RPF: Father Toils Amid The Din- James McAvoy/Michael Fassbender- Part One

[copycatgirl]

Sequel to  Of A Lost King’s Daughter.

Hush, the waves are rolling in,
White with foam, white with foam,
Father toils amid the din,
But baby sleeps at home.

- Gaelic Cradle Song


Prologue: Almost three years after Sara McAvoy-Fassbender was born.

"Do I smell food?" Michael says, coming into the kitchen, pulling out a chair and sinking down into it, worn out.

"Just fish and chips, I didn't think either of us were up to cooking tonight." James replies, "You gotten her off to sleep?"

"Yes. She just wanted the story about the giraffe three times in a row. That giraffe will be the death of me, James. Every night I think I'm gonna wake up and see it looming over me."

"Eat something before you get delirious," James says amusedly, putting a plate of chips down in front of his husband, and then sitting opposite him.

"Thanks, I'm starving," Michael moans, taking his knife and fork in either hand and beginning to shovel the hot, greasy chips into his mouth.

"You've got quite an appetite lately," James comments, tilting his head to look at Michael fondly. Michael looks up, smirking guiltily.

"I can't help it. I'm just so hungry all the time. I need to sort it out."

"What do you need to sort out, exactly?"

Michael looks down, blushing a little but still grinning, albeit sheepishly.

"My eating. I need to start getting back in shape. I don't know if you've noticed James, but I've, eh, put on a bit of weight recently." James cracks a smile. Michael cocks his head. "What's that little face for, McAvoy?"

"Nothing. I just… I may have noticed. And I may find it rather cute."

"Pfft. Cute, indeed. I'm not cute, I'm downright sexy," Michael growls, trying to pull a seductive face but failing miserably. "But no, either way, this food isn't doing me much good. I threw up this morning, you know."

James' face falls.

"What, again? That's the third time this week, Michael."

"While you were downstairs with Sara. Don't worry about me, it's fine," Michael brushes it off, waving a hand. James falls silent, so Michael turns his full attention back to the chips.

"Do you think it'd be nice for Sara to have a little brother or sister?" James blurts suddenly. Michael chokes on his mouthful of chips and has to have a few gulps of water and a coughing fit before he can speak.

"Erm… yes? I dunno, I had thought about it a bit, but do we even know if that's possible? I know more's known about it now, but has it even changed your biology permanently? Or was it just a one off thing with Sara?"

"I think it's permanent... And, er, Michael?"

"Yes?"

"There's something else I should tell you… you know how I had Sara?"

"How could I forget?" Michael laughs, "You gave me the most wonderful daughter I could have ever asked for. Why do you look so anxious, James? You're starting to scare me, stop it."

"Sorry," James says, shaking his head, "I know it's silly, but- I think that maybe… perhaps…"

"Are you trying to tell me you're expecting another baby, James? Because I would love that, honestly. I love you and would love to have another child with you."

"Oh! Oh, well, that's lovely, Michael, and thank you," James stutters, "But… it might not be me."

"What do you mean, it mightn't be you?"

"Well, yesterday I was reading an article about the drug, and the details about what might potentially become an available procedure… well one of the theories, Michael, is that I can… pass the ability on."

"Pass it on?"

"Mm-hm."

Michael looks blankly at him, until the realisation dawns in his face. He points wordlessly at his own stomach. James nods.

"Shit." Michael sits back in his chair. James watches him nervously, waiting. Michael puts one hand over his face, and his shoulders start to shake, and James rises and makes to go towards him, thinking he's crying. But then he catches the sounds that Michael is making- and he realises he's laughing. Michael looks up, and there are tears in his eyes, but the laughter continues; they're tears of shock and incredulity, but happy tears. "I love you," he grins, "You're gonna have to tell me how to do this."

"I love you too," James breathes, "And it's like this," and then he presses one hand against Michael's stomach, and kisses him hard.

* * *

The first thing to do is to go and see Doctor Lesley Ashton, who they kept in touch with, as soon as possible; and the pregnancy tests and ultrasound confirm that yes, Michael is pregnant with James' baby. He's further along than they thought, already at ten weeks. Michael starts laughing, again, and if Lesley hadn't come to know Michael fairly well over the past few years of checkups and health visits to Sara, she would've been quite alarmed at his reaction. The first tell-tale sign of Michael's pregnancy; of his hormones shifting and intensifying, aside from his morning sickness and the tiny curve of his belly; is his new need to sleep. He is obviously exhausted, but doesn't seem to feel it; when he's awake, he's full of energy, but he will suddenly crash, and can nap for hours in the middle of the afternoon, which is a little frustrating for James, left to care for Sara on his own, but he knows he can't blame him. Michael's body is having to get ready to house a new life, and if Michael needs to sleep, then he needs to sleep. Besides, Sara is a very well behaved child (better behaved that he ever remembers being himself), and if he really needs help, Jennifer is always willing to come over, living just a couple of streets away now, with Nicholas and their baby son.

James is sitting with Sara perched in his lap, brushing her hair, whilst Michael dozes in the next room, when he decides it's time to tell her.

“Sara?” he says.

“Yes, Daddy?” Sara replies, turning her head to look at him.

“Do you think you’d like to have a little baby brother or sister?”

Sara’s eyes light up, and James knows she knows: he has always thought her a very perceptive child.

“Are you going to have a baby, Daddy?”

“Not me,” James smiles, “I had you, but Papa’s going to have this baby.”

“Will Papa get a big tummy like Auntie Jenny when she had her baby?” Sara asks, her little face crinkling in curiousity.

“Yes,” James says, chuckling at how this is the first thing Sara wants to ask, “Yes, when the baby grows, it needs more room inside Papa’s tummy. Not quite sure yet how he’ll feel about this.”

“Why is Papa having a baby when he’s a man?” Sara questions, looking puzzled but mainly just interested, “Other people who have babies are ladies.”

“We’re a different kind of family, sweetheart,” James tells her.

“Special?” Sara asks,

“Yes. Special.”

When Michael wakes up, it's early evening, and he can hear James and Sara playing in the kitchen, and can smell food cooking. He's starving hungry, so gets to his feet, scratching his stomach, making his t-shirt ride up. He's sure his hair is ruffled and his eyes are squinty, but he's also sure that if he doesn't eat right now then he'll have a tantrum and/or die.

As soon as he steps into the kitchen, Sara squeaks and run at him, hitting him with as much force as a three year old can build up, and hugging his legs.

"Hey, you," Michael says amusedly, "What's gotten into you, eh?"

"Daddy told me," Sara says excitedly, bounding up and down in front of Michael.

"What did daddy tell you?" Michael asks, looking up from Sara at James, who smiles and shrugs as though to say, We had to tell her sometime.

"You're having a baby!" Sara shrieks. She presses her head to Michael's tummy. "Hello, baby!" Michael laughs, and picks her up.

"Baby can't hear you. Not yet. Maybe when it's a bit bigger you can talk to the baby. Are you going to be the best big sister in the world?"

Sara nods vigorously.

"I love you," Michael tells her.

"Love you too," she replies. Michael puts her down, and she toddles happily off to the lounge. Michael smiles at James.

"She seems happy about it."

"I'm sorry to have told her without you there, I just wanted her to know," James replies.

"No no, it's alright, I'd been thinking perhaps you should anyway. I think if she'd been told with me in the room, she might have thrown herself at me with such excitement- much like she just demonstrated- that she'd do some damage," Michael grins. James takes a step towards him and puts his arms around him, smiling. "Does she want a boy or a girl?" Michael asks.

"She hasn't said. What do you want?"

"I just want a baby. I don't mind."

"A little boy would be nice though, wouldn't it?" James says softly.

"Don't get ahead of yourself," Michael smirks, putting one hand on his stomach, "It isn't even the size of a banana yet."

"I love you." James chirps, just to remind him.

"I love you too. So much."

* * *

When James was pregnant, he put on weight evenly, pretty much everywhere, on his backside, thighs, hips, tummy, in his face: even his fingers swelled so that after a while he was forced to stop wearing his engagement ring; and Michael had devoured every curve and was loving and attentive and generally made James feel comfortable with himself. There's still something slightly feminine and motherly about James' body that won't go away, but he's okay with the idea that he's stuck with that hint of softness and that he'll never be as skinny as he was when he first started acting. It doesn't bother him; he isn't a young boy anymore, he's an established actor and he's happily married, he doesn't need to look a certain way to get roles or attention.

Michael, unfortunately, is not the same; his body is reacting in an entirely different way. His morning sickness doesn't stop when it was expected to, it only gets worse, so that he's vomiting excessively every single morning, and feels too nauseous to eat for most of the day. He starts to lose weight. His face and his arms are getting thinner, the ghost of his ribs can be seen through his chest, just above the small bump. At first he resists James' suggestions that they call Lesley, saying that it'll probably settle down soon and he doesn't want to bother her. But after he faints for the first time- thankfully onto the sofa which he had just stood up from- he agrees that they need to find out what's going on.

Apparently, from what the doctor can tell, Michael has Transient Hyperthyroidism of Hyperemesis Gravidarum ("Try saying that when you're drunk," Michael comments immediately).

"It isn't Graves' Disease," she tells them, "Because you lack the typical swelling of the throat-"

"Good, because that's the most horrible ominous name for a disease ever." Michael interrupts.

"It's incredibly rare- ("Typical," moans Michael, "Ssh!" hisses James) but it's a self-containing illness. In nearly all cases of it in pregnant women, it stabilises and clears up by eighteen weeks. Hopefully, this will be the same with you. If it isn't, we'll have to work out further actions to take."

"Had to be me, didn't it," Michael sighs, "James, you didn't get hyperactive thigh disease, why have I?"

"Michael, you've always had hyperactive thigh disease. It's probably the reason we got together." James grins.

"So I just have wait for it to stop?" Michael asks Lesley, after slapping the back of James' leg lightly.

"I'm afraid so," she replies, "But you have to try and eat foods that will be easier to keep down, or your weight gain will be insufficient for you and for your baby. Try high-carb, non-milky foods. Bread is a good one, and often baby rusks."

"I can't eat Sara's rusks, she'd kill me," Michael smiles.

"We'll get you your own," James tells him.

"You're taking all the vitamins I recommended, aren't you?" Lesley asks Michael.

"Of course," Michael nods, "Even the yucky red ones."

"Christ's sake, "yucky"? I am married to a five-year-old," James tuts.

"So," Michael continues, "I just have to keep taking them, get some meat on my bones, and it'll go away?"

"Hopefully."

"Good good," Michael says, clapping his hands together, "James, you're Scottish, when we get home can you fry me some bread?"

* * *

Michael knows that sometimes things have to get worse before they get better, but not like this. He is managing to keep food down now, but has completely lost his appetite, and often refuses to eat altogether, the discomfort it causes him. His skin is pale and clammy, and his hands shake intermittently. He's still losing weight to the point that James is extremely concerned. It isn't for a couple of days that James realises what it is.

"God, I need a drink." Michael moans.

"Oh fuck." James says, as it dawns on him.

"What?" Michael asks, looking over at him.

"I think I know why you're so sick. You're going through withdrawal."

"Come off it," Michael snorts, "No I'm not. I'm not an alcoholic."

"You don't have to be an alcoholic to go through withdrawal. I mean, if I stopped drinking coffee, I'd go through a genuine caffeine withdrawal. It's the same with you and alcohol, your body is used to you drinking it and now you've just… stopped. Your body doesn't like it."

"Well, I'm not the biggest fan either," Michael grumbles. There's a silence, and then, "Couldn't I just have-"

"Michael!" James exclaims, shocked that he's even considering it.

"Aren't there studies now that say a certain percentage of alcohol content is safe as certain stages?" Michael says, almost pleading.

"New studies that aren't confirmed and all apply to women," James says sternly, "Michael, we can't risk it. I'm sorry, but we just can't…" He leans forward to put a hand on Michael's knee. "I know it's difficult, but you have to beat this, Michael. I know you can't bear the thought of it most of the time, but you need to force yourself to eat properly. You… losing weight like this, it's really not good for the baby. Or for you."

"I know, I know," Michael mutters, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It isn't your fault." James looks at Michael, looking so small and unwell, and is overwhelmed with pity. "Darling. Look, let's try and start you off slowly, okay? Foods that are easier to eat, soups and smoothies and stuff."

"Could you- ah-" Michael starts hesitantly.

"What? Go on, it's okay. I'll do whatever I can to help you."

"Could you feed me?" he asks quietly.

James almost laughs at Michael's wariness.

"Beautiful, of course I will. Are you hungry now?"

Michael nods tentatively.

"Come to the kitchen, we'll find you something."

Michael reaches out a hand, and James leads him to the kitchen like a child.

* * *

Sara runs at Ian as soon as he's stepped into the house, so he scoops her up in his arms and gives her a big hug.

"Hello, my dear," he says to her, "How are you?"

"Papa's having a baby!" she tells him happily. This has become her method of greeting people she knows- James is just glad that, at age three, she doesn't really know anyone well outside of their immediate friendship group. The idea of Sara letting it slip to someone isn't too horrifying; it would be easy to pass it off as one of those silly things that three-year-olds say. But it gets James thinking about the idea of telling the public. More people do know about the drug, but they don't know it's been used to success in the UK, especially by a pair of famous actors, and James doubts everyone would be wholly accepting.

"I know he is," Ian chuckles, "Your daddy and papa already told us."

"Where's Uncle Pattick?" Sara asks, using the name she calls him due to be as yet unable to pronounce 't' and 'r' next to one another.

"He has work to do, I'm afraid.  But I'll be here for a while. Have you got any more of those splendid drawings to show me?"

At this she squirms to be set down, and runs off to fetch things.

"Hello Ian," James smiles. Ian hugs him and kisses him on the cheek.

"Hello James. How are you?"

"'I'm good, thank you. And you?"

"Yes, I'm well, I'm well. Where's Michael?"

"He's sleeping upstairs," James tells him, "He just ate a while ago and it knocks him right out, he's like a puppy. It's endearing, and I know he needs it, but it does mean I have to deal with little madam on my own most of the time."

"You go up to him, I'll play with her," Ian tells him, "You deserve a break."

"Oh! Okay-' James says, startled by the offer, "Are you sure? I'll make you a cup of tea before I-"

"My dear James, I can help myself. Your daughter is a delight but I know even delights can be a handful. Go on, you go to Michael."

James grins, putting a hand on Ian's shoulder to thank him, then zips up the stairs to his and Michael's bedroom. Michael is sprawled out on the bed, shirtless, his grey tracksuit trousers riding low on his hip, the noticeably bigger bump poking out over the waistband. He's eighteen weeks along now, and as predicted and hoped, he's stopped losing weight and has gained a little back, and he has the nicest little soft curves to his hips. James crawls onto the bed with him and kisses his forehead softly. Michael stirs slowly, opening his eyes and smiling at James.

"Hey," he murmurs.

"Hi," James replies, "Thought I'd come and see how you were." He kisses him again, on the lips this time, "You look really sexy, you know."

"Do I hell," Michael scoffs.

"You do. You look really good. Now you've got some colour in your cheeks and some…" He takes hold of Michael's hips, and it doesn't need saying, "Yeah. You look amazing."

"Thank you," Michael whispers. James starts to kiss his neck; Michael's fingers knot themselves in James' hair, as James begins to rub his hand up Michael's chest and stomach. "James, stop," he murmurs. James pulls back, taking his hand away.

"Sorry," he says, shaking his head as though to clear his mind, "Sorry… Sara is downstairs, with Ian. I didn't mean to be like-"

"It's alright," Michael replies, "Please can I just kiss you?"

"Kissing works," James smiles. Michael sits up, and James' imitates, and they kiss like that, holding hands loosely on the duvet.

"God I love you," Michael breathes between kisses, "I know I might seem- a bit strange about this at times, but it's just my being not well… kind of scares me,"

"It's okay," James soothes, "It scares me too, but you're gonna be alright."

"I know. James, I just want you to know," another kiss, "I just want you to know that I am incredibly happy to be having this baby with you. And all this shit with my body going wrong and stuff- it'll be worth it, in the end. I'd go through this pain for the entire nine months and it'd- it'd be worth it."

"But that won't happen, Michael. You're getting better now, you are."

"The point still stands." Michael stares into James' eyes earnestly, "Anything would be worth it for you. For Sara, for the baby. For our family."

"Don't make me cry," James warns, only half-joking. Michael grins and rests his head against James' neck. James puts both arms around Michael and hugs him close, pressing a kiss into his hair. After a minute or so, he says, "Come on, we'd better get downstairs, Ian wanted to see you and we can't leave him looking after Sara forever." Michael suddenly bursts out laughing. "What?" James asks.

"One of the greatest living thespians of this country is downstairs, playing with fuzzy felts and doing crayon drawings with our biological daughter. Do you ever start to disbelieve our lives?"

"I try not to question it, I just go with it, in case some high power thinks I'm ungrateful," James laughs. Michael gets up and pulls on a t-shirt, and the two of them go down the stairs together. They can hear Sara's giggles echoing from the hall, and as they go into the lounge they see her sitting on the floor, shrieking with delight, Ian lying on his front facing her, playing peek-a-boo.

"Peek-a-boo stopped working with us years ago," James complains jokingly.

"Perhaps you have to be a Knight for it to still have an effect." Michael suggests.

"Give it another few years, darlings, they'll be mad not to bestow knighthoods on you," Ian says from where he is on the floor. "I'm sorry, I'm not in the most gracious position, here- I, um-" Michael reaches down and helps Ian to his feet, the older man thanking him as he brushes down his trousers. James crouches to rub noses with Sara, and ruffle her brown, strawberry-blonde streaked hair.

"D'you wanna watch telly for a bit, poppet?" he asks. She nods, and he grabs her and puts her on his shoulders to take her into the next room.

"You feeding her X-Men cartoons yet?" Ian asks Michael with a smile.

"Not yet, maybe when she's a little older," Michael replies, chuckling, "She does know that daddy plays someone called Charles and that papa plays someone called Erik. But she can't get her head around the fact that Uncle Ian plays Erik when he's more grown-up. And understandable, who could ever believe that I could ever become as handsome and dapper as you?"

"Tsk, don't be absurd. Who could ever believe that I was ever as young and attractive as you?"

"Shut up," Michael says, then panics for a split-second, reflecting on whether or not it is acceptable to tell Sir Ian McKellen to shut up, and decides quickly that after three years of friendship it is, and that Ian is such a lovely man that he would never take offence anyway, especially knowing that Michael isn't entirely in control of his own hormonal balances right now.

"You're showing," Ian notes fondly. Michael looks down at his body, putting one hand at the base of his stomach.

"Yeah, I am. Finally, thank God." Ian frowns.

"There've been complications, haven't there?"

"Yeah. My body and the baby really don't seem to like one another at all. If it's not transient hyperthyroid whatever-it's-called, it's alcohol withdrawal symptoms and if it's not that it's general nausea and colds and coughs and problems with my blood pressure. I've been a bit of a mess, I'm afraid." Ian tilts his head sympathetically.

"But you're getting better now, aren't you? You look healthy, Michael. You can see it in your eyes and your skin."

"Thank you. I feel better, I guess. Fingers crossed that things stay good now."

The conversation lulls into a happy silence, and the two of them sit down, Michael's hands coming to rest automatically on the bump.

"Oh!" Ian says suddenly, "I quite entirely forgot. Would you and James like to join Patrick and I for brunch sometime next week?"

* * *

James gets up as soon as he hears Sara start to fuss in the other room, careful not to wake Michael. She doesn’t normally wake up crying, unless she’s had a bad dream or is feeling ill, and he assumes it’s the former this time. He goes into her room and picks her up out of her cot, kissing her forehead and rocking her, letting her cheek touch his, as skin contact often soothes her. She continues to cry noisily, whilst James hushes her gently, saying,

“It’s okay, Sara, it’s okay, daddy’s here. You’re safe, I’m here…”

He trails off, hearing a noise coming from the other room, frowning, straining his ears to try and work out what it is. On realising, his eyes widen in alarm and he runs back to his own bedroom, a crying Sara still on his hip.

Michael is sitting in their bed, awake, knees drawn close the bump, crying. He looks up at James helplessly, shakes his head swiftly and then lowers it again into his hands, his shoulders heaving with sobs.

“Michael, what’s the matter?” James asks urgently, leaning close to him, “Are you hurt?”

“No, no,” Michael splutters, “I don’t know. I just heard- Sara crying and I just- I don’t- I can’t- can’t. Stop. Crying,” he chokes out between his tears. He waves one hand, victim to the ridiculous situation.

“It’s okay,” James murmurs, bewildered, “She’s fine, Michael.”

Sara, who has begun to calm down, looks at Michael, and taking in his tear-blotched face and racking sobs, is frightened by seeing her Papa cry, and so begins to howl again.

James sinks down next to Michael, putting one arm around him, the other around Sara, the covers over all three of them, and tries to quieten them both. Sara stops crying first, having found the bed to be warm and comfortable, nestling down against James’ stomach and falling asleep again. Michael’s sobs have lessened to sniffs, and James kisses his cheek profusely, which tastes of his salty tears.

“Are you alright?” James asks softly.

“Yes.” Michael replies, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened. I just- hearing her cry, James, for some reason it made me feel this overwhelming sadness. I couldn’t help it.”

“Hormones,” James sympathises, “I’ve been there, remember? I seem to recall crying loudly at you and demanding you leave me for Zoe Kravitz because she was skinnier than me. At least you haven’t gone quite that far, yet.”

“God, I’m not ready to have a baby. I’m clearly just one myself.”

“You can cry all you need to, Michael. It’s okay. It’s normal.” James reassures him, looking into his eyes, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Michael replies, leaning in and kissing him tenderly. Sara dozes on, her head on James’ tummy, and his hand placed lightly on the top of her head.

* * *
Part two is  here.