Man! I Feel Like a Woman!
Here's another girl!Danny piece - Maddy tried to help me fix it, but I kind of failed at the actual fixing, and then decided to post it anyway, so, apologies all around for that.
“Danny’s leaking,” Dougie announces at breakfast.
Danny chokes on her coffee, coughs so hard her eyes start tearing.
Tom hits her back, says, “Careful, Danny, breathe,” but she waves him off, rasps, “I’m all right, just - wrong pipe,” and reminds herself that Dougie is smaller than she is, she is not allowed to hit him. No matter how much she might want to.
Satisfied that Danny’s not about to die, Tom turns back to Dougie. “She’s what?”
“She’s leaking,” Dougie says again, looking far too smug by half, like he’s made some kind of great discovery.
Danny really, really wants to hit him. This is not information that needs to be made public. Ever. She’s not even sure how he found out - she’s been careful.
“Dougie, you don’t make any sense,” Harry complains, and Tom looks equally confused.
Danny would really like for Dougie to drop this. Right now. Before either Tom or Harry wakes up enough to crack Dougie’s less-than-subtle code. “Shut up, Dougie,” she says through gritted teeth, and hopes he gets the message.
Clearly not, because he just looks triumphant and says, “See? That’s why she’s been so pissy lately! We should get her pickles.”
And now Danny’s confused too, because - pickles? Seriously? “I’m not pregnant, Dougie,” she huffs. “That’s kind of the point.” And maybe she shouldn’t have said that, because Tom and Harry both get that look like someone’s just turned on a light, and then Harry breaks down laughing.
“Not funny,” Danny says, aiming a sharp kick under the table at Harry’s shin.
“Ow!” Harry gropes at his abused leg, but he’s still laughing, the fucker.
“Fuck you lot,” she says, shoving her chair back from the table. And she knows stomping out of the kitchen and up to her room is just going to make them take the piss again later, but she’s tired, cramping, and generally hating her life right now, so. She’ll deal with them later.
She supposes she should be glad she’s not going to have to pretend to be perfectly fine this time around - it’s really sucked the last couple months - but she’d almost rather that than having to deal with a bunch of boys being wankers about it. It’s not like she can do anything about it. She slams her door for extra emphasis. It makes her feel a little better.
+
Tom offers to make her tea no less than five times before dinner that night. Danny would think it was sweet if he wasn’t so obviously embarrassed about it. She wonders briefly if he’s trying to make up for the months they were living together in the hotel and he never caught on, but she’s pretty sure he’s just naturally an amazing - if awkward - human being. Maybe she can adopt him.
Dougie, clearly having seen the error of his ways - for once - has stopped talking again, and has more or less become Tom’s second shadow whenever Danny’s around. It’s pretty funny. Or it would be if Danny wasn’t so distracted by the way she sort of wants to curl up in a ball and die. She really hates being a girl, sometimes.
At least it means Tom and Dougie - if Tom’s around as well - are extra willing to curl up with her on the sofa, or in her bed if she can’t make it downstairs. They’re both warm and comfortable, and Tom gives amazing backrubs, fingers working gentle circles low on her back to help ease the cramps. She kind of loves them for it, and appreciates that, awkward as they may be, having them wrapped around her like living heating pads makes her hate her life just a little bit less.
Harry, however, has only managed to confirm what an arsehole he is.
“Wow, you look pathetic,” he says when he sees her curled up alone on the couch after lunch, clutching an electric heating pad (Dougie and Tom have gone out to find her chocolate brownie fudge ice cream, as per her request, because they love her, and are sweet like that) and watching infomercials on the television because the remote control is across the room so she can’t change the station. “Like something the dog dragged in.”
“Shut up,” she growls. And he just laughs.
“Shouldn’t you be eating chocolate, or something?” he asks next morning, finding her huddled over the cup of tea Tom finally guilted her into accepting.
“I haven’t got any,” she snaps, half-wishing she hadn’t finished her ice cream the night before, “so unless you’re offering it, fuck off.”
“Oh, testy,” he chuckles, and she kind of wants to punch him, but he’s too far away. “Guess it’s true what they say about women on the rag.”
And Danny. Danny is trying to be good, she really is - more because she’s not really feeling up to a fight and because Harry has conveniently been out of range every time he’s opened his stupid mouth than anything else - and she’s generally a pretty laid back person. But Harry gets under her skin like no one else, and he just keeps pushing.
So it’s really not her fault when, halfway through the afternoon, the day after Dougie’s pain-in-the-arse announcement, the four of them are arguing about cereal brands and Harry says, “Are you always this dumb, or are you just bleeding out all of your brain cells?” and Danny punches him in the stomach. Hard.
“What the fuck?” Harry gasps, bending over and pressing his hands against his stomach. “That’s going to fucking bruise!”
Danny can’t help feeling the satisfaction she feels at the pained tone is his voice. “Next time it will be right in your stupid face,” she tells him. “And if you pull that shit again, I won’t think twice about kneeing you.”
Dougie makes a choking noise from behind Tom. Danny looks up in time to see Tom wince, but he’s giving Harry a you-brought-this-on-yourself-and-you-deserve-it kind of look, so she still feels pretty vindicated.
A few hours later the doorbell rings, and Danny and Dougie get there at the same time. It’s the same delivery guy they usually get when they order take away pizza - his name is Chris and he’s probably only a year or two older than Danny, and cute - and Danny’s been sort of half-flirting with him for the past few weeks.
She doesn’t remember until she’s gotten the door open that she’s kind of a mess - rattiest sweatpants, giant tee-shirt, and she hasn’t straightened her hair - but it’s not like she usually dresses up, so. She grins when she takes the pizza boxes - knows she has a great smile - and balances them on one hip while she pays him.
“Mm, food,” Tom tugs the boxes out of her arms, shoving one in Harry’s direction and opening the other.
“What’re you wearing?” Harry flicks Danny’s shoulder - and what the hell? She’s been wearing this all day - then turns very deliberately to Chris and says, “Don’t mind her, that time of the month, you know,” and gives him a cheery salute before letting the door swing shut.
It’s only Tom and Dougie both grabbing her and hauling her back that keep Danny from launching herself at Harry, because, seriously, what the fuck?
“Danny, Danny, we need our drummer,” Tom grits, trying to hang on to her.
“What the fuck’s the problem, anyway?” Harry crosses his arms over his chest and lifts an eyebrow at her. “Just because you’re -”
“Shut up, Harry,” Tom snaps.
“I don’t -”
“Just shut up and stop being such a fucking arsehole, would you?”
Danny stops struggling. She appreciates Tom’s help, she does, but it’s not his job to take care of her. “Tom, I’m fine,” she says.
He doesn’t relax his grip, though Dougie does. “We have an interview tomorrow,” he says. “No one’s going to buy that he fell down the stairs if you give him a black eye.”
“I’m not going to punch him in the face,” she says. “I just don’t want to be anywhere near him. Let me go.”
Tom hesitates a moment, then releases her.
She picks up the pizza box Tom dropped. “I’m taking this,” she says, because she’s pissed as hell, but she’s still starving.
No one says anything, and she walks out.
She’s halfway up the stairs when she hears Tom say, voice low, “Too far, Harry. I warned you before. This shit has to stop. Now. If you can’t keep your mouth shut, then stay the hell away from her until she’s not feeling like something a train ran over. I won’t stop her next time, and you can explain why you look like a raccoon.”
Danny climbs the rest of the stairs as quietly as she can, and makes sure her door doesn’t bang. She really doesn’t want to hear Harry’s response.
+
Danny’s sitting in the dressing room with Tom and Dougie before their interview. She hasn’t seen Harry since the night before, so she guesses he actually listened to Tom. That’s probably a good thing, but they kind of need him there for the interview, or there are going to be awkward questions. She wonders if Tom figures it will be easier to answer questions about the absence of their drummer than it would be to explain away any inappropriate bruises he might be sporting.
Harry comes through the door five minutes later, though, and makes a beeline for her. Both Tom and Dougie have matching expressions - like they’re just waiting for the shit to hit the fan and have resigned themselves to the consequences.
“Here,” Harry says, stopping in front of her and shoving a green bag in her face.
Danny jerks back in surprise. “What?”
“You said you didn’t have any, so.” Harry shifts uncomfortably and shakes the bag.
She takes it, blinking at the gold lettering on the plastic. “Um.”
Harry frowns at her for a moment, then shakes his head and walks over to Tom.
Danny opens the bag, and stares for a moment at the white box inside - it’s almost the size of both her fists together.
“Is that from Harrods?” Dougie asks, coming over to lean on the back of her chair and hook his chin over her shoulder.
“Think so,” Danny pulls the box out.
“What is it?”
“Um,” Danny unfolds the lid and holds it up for Dougie’s inspection. It’s full of chocolate.