The One With the Sperm Bank
An original slash beginning. Uh- Marc is a widowed father, Justin is a cancer survivor. The one thing they have in common is their daughter. Kid-fic only not so much yet. I intend this not to be as depressing as the summary sounds. Pg-13 for cussing, so far.
It was all over the news and Marcus Tolland had to shut the damn TV off (and rip out the cord) to avoid vomiting every time someone repeated the fucking doctor's name. Even without the repetitions by the pretty faces that delivered the news, there was something dead and heavy weighing down Marc's stomach, like a lead weight tied to his gut that was slowly pulling his insides down, leaving a horrible empty space in his chest that echoed with it:
She wasn't his.
Marc had known that from the beginning- Sierra wasn't his biological child. He and Judy had spent untold time, money and anguish getting to the place where they had finally gotten Sierra and using a sperm donor had been part of that. He was past that issue. It wasn't about that anymore, hadn't been that for years. But, the rest of the deal (with what had turned out to be the devil with a stethoscope) was supposed to be that the biological father had given up his parental rights. That was why you went to a damned sperm bank, why you went to the really expensive doctor and his really expensive clinic.
Except, Doctor Satan had turned out to be pretty fucking crappy at his job, and records had been faked and samples had been screwed around with, lost, switched and, in the most spectacular horror of all, replaced with the doctor's own samples. Marcus Tolland, widowed father, and his child, Sierra were among the hundreds of families screwed over by the man's greed and callousness- and that damned bastard doctor might actually be Sierra's father. Marc wanted to buy a gun. Marc wanted to pack up Sierra and run as far and as fast as he could before the records were sorted, her "real" father showed up, and Marc was left with nothing. Marc wanted a drink.
When Judy had died, having Sierra had been the one thing to save his life- having to pull his sorry self together to take care of his daughter was what got him to that first AA meeting three years ago. And, it was the possibility of losing Sierra that was making him want the scotch rocks he'd just poured so fucking bad. He lifted the shivery cool glass and held it against the skin of his cheek, hearing the ice shift and clink together, smelling the sweet burnt smell of the liquor, closing his eyes and rolling the brim of the glass down across his face, brushing it over his mouth. He tipped the glass up and let the cool alcohol wet his lips, the smell strong and familiar. Opening his mouth, he felt it slide across his teeth and down his throat- cool and sweet before bitter and hot. He swallowed greedily, like it was water after the desert, like it was air for a drowning man, like it was life itself.
He set the empty glass down on the counter too hard and was surprised it didn't at least chip. He felt the woozy uncaring release as the scotch hit his blood- so good- he'd missed it so much. His fingers reached for the neck of the bottle again- pour another one, it will be even easier, he thought. He poured the next drink, then the next, as well. He lost track after that.
***
Justin Thomas had seen the story in the news, but he figured it probably didn't apply to him since he'd signed those papers to have his "deposit" incinerated about two years earlier than the reports were saying the trouble began. It was sick and terrible for the families involved, but it didn't involve him. It had been a crazy whim brought on by fear of his own mortality anyway- not surprisingly, nut cancer will do that to a guy. It's not as if he'd ever expected to really want to find a woman to carry his kid. What the hell would he want with a kid? What the hell would he want with a woman either?
More in-depth investigations revealed that the mismanagement and cover-up began far earlier than first suspected.
It was a good year before the courts decided that the records could be made public and another six months before Justin got word that maybe his deposit hadn't exactly been incinerated.
***
Marc absentmindedly twisted his six month chip in his finger- it was red and plastic, a poker chip actually, six little holes drilled through it to represent the months. They gave plastic to begin with- you didn't get metal until you hit a year. It's cheaper that way, what with the drop out rate for the first year. He was waiting in his lawyer's office, fidgeting and waiting to meet him, meet the man who was Sierra's biological father. It was really hard to sit and wait for him. Marc paced and fidgeted and ignored how damned much he wanted just one drink to kind of take the edge off. Because that worked.
The door to the office opened and Sal Berkowitz showed two men in- an older man who looked all business and not at all nervous (the other lawyer) and a short blond man maybe Marc's age- not more than 35 for sure (must be him). Sal made introductions and they all shook hands and the leggy nymph who answered Sal's phone gave them coffee and they sat down. The other guy- him- Justin Thomas looked even more crazed with this than Marc felt. He didn't know what to make of that. And the lawyers did their thing, making arrangements for the blood test and they both- he and Justin Thomas- signed papers and it was done for the day- he'd get a call from the lab about when to bring Sierra in, and then Marc was sitting in his car trying not to vomit over this for the third time that day and calculating a route home that didn't pass any bars or liquor stores.
***
Justin knew he shouldn't. For practicality's sake as well as the legal mess, he shouldn't talk to Tolland. But Justin could see him- Tolland was sitting in his expensive sedan gripping his steering wheel and looking as if he was about to have a coronary. Justin couldn't bear to leave him like that- the guy had been through so much. Justin tapped on the window and Tolland rolled it down.
"You all right?" Justin had wanted to say something reassuring like, like- he didn't know what. He didn't do reassuring that well.
"Sure, yeah. I'm just- I'm just-" He motioned with his hand (it was clutching the keys in a death grip). "You know."
"Oh- uh-huh." Justin didn't have a clue what that meant. He looked around, for what he wasn't sure. Then he leaned down and put his head level with the car window. "Could we maybe talk?"
***
So, there he was sitting in a crappy fern bar with a coke and his daughter's biological father. They were waiting on some likely really bad tex-mex and, Marc was trying to ignore the soft satisfied sigh Justin just made after taking a large swallow from his beer. "Well- uh, what exactly did you want to talk about?" Marc finally got the nerve to ask.
"Oh right, I- I know that we do need the lawyers for this- to help, you know, sort this out, but I- My parents got divorced when I was twelve," Justin stuttered out, making a face as he got to the end of the sentence, as if it had lead him somewhere different than he'd intended.
"You want to talk about your parent's divorce?"
"No- I- not exactly." He stopped and gave a nervous, half-smiling laugh. "It's just that I remember how long it all took and how the lawyers- both of them- did a lot to delay getting things decided- turned it into a bigger mess than it already was- and I thought- there's got to be something we can do to make sure this isn't like that- you know- for Sierra. For us, too."
"Oh- well yes. I agree-"
"I mean, it's not really the same as a divorce- a custody battle- since neither one of us made any of the mistakes that got us here."
"Custody battle?"
"Exactly- my point exactly- it shouldn't be like a battle. We're neither one of us at fault, and we both want Sierra not to suffer from this. Same side and all."
"Same side- yeah- that is how-"
"So I figure we could just tell each other what we think is the best way to handle things- divide time, custody- and find the middle ground."
"Custody?"
"I don't want custody."
"You don't want-"
"I feel I should know her- and I'm good for helping with money- braces, college, a big froufrou wedding if she's that type, but I'm single- a confirmed bachelor, as they say- I'm not so much father material- more like a doting uncle who stops by with outlandish presents on her birthday and Christmas."
"Christmas?"
"I'm sorry do you not- are you some other- uh- are you raising her in a particular religion?"
"Oh- Methodist, but we're not uh- we don't go to church all that often. When you say confirmed bachelor-"
"I mean gay," Justin stated matter-of-factly.
"Ah."
"If that's a problem," Justin's voice started to grow thick and angry, "we can do the whole lawyer thing and I'll be suing for full custody because I won't have her raised to hate."
"Whoa! It's not a problem, I promise. It would be a little hypocritical, don't you think?" Marc gestured at himself because- hello- he knew the issue of discrimination pretty well.
"Right." Justin smirked sheepishly. "Of course. Although, you'd be surprised the places I've met up with boneheaded-ness."
"No, I wouldn't," Marc replied plainly, because nothing could surprise him about the stupidity man could stoop to.
"Guess not." They sat quiet each just lost in their own harsh memories of how badly people can treat each other, until their food arrived.
And, the fact that this guy was claiming not to want custody, and maybe even more because he really seemed human and real ( and just as freaked out but willing to make the best of this for Sierra's sake as Marc was) made it easy to let go of some of the crazy fear Marc had been living with for the last year. So, he ate the not as crappy as expected, but still nothing to write home about food and let himself fall into easy conversation about football (they were both 49er's fans) and the weather (the wet spring was good for Justin's flower garden, but bad for mosquitoes) and the untellable joy that is Sierra Tolland (Justin left the restaurant with half the pictures from Marc's wallet- he could make reprints).
It was all over the news and Marcus Tolland had to shut the damn TV off (and rip out the cord) to avoid vomiting every time someone repeated the fucking doctor's name. Even without the repetitions by the pretty faces that delivered the news, there was something dead and heavy weighing down Marc's stomach, like a lead weight tied to his gut that was slowly pulling his insides down, leaving a horrible empty space in his chest that echoed with it:
She wasn't his.
Marc had known that from the beginning- Sierra wasn't his biological child. He and Judy had spent untold time, money and anguish getting to the place where they had finally gotten Sierra and using a sperm donor had been part of that. He was past that issue. It wasn't about that anymore, hadn't been that for years. But, the rest of the deal (with what had turned out to be the devil with a stethoscope) was supposed to be that the biological father had given up his parental rights. That was why you went to a damned sperm bank, why you went to the really expensive doctor and his really expensive clinic.
Except, Doctor Satan had turned out to be pretty fucking crappy at his job, and records had been faked and samples had been screwed around with, lost, switched and, in the most spectacular horror of all, replaced with the doctor's own samples. Marcus Tolland, widowed father, and his child, Sierra were among the hundreds of families screwed over by the man's greed and callousness- and that damned bastard doctor might actually be Sierra's father. Marc wanted to buy a gun. Marc wanted to pack up Sierra and run as far and as fast as he could before the records were sorted, her "real" father showed up, and Marc was left with nothing. Marc wanted a drink.
When Judy had died, having Sierra had been the one thing to save his life- having to pull his sorry self together to take care of his daughter was what got him to that first AA meeting three years ago. And, it was the possibility of losing Sierra that was making him want the scotch rocks he'd just poured so fucking bad. He lifted the shivery cool glass and held it against the skin of his cheek, hearing the ice shift and clink together, smelling the sweet burnt smell of the liquor, closing his eyes and rolling the brim of the glass down across his face, brushing it over his mouth. He tipped the glass up and let the cool alcohol wet his lips, the smell strong and familiar. Opening his mouth, he felt it slide across his teeth and down his throat- cool and sweet before bitter and hot. He swallowed greedily, like it was water after the desert, like it was air for a drowning man, like it was life itself.
He set the empty glass down on the counter too hard and was surprised it didn't at least chip. He felt the woozy uncaring release as the scotch hit his blood- so good- he'd missed it so much. His fingers reached for the neck of the bottle again- pour another one, it will be even easier, he thought. He poured the next drink, then the next, as well. He lost track after that.
***
Justin Thomas had seen the story in the news, but he figured it probably didn't apply to him since he'd signed those papers to have his "deposit" incinerated about two years earlier than the reports were saying the trouble began. It was sick and terrible for the families involved, but it didn't involve him. It had been a crazy whim brought on by fear of his own mortality anyway- not surprisingly, nut cancer will do that to a guy. It's not as if he'd ever expected to really want to find a woman to carry his kid. What the hell would he want with a kid? What the hell would he want with a woman either?
More in-depth investigations revealed that the mismanagement and cover-up began far earlier than first suspected.
It was a good year before the courts decided that the records could be made public and another six months before Justin got word that maybe his deposit hadn't exactly been incinerated.
***
Marc absentmindedly twisted his six month chip in his finger- it was red and plastic, a poker chip actually, six little holes drilled through it to represent the months. They gave plastic to begin with- you didn't get metal until you hit a year. It's cheaper that way, what with the drop out rate for the first year. He was waiting in his lawyer's office, fidgeting and waiting to meet him, meet the man who was Sierra's biological father. It was really hard to sit and wait for him. Marc paced and fidgeted and ignored how damned much he wanted just one drink to kind of take the edge off. Because that worked.
The door to the office opened and Sal Berkowitz showed two men in- an older man who looked all business and not at all nervous (the other lawyer) and a short blond man maybe Marc's age- not more than 35 for sure (must be him). Sal made introductions and they all shook hands and the leggy nymph who answered Sal's phone gave them coffee and they sat down. The other guy- him- Justin Thomas looked even more crazed with this than Marc felt. He didn't know what to make of that. And the lawyers did their thing, making arrangements for the blood test and they both- he and Justin Thomas- signed papers and it was done for the day- he'd get a call from the lab about when to bring Sierra in, and then Marc was sitting in his car trying not to vomit over this for the third time that day and calculating a route home that didn't pass any bars or liquor stores.
***
Justin knew he shouldn't. For practicality's sake as well as the legal mess, he shouldn't talk to Tolland. But Justin could see him- Tolland was sitting in his expensive sedan gripping his steering wheel and looking as if he was about to have a coronary. Justin couldn't bear to leave him like that- the guy had been through so much. Justin tapped on the window and Tolland rolled it down.
"You all right?" Justin had wanted to say something reassuring like, like- he didn't know what. He didn't do reassuring that well.
"Sure, yeah. I'm just- I'm just-" He motioned with his hand (it was clutching the keys in a death grip). "You know."
"Oh- uh-huh." Justin didn't have a clue what that meant. He looked around, for what he wasn't sure. Then he leaned down and put his head level with the car window. "Could we maybe talk?"
***
So, there he was sitting in a crappy fern bar with a coke and his daughter's biological father. They were waiting on some likely really bad tex-mex and, Marc was trying to ignore the soft satisfied sigh Justin just made after taking a large swallow from his beer. "Well- uh, what exactly did you want to talk about?" Marc finally got the nerve to ask.
"Oh right, I- I know that we do need the lawyers for this- to help, you know, sort this out, but I- My parents got divorced when I was twelve," Justin stuttered out, making a face as he got to the end of the sentence, as if it had lead him somewhere different than he'd intended.
"You want to talk about your parent's divorce?"
"No- I- not exactly." He stopped and gave a nervous, half-smiling laugh. "It's just that I remember how long it all took and how the lawyers- both of them- did a lot to delay getting things decided- turned it into a bigger mess than it already was- and I thought- there's got to be something we can do to make sure this isn't like that- you know- for Sierra. For us, too."
"Oh- well yes. I agree-"
"I mean, it's not really the same as a divorce- a custody battle- since neither one of us made any of the mistakes that got us here."
"Custody battle?"
"Exactly- my point exactly- it shouldn't be like a battle. We're neither one of us at fault, and we both want Sierra not to suffer from this. Same side and all."
"Same side- yeah- that is how-"
"So I figure we could just tell each other what we think is the best way to handle things- divide time, custody- and find the middle ground."
"Custody?"
"I don't want custody."
"You don't want-"
"I feel I should know her- and I'm good for helping with money- braces, college, a big froufrou wedding if she's that type, but I'm single- a confirmed bachelor, as they say- I'm not so much father material- more like a doting uncle who stops by with outlandish presents on her birthday and Christmas."
"Christmas?"
"I'm sorry do you not- are you some other- uh- are you raising her in a particular religion?"
"Oh- Methodist, but we're not uh- we don't go to church all that often. When you say confirmed bachelor-"
"I mean gay," Justin stated matter-of-factly.
"Ah."
"If that's a problem," Justin's voice started to grow thick and angry, "we can do the whole lawyer thing and I'll be suing for full custody because I won't have her raised to hate."
"Whoa! It's not a problem, I promise. It would be a little hypocritical, don't you think?" Marc gestured at himself because- hello- he knew the issue of discrimination pretty well.
"Right." Justin smirked sheepishly. "Of course. Although, you'd be surprised the places I've met up with boneheaded-ness."
"No, I wouldn't," Marc replied plainly, because nothing could surprise him about the stupidity man could stoop to.
"Guess not." They sat quiet each just lost in their own harsh memories of how badly people can treat each other, until their food arrived.
And, the fact that this guy was claiming not to want custody, and maybe even more because he really seemed human and real ( and just as freaked out but willing to make the best of this for Sierra's sake as Marc was) made it easy to let go of some of the crazy fear Marc had been living with for the last year. So, he ate the not as crappy as expected, but still nothing to write home about food and let himself fall into easy conversation about football (they were both 49er's fans) and the weather (the wet spring was good for Justin's flower garden, but bad for mosquitoes) and the untellable joy that is Sierra Tolland (Justin left the restaurant with half the pictures from Marc's wallet- he could make reprints).