I would DIE to see you write more stuff for Ian. He's definitely one of my favorites.
A/n: I CAN GIVE YOU THAT! If you want more please let me know
Chaos and Cooing that is what your life now consisted off.
The night is quiet—eerily so, considering that in this house, quiet is as rare as a perfectly functioning dinosaur park. Ian Malcolm leans back against the couch, his infamous black shirt slightly unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up as he cradles a chubby, giggling baby in his arms.
“Ah, well, now this is unexpected,” he murmurs, bouncing the baby on his knee, who responds with a delighted shriek and a kick of pudgy legs. “The real chaos theory at work—not in the form of dinosaurs, no, but in the genetic masterpiece that is my son.” He waggles his eyebrows. “Clearly, he takes after me.”
Across the room, you, his very tired but still stunning wife, groan from where you’re curled up in the armchair. One hand grips a cup of lukewarm coffee, the other rubs circles into your temple. “Ian, for the last time, he’s giggling because you keep making ridiculous faces at him, not because he understands chaos theory.”
“Ah, ah, but that’s where you’re wrong,” Ian counters, pressing a noisy kiss to the baby’s round cheek. The baby gurgles in response, drool dripping onto Ian’s wrist, but he doesn’t seem to mind. “You see, my dear, chaos theory states that small changes in initial conditions lead to vastly different outcomes—case in point, had we slept last night, we wouldn’t be in this state of delirium. But! Because our son, this delightful little agent of chaos, decided sleep was, ah, unnecessary, here we are.” He gestures vaguely to your exhausted form and his own slightly disheveled one.
Your eyes narrow as you sip your coffee. “Are you seriously trying to lecture me on chaos theory using our son’s sleep schedule as proof?”
“I lecture because I love,” Ian replies smoothly, shifting the baby in his arms as he gazes down at him with something absurdly soft in his dark eyes. “And because I haven’t slept in three nights, and my brain has officially left the metaphorical building.”
You sigh, watching as Ian continues his one-man performance, making exaggerated faces that send your son into another round of belly laughs. The sound is so sweet, so impossibly joyful, that despite your exhaustion, you feel your heart melt.
For all his dramatics, Ian is an incredible father—dotingly attentive, full of boundless energy (somehow), and completely enamored with the little miracle you both created. It’s a sight you never tire of: your eccentric, brilliant, sometimes infuriating husband wrapped around the tiny, chubby fingers of your son.
The baby coos, reaching up to grab a fistful of Ian’s dark curls, and Ian winces but lets him. “Ah, yes, son, excellent grip already proving Darwin’s theory of natural selection. If you can cling to my hair with such tenacity, surely you will thrive in this chaotic world.”
“Or he’s just a baby, Ian.”
“Ah, ah, but is he just a baby?” Ian lifts a dramatic finger. “Or is he the next great scientist, the next disruptor of the status quo, a bringer of groundbreaking, world-altering change?”
The baby sneezes.
Ian nods solemnly. “I rest my case.”
You chuckle despite yourself, shaking your head as you set your coffee down and push yourself up from the chair. Walking over, you press a kiss to your son’s soft, round cheek before meeting Ian’s gaze. “You know, for all your rambling, you’re really just a big sap.”
Ian gasps, feigning offense. “Me? A sap? I’ll have you know, darling, I am a man of science, a man of logic, of reason.” He pauses, looking down at the baby, who is now sleepily sucking on his fist. Ian’s voice softens as he gently rocks him. “But… if loving my son so much that it defies logic makes me a sap, well… I suppose I can live with that.”
Your heart clenches, and you lean against him, resting your head on his shoulder. “Well, at least one of us is still functional,” you murmur, feeling your own exhaustion creep back in.
Ian chuckles, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Oh, my love, that implies I was ever functional to begin with.”
A scoff left your lips yet a smile remained and with that, the baby sighs, nestling against his father’s chest, and finally...finally...falls asleep.
Chaos has, at last, taken mercy on you.
For now.
As your eyes drifted closed, Ian's fingers running through your hair gently.
