Fic: Another Sky (5/11)
Another Sky (5/11)
by me, doctorpancakes
Fandom: Nathan Barley
Pairing: Dan/Jones
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1099, this chapter (5914 so far)
Warnings: fluff
Disclaimer: I obviously don't own Nathan Barley, because if I did, it would probably have turned out, like, heartwarming. *makes heaving noises*
Author's Notes: Just following up last chapter's sexual porn with a chapter made entirely out of marshmallows. Bloody Nora!
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Neither Jones nor Dan could say precisely how long they had laid there, tangled in a trembling, giggling puddle, as they came down from the glow. Jones was the only person Dan had ever known to come with such unpretentious exuberance. It was, he had to admit, infectious. Dan sat himself up and squinted uncomfortably at the sudden intrusion of light into the room when his match ignited, but adjusted by the time his cigarette was lit.
“Are you worried?” he asked.
“A bit, yeah,” admitted Jones, allowing his head and arms to freefloat over the edge of the bed.
“Me too,” he said, exhaling slowly, letting the curls of smoke linger in the air. “I mean, you sure you really want to do this, with me?”
“Course I do, Babe,” scoffed Jones.
“Look at me, Jones. I can barely take care of myself,” he sighed, letting his head fall to one side in sad resignation.
“Don’t be stupid,” said Jones, sitting himself back up to look at Dan, moonlit and melancholy.
“But I’m - ”
“I’m crazy about you, and you’re going to be an amazing dad. Don’t fucking doubt it for a minute, yeah?” Jones was dead serious. Dan knew better than to argue. He nodded.
“Okay,” he said, and he meant it.
---
By the time Dan returned from his meeting with the publishers to discuss this and that - what kind of nonsense review bits were going on the back cover of the softcover edition, or something, whatever - Jones was busily laying old newspapers down on the floor of the room that was to become the nursery, headphones on tight, absent-mindedly dancing and mumbling bits of sound to himself.
“Dan!” he shouted, throwing his headphones off his ears. A piercing blow of toneless squeaks and exploding beats and little bleepy-bloopy noises filled the air between them.
“What’s all... this?” asked Dan, indicating the mess of haphazardly stuck-down masking tape and bits of newspaper strewn about the floor.
“Painting the nursery!” exclaimed Jones, luminous with excitement.
“What’s that, purple? Don’t they usually do pastels for nurseries?” ventured Dan, squinting at the dark splodges spreading across the walls.
“It’s the colour of space, babe! See, but they had this glow-in-the-dark paint that I’m going to use to paint in a rocket ship and the stars and planets, yeah? I’ve got it kinda sketched out like this,” Jones handed Dan a rumpled sheet of paper riddled with sketches and notes most other people would likely have found incomprehensible. “Brilliant, right? Kid’s gonna love it!”
“Are you going to leave Pluto in?” asked Dan. “You know they don’t call it one of the planets anymore.”
“Yeah, I know. Doesn’t matter. They’re still family,” smiled Jones.
---
The House of Nana Jones was a land of spices, a garden of magic, an oasis of colour in a drear, desert nation. The back garden was resplendent with exotic fruit trees, from which she made sparkling, jewel-like preserves of every colour, and a multitude of herbs, both culinary and medicinal. Whenever they visited, Dan and Jones were met with rib-crushingly enthusiastic hugs and endless cups of bright herbal tea.
When Dan had been introduced to Nana Jones for the first time, he was markedly nervous, but she had welcomed him immediately and without question.
“I can see why you found each other,” she had said, somewhat cryptically, smiling.
When they arrived at the House of Nana Jones that afternoon, nearly five years later, they were met with the comforting aromas of fresh baking and lemony peppermint tea.
“The tart’s raspberry and almond,” she said, serving up generous platefuls of food. “There’s a fair bit of limoncello and grappa in there too, but... it’s not as boozy as I thought it would be. Cream?”
“Yes please,” said Jones. Dan nodded.
“So,” she said, setting out three cups of tea and a small jug of cream, and settling down with them at the table, “what’s this news that you couldn’t tell me over the phone? Wedding bells perhaps, Little One?”
“Baby bells, actually,” said Jones, squeezing Dan’s hand with love.
“Babybels?” asked Nana Jones, eyeing her beaming grandson quizzically.
“No, baby bells,” laughed Jones.
“Oh, baby bells,” she smiled, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Oh dear, you really shouldn’t be having that much grappa if you’re pregnant, Dan.”
“Uhh, Nan,” Dan began, squinting. He glanced at Jones with mild concern.
“For God’s sake,” laughed Nana Jones, punching Dan lightly on the shoulder. “I may not get as much done as I used to, but I do remember how babies are made.”
“Of course,” Dan rolled his eyes.
“I’m very proud of you two,” she beamed. She stood, and folded them both into a warm embrace. “So. Tell me everything.”
---
Mrs. Ashcroft, on the other hand, was a harder sell on the whole thing. She was one of those mothers who, Dan suspected, had trouble at times seeing her children as fully functioning responsible adults. Never mind the fact that she was a good fifteen or so years younger than Dan himself when she and Mr. Ashcroft brought their beloved firstborn into the world. It was a wonder that she trusted him to cross the road without driving down to hold his hand every time he needed to nip across to Tesco’s for a jug of milk.
“Well,” she said, tutting quietly into the phone when Dan gave her the news, “that’s... certainly a big step.”
“Yeah,” said Dan. “We know. Obviously.”
“I just want to know,” she continued. Her speech was hesitant, peppers with many sighs, over-considered. “... that you’ve both thought about... what kind of a responsibility it is... being parents.”
“We know, Mum, for God’s sake,” Dan facepalmed. “We’re serious about it. It’s not like we're just buying a fridge together.”
“Large home appliances are serious business too, Dan,” she reminded him.
“Mum,” he sighed, “just tell me you’re happy for us, all right?”
There was a pause, and a heavy sigh, from the other end of the line.
“Of course I am, sweetheart,” she said, at long last.
“Thanks Mum,” he said.
“You father will be pleased,” she said, though Mr. Ashcroft himself would never say so and they both knew it.
“Right. Thanks Mum,” he said, and laughed to himself a little.
Chapter Six
by me, doctorpancakes
Fandom: Nathan Barley
Pairing: Dan/Jones
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1099, this chapter (5914 so far)
Warnings: fluff
Disclaimer: I obviously don't own Nathan Barley, because if I did, it would probably have turned out, like, heartwarming. *makes heaving noises*
Author's Notes: Just following up last chapter's sexual porn with a chapter made entirely out of marshmallows. Bloody Nora!
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Neither Jones nor Dan could say precisely how long they had laid there, tangled in a trembling, giggling puddle, as they came down from the glow. Jones was the only person Dan had ever known to come with such unpretentious exuberance. It was, he had to admit, infectious. Dan sat himself up and squinted uncomfortably at the sudden intrusion of light into the room when his match ignited, but adjusted by the time his cigarette was lit.
“Are you worried?” he asked.
“A bit, yeah,” admitted Jones, allowing his head and arms to freefloat over the edge of the bed.
“Me too,” he said, exhaling slowly, letting the curls of smoke linger in the air. “I mean, you sure you really want to do this, with me?”
“Course I do, Babe,” scoffed Jones.
“Look at me, Jones. I can barely take care of myself,” he sighed, letting his head fall to one side in sad resignation.
“Don’t be stupid,” said Jones, sitting himself back up to look at Dan, moonlit and melancholy.
“But I’m - ”
“I’m crazy about you, and you’re going to be an amazing dad. Don’t fucking doubt it for a minute, yeah?” Jones was dead serious. Dan knew better than to argue. He nodded.
“Okay,” he said, and he meant it.
---
By the time Dan returned from his meeting with the publishers to discuss this and that - what kind of nonsense review bits were going on the back cover of the softcover edition, or something, whatever - Jones was busily laying old newspapers down on the floor of the room that was to become the nursery, headphones on tight, absent-mindedly dancing and mumbling bits of sound to himself.
“Dan!” he shouted, throwing his headphones off his ears. A piercing blow of toneless squeaks and exploding beats and little bleepy-bloopy noises filled the air between them.
“What’s all... this?” asked Dan, indicating the mess of haphazardly stuck-down masking tape and bits of newspaper strewn about the floor.
“Painting the nursery!” exclaimed Jones, luminous with excitement.
“What’s that, purple? Don’t they usually do pastels for nurseries?” ventured Dan, squinting at the dark splodges spreading across the walls.
“It’s the colour of space, babe! See, but they had this glow-in-the-dark paint that I’m going to use to paint in a rocket ship and the stars and planets, yeah? I’ve got it kinda sketched out like this,” Jones handed Dan a rumpled sheet of paper riddled with sketches and notes most other people would likely have found incomprehensible. “Brilliant, right? Kid’s gonna love it!”
“Are you going to leave Pluto in?” asked Dan. “You know they don’t call it one of the planets anymore.”
“Yeah, I know. Doesn’t matter. They’re still family,” smiled Jones.
---
The House of Nana Jones was a land of spices, a garden of magic, an oasis of colour in a drear, desert nation. The back garden was resplendent with exotic fruit trees, from which she made sparkling, jewel-like preserves of every colour, and a multitude of herbs, both culinary and medicinal. Whenever they visited, Dan and Jones were met with rib-crushingly enthusiastic hugs and endless cups of bright herbal tea.
When Dan had been introduced to Nana Jones for the first time, he was markedly nervous, but she had welcomed him immediately and without question.
“I can see why you found each other,” she had said, somewhat cryptically, smiling.
When they arrived at the House of Nana Jones that afternoon, nearly five years later, they were met with the comforting aromas of fresh baking and lemony peppermint tea.
“The tart’s raspberry and almond,” she said, serving up generous platefuls of food. “There’s a fair bit of limoncello and grappa in there too, but... it’s not as boozy as I thought it would be. Cream?”
“Yes please,” said Jones. Dan nodded.
“So,” she said, setting out three cups of tea and a small jug of cream, and settling down with them at the table, “what’s this news that you couldn’t tell me over the phone? Wedding bells perhaps, Little One?”
“Baby bells, actually,” said Jones, squeezing Dan’s hand with love.
“Babybels?” asked Nana Jones, eyeing her beaming grandson quizzically.
“No, baby bells,” laughed Jones.
“Oh, baby bells,” she smiled, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Oh dear, you really shouldn’t be having that much grappa if you’re pregnant, Dan.”
“Uhh, Nan,” Dan began, squinting. He glanced at Jones with mild concern.
“For God’s sake,” laughed Nana Jones, punching Dan lightly on the shoulder. “I may not get as much done as I used to, but I do remember how babies are made.”
“Of course,” Dan rolled his eyes.
“I’m very proud of you two,” she beamed. She stood, and folded them both into a warm embrace. “So. Tell me everything.”
---
Mrs. Ashcroft, on the other hand, was a harder sell on the whole thing. She was one of those mothers who, Dan suspected, had trouble at times seeing her children as fully functioning responsible adults. Never mind the fact that she was a good fifteen or so years younger than Dan himself when she and Mr. Ashcroft brought their beloved firstborn into the world. It was a wonder that she trusted him to cross the road without driving down to hold his hand every time he needed to nip across to Tesco’s for a jug of milk.
“Well,” she said, tutting quietly into the phone when Dan gave her the news, “that’s... certainly a big step.”
“Yeah,” said Dan. “We know. Obviously.”
“I just want to know,” she continued. Her speech was hesitant, peppers with many sighs, over-considered. “... that you’ve both thought about... what kind of a responsibility it is... being parents.”
“We know, Mum, for God’s sake,” Dan facepalmed. “We’re serious about it. It’s not like we're just buying a fridge together.”
“Large home appliances are serious business too, Dan,” she reminded him.
“Mum,” he sighed, “just tell me you’re happy for us, all right?”
There was a pause, and a heavy sigh, from the other end of the line.
“Of course I am, sweetheart,” she said, at long last.
“Thanks Mum,” he said.
“You father will be pleased,” she said, though Mr. Ashcroft himself would never say so and they both knew it.
“Right. Thanks Mum,” he said, and laughed to himself a little.
Chapter Six