that now! It was like putting bandages on a wound that had healed and scarred over ages ago: a lovely thought, but it’s still going to look ugly and hurt when it rains. Sometimes you just had to accept you had some missing pieces or bits that didn’t work right and soldier on as best you could with what you had. You could not cram new gears into a human being like you were repairing a watch!

Erik got that. He had to learn it a lot younger than his adoptive uncle would’ve preferred, but he was intimately familiar with developing workarounds for things he just could not do. He couldn’t wire in a new “no backwards letters” function, he had to accept that his handwriting was always going to look a bit silly and if he wanted to get it right he needed a person to help him or a stencil.

It… It wasn’t that Mordecai objected to Milo needing help with his obvious multiple issues — although maybe he should have. …Maybe a little more emotional distance right around the grilled cheese and tomato soup would’ve resulted in a vastly different situation now.

No, but he didn’t really mind that sort of thing as such; he didn’t mind being a stencil for birthday cards and formal writing, he just didn’t want to be permanently absorbed as part of a system. Especially not that part of it! He’d had quite enough of performing essential functions and was more of an accessory that only kicked in when something else wasn’t working these days. …Except for Erik, but he’d been able to tell himself Erik was temporary.

Up until just now.

Is Erik still going to need…? I mean, what for?

He’d found it rather convenient not to have parents anymore. They didn’t approve of Cathy, so he walked off with her and never looked back. They had turned out to be right about Cathy, but, honestly, he’d been looking for an excuse. At least Cathy was considerate enough to do that for him.

They hadn’t been really horrible people. They didn’t beat him over the head with the ironing board or drag him out behind the woodshed with a belt in hand… They didn’t have a woodshed. Your traditional coloured family kept order via a complex web of high expectations, emotional entrapment, and guilt.

He’d been surprised as hell when Cathy got mad and slapped him. People in movies did things like that. What? Cathy, you’re not supposed to actually hit me. You’re supposed to tell me I’m a disappointment and then cry so I can’t argue about it. Then I’m supposed to stop talking to you and go sleep in a doss house until you beg me to come back. Is this not how relationships work?

It seemed like some of them did, but he’d never been able to make it work like that with Cathy. From his failure of a marriage, he’d learned to pull his punches so that immature, weird people like his ex wouldn’t escalate matters to the physical.

Much, much later he’d managed to put it together that having a disagreement with a person didn’t mean hitting them as hard as you could, until you or they couldn’t get up anymore, and then whoever felt the least horrible won — and that it wasn’t any more mature to do that with words than with your hands. His parents had taught him to play music and how to read, but he had to figure out the important stuff by himself.

And they should’ve sent Shoshanna away so she wouldn’t get sick. She was too little. They should’ve known that.

Altogether, parents weren’t good for very much, and by the time you were capable of getting a job and affording housing you ought to be learning the important stuff without their interference. He had accepted that what he was trying to do for Erik was as little damage as possible, before sending him out into the world to take more damage and learn how to compensate for whatever shortcomings his upbringing had hobbled him with. Everyone was out there dragging their past around behind them like a ball and chain, that was why old people walked so slow.

Milo, what could you possibly be getting out of this? Why can’t I just be your friend who helps out sometimes? Why would you invite me into your life to screw you up even more than you already are?

Why would Ann let you?

Where had they even gotten this idea that people needed parents? They didn’t have parents. He was pretty sure, because they’d mentioned a workhouse, that they’d never had parents. Ann must’ve read it in a novel or seen it in a movie somewhere. There was a distinct lack of fathers in this household for them to measure him against. Sanaam was never home, Calliope’s ex-boyfriend was more like a pet, and Hyacinth kept an evil man in the attic who’d helped raise her, but they didn’t like each other.

…And somehow Ann had still managed to work it out that he was coming up short.

Well, she wasn’t stupid.

But she wanted him anyway.

This was the sort of thing that made people in movies come over all squishy, but it just made him feel sick.

I love you in spite of all your demonstrated faults, reclusive and curmudgeonly old man! Now come give me a hug, or possibly marry me, depending on what kind of movie this is!

Get away from me, you maniac! Even if you don’t mind me hurting you, don’t you realize I mind it? I’m not going to sign up for a lifetime of that! Just because you’re a masochist, that doesn’t make me a sadist! Your love is not going to make me into a better person! That’s why the movies and the novels always end right here!

He couldn’t say something like that, not to her… or him. It wouldn’t make any difference, even if he did. None of it mattered, not what he thought about it or whatever words he let out of his mouth. She hadn’t been asking, she was telling, like Alba. Here, take care of this for me. You promised.

I didn’t promise! I didn’t! I’m nice to you sometimes, but that isn’t a promise! I can’t make that promise, I know I can’t! I’m not the person you think I am! Do you have any idea how hard it is for me not to hurt you until you slap me to get me to stop, like Cathy? That’s who I am! “Dad” isn’t a person, it’s an act!

…And I’m tired of it, he thought weakly. I don’t want to be that other person, but I can’t be this one. I’m bad at it. I’m tired.

He let Alba make him promise. Was he going to let Ann?

As often as I hurt people, you wouldn’t think I’d be so worried about doing it again. If I angle it in there just right, she’ll forgive me eventually and she’ll never bring up me being like a father to her ever again. Then we can just pretend it’s like it always was.

…but she could hurt me back.

She wouldn’t even have to do it on purpose, although he knew very well she was capable. All she, all they would have to do was exist near him and seem like they were a little less happy and complete than they would’ve been if he gave them what they needed. All they’d need to do was look like they needed fixing and he’d be right back where he started. He did this incredibly stupid thing all the time where he started liking people and he started caring about making them happy.

It wasn’t their fault they got it into their heads that he would always be like that and never turn around and stab them in the back. Better people, normal people, probably really were like that.

He sighed. I really do make these promises, don’t I?

Ann and Alba were just kind enough to remind him about it before he screwed up what he was supposed to be doing too badly.

Nobody else is going to do it for them, he thought. He supposed that was why Ann was willing to let him have the responsibility. And she didn’t seem to expect anything better than what he’d already done for them/to them — back when he was only trying to be a good friend and messing that up regularly.

It was kind of pathetic when you thought about it.

Don’t they even want to go to the park and play catch?

What does a twenty-three-year-old kid want?

Well… I wanted to overthrow the government. Maybe I shouldn’t have given Recipes for Better Living away…

There was a light and terribly unobtrusive knocking at his door. Milo had never quite grasped that the purpose of knocking was to get people’s attention. It was like he started doing it because he felt bad for scaring people when they opened the door and he was just standing there, waiting. Okay, here’s a fair chance for you to guess there’s someone out here, but I’ll be quiet now and you can open the door if you want to.

Mordecai opened the door a crack and peeked out, so Milo wouldn’t be scared someone had decided to instantly respond to one of his semi-knocks. He tried a smile and looked slightly south of Milo’s eyes. “Hey, Milo. Something you need?”