Fic: Another Sky (7/11)
Another Sky (7/11)
by me, doctorpancakes
Fandom: Nathan Barley
Pairing: Dan/Jones
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1149, this chapter (8707 so far)
Warnings: mentions of ladies' complaints, women talking amongst themselves
Disclaimer: oh Gosh, I still don't own them.
Author's Notes: This chapter is late because last night I had my once-every-two-years reminder of why I don't drink. Oh you're a responsible grown-up, I tell myself, forgetting that what makes most people a little giggly makes me vomit blood. So yeah, this chapter should have been up last night, but I was busy swaddled in towels and sleeping on my bathroom floor.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Carys stepped out of the shower and frowned. She stared down at where she supposed her feet still were, though they had long since been obscured by the vast expanse of her belly. This was weird. Regardless of how normal this whole process was supposed to be, it was all she could do to keep from having nightmare visions most closely resembling that one scene in Alien, and - worse - of never losing the baby weight. This whole thing was just gross. It was anathema to her entire way of life.
Claire arrived just as she was finished dressing. Claire was taking her to the doctor that day.
“Hiya,” she smiled.
“Oh, hey Claire,” said Carys.
“How’s everything?” asked Claire. “You all right?”
“Yeah, I’m great. I have to pee every five seconds, and then when I go pee, I don’t even pee,” Carys moaned. “You don’t want to know what else is happening to me, Claire. I’m turning into an itchy monster. Where’s the pregnant fucking glow?”
“You've probably just got an infection, that's normal,” said Claire.
“But they won't let you take any of the drugs when you're pregnant!” cried Carys, slumping forward into a blubbering heap. “And I look like a flaming Zeppelin! ‘Oh look, it’s a passing airship,’ people would say as I walked by. ‘Why that’s not an airship, it’s just Carys Ffordd Allan!’”
“Fuck’s sake, you look fine,” sighed Claire. “Let’s just get you to the doctor, all right? Then we’ll meet Nathan for lunch. And you will eat lunch, Carys.”
“...yeah,” Carys nodded, sniffling.
---
“She could still change her mind, Dan,” said Jones. “What if she changes her mind?”
“I don’t know,” said Dan, shaking his head, and fumbling about the coffee table in search of his cigarette pack. “Do you really think that’s likely?”
“Not likely, no,” conceded Jones, “but what if she does?”
Dan had never really considered the possibility. What if she did? Another failure to add to Dan Ashcroft’s List of Failures, which had to be at least the length of his book by now, he thought. Jones would get over it, find another way, start again, make it happen: Jones was relentless.
---
Carys sighed into her tea. Her morning had been spent largely in an unfashionable paper gown, while being prodded by trained professionals who spent a lot of time shining cold lights into her birth canal before ultimately concluding that yes, she was still pregnant, and yes, everything was healthy.
“Would somebody just get this thing out of me? I look like a fucking whale shark,” she moaned.
“You’ve gained like five pounds,” said Claire, with an exasperated sigh. “If I sneezed in your direction, I’d send you flying across the room.”
“Thanks Claire,” sighed Carys.
“Umm, maybe this is a bad question, but... do you have any plans for, you know, after?” asked Claire.
“Few weeks in Paris with some mates there, get my figure back, then New York,” she said, fishing her phone out of her purse. “Got some folks there dying to get me back to work already!”
“That’s... that’s really good,” said Claire.
“See, here’s a picture of me with Lady Gaga at a party,” she shrugged, shoving her mobile phone screen in Claire’s face. “She was proper jealous of my shoes, right? They were especially made for me by Emmanuel Kunt? Can’t fit into them now, mind you.”
“Emmanuel Kunt?” repeated Claire, incredulously.
“Lovely fellow,” she enthused. “Anyway, he’s launching a new thing in New York and insists that I be a part of it, so there you go.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” smiled Claire.
“Yeah,” said Carys. She paused then, and breathed, quietly. “It’ll be weird, going back, as if I’d only been on holiday or something. I’m really happy to be doing this, you know? But it’s proper weird. It’s like, I don’t know. But it’s good, yeah?”
“Yeah, it’s good,” said Claire, sipping her tea.
---
Admittedly, Jones did not have much experience with children. He grew up more or less entirely in the company of his grandmother, no aunts or uncles or cousins about - and he could not say for certain whether or not he had brothers or sisters - or nieces or nephews, for that matter - out there, wherever his mother ended up, and presumably there were no siblings on Dad’s side either, or he would likely have not been nearly so generous in his will. So Jones grew up used to the company of adults, and apart from the other kids at school, that was about it. This desire - this need - to be a parent, was not something he could easily explain. Something about Dan, perhaps, a feeling. This was something that would be good. This was something they were ready for - as ready as anyone ever is, he reminded himself. None of this made it any less terrifying, and none of that terror made the possibility of it somehow not happening any less heartbreaking.
Jones worried more than he let on. It was still not that often that he worried; no sense worrying about things we had no control over, he always said, but at times this was a harder rule to adhere to than others. He knew Dan worried about not being a good parent; he worried about not getting the chance to be parents at all. He snuggled into Dan’s side as Dan sat and smoked, and let the ocean of Dan’s breaths float him back to a hopeful place.
“Cuppa coffee?” he asked.
“Thanks,” said Dan.
“Genius,” he smiled weakly, toddling off to the kitchen.
---
Five years previous, Dan Ashcroft jumped out of a window. His bones healed, his casts were removed, and he was left with a cane and a little limp and a flatmate who - for reasons he never quite fully understood - loved him very much.
Jones bounced up and down to the sound of waves lapping at the shore, barefoot and for once unencumbered by wires. When he had first come to Goa - fresh out of school and looking to find himself - he spent two weeks straight on, he was quite sure, no sleep, carried forward and forward on pure momentum, finding luminous clarity within the trance there. When he brought Dan along that one winter, however, he knew the trance would not afford Dan the peace he was taking tiny steps towards. Instead, Jones found himself doing twists and backbends in the sun, his bright sarong fluttering gently in the breeze, while Dan dozed softly on the sand like a cat in that one spot on the carpet where the sun filters in through the window.
Chapter Eight
by me, doctorpancakes
Fandom: Nathan Barley
Pairing: Dan/Jones
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1149, this chapter (8707 so far)
Warnings: mentions of ladies' complaints, women talking amongst themselves
Disclaimer: oh Gosh, I still don't own them.
Author's Notes: This chapter is late because last night I had my once-every-two-years reminder of why I don't drink. Oh you're a responsible grown-up, I tell myself, forgetting that what makes most people a little giggly makes me vomit blood. So yeah, this chapter should have been up last night, but I was busy swaddled in towels and sleeping on my bathroom floor.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Carys stepped out of the shower and frowned. She stared down at where she supposed her feet still were, though they had long since been obscured by the vast expanse of her belly. This was weird. Regardless of how normal this whole process was supposed to be, it was all she could do to keep from having nightmare visions most closely resembling that one scene in Alien, and - worse - of never losing the baby weight. This whole thing was just gross. It was anathema to her entire way of life.
Claire arrived just as she was finished dressing. Claire was taking her to the doctor that day.
“Hiya,” she smiled.
“Oh, hey Claire,” said Carys.
“How’s everything?” asked Claire. “You all right?”
“Yeah, I’m great. I have to pee every five seconds, and then when I go pee, I don’t even pee,” Carys moaned. “You don’t want to know what else is happening to me, Claire. I’m turning into an itchy monster. Where’s the pregnant fucking glow?”
“You've probably just got an infection, that's normal,” said Claire.
“But they won't let you take any of the drugs when you're pregnant!” cried Carys, slumping forward into a blubbering heap. “And I look like a flaming Zeppelin! ‘Oh look, it’s a passing airship,’ people would say as I walked by. ‘Why that’s not an airship, it’s just Carys Ffordd Allan!’”
“Fuck’s sake, you look fine,” sighed Claire. “Let’s just get you to the doctor, all right? Then we’ll meet Nathan for lunch. And you will eat lunch, Carys.”
“...yeah,” Carys nodded, sniffling.
---
“She could still change her mind, Dan,” said Jones. “What if she changes her mind?”
“I don’t know,” said Dan, shaking his head, and fumbling about the coffee table in search of his cigarette pack. “Do you really think that’s likely?”
“Not likely, no,” conceded Jones, “but what if she does?”
Dan had never really considered the possibility. What if she did? Another failure to add to Dan Ashcroft’s List of Failures, which had to be at least the length of his book by now, he thought. Jones would get over it, find another way, start again, make it happen: Jones was relentless.
---
Carys sighed into her tea. Her morning had been spent largely in an unfashionable paper gown, while being prodded by trained professionals who spent a lot of time shining cold lights into her birth canal before ultimately concluding that yes, she was still pregnant, and yes, everything was healthy.
“Would somebody just get this thing out of me? I look like a fucking whale shark,” she moaned.
“You’ve gained like five pounds,” said Claire, with an exasperated sigh. “If I sneezed in your direction, I’d send you flying across the room.”
“Thanks Claire,” sighed Carys.
“Umm, maybe this is a bad question, but... do you have any plans for, you know, after?” asked Claire.
“Few weeks in Paris with some mates there, get my figure back, then New York,” she said, fishing her phone out of her purse. “Got some folks there dying to get me back to work already!”
“That’s... that’s really good,” said Claire.
“See, here’s a picture of me with Lady Gaga at a party,” she shrugged, shoving her mobile phone screen in Claire’s face. “She was proper jealous of my shoes, right? They were especially made for me by Emmanuel Kunt? Can’t fit into them now, mind you.”
“Emmanuel Kunt?” repeated Claire, incredulously.
“Lovely fellow,” she enthused. “Anyway, he’s launching a new thing in New York and insists that I be a part of it, so there you go.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” smiled Claire.
“Yeah,” said Carys. She paused then, and breathed, quietly. “It’ll be weird, going back, as if I’d only been on holiday or something. I’m really happy to be doing this, you know? But it’s proper weird. It’s like, I don’t know. But it’s good, yeah?”
“Yeah, it’s good,” said Claire, sipping her tea.
---
Admittedly, Jones did not have much experience with children. He grew up more or less entirely in the company of his grandmother, no aunts or uncles or cousins about - and he could not say for certain whether or not he had brothers or sisters - or nieces or nephews, for that matter - out there, wherever his mother ended up, and presumably there were no siblings on Dad’s side either, or he would likely have not been nearly so generous in his will. So Jones grew up used to the company of adults, and apart from the other kids at school, that was about it. This desire - this need - to be a parent, was not something he could easily explain. Something about Dan, perhaps, a feeling. This was something that would be good. This was something they were ready for - as ready as anyone ever is, he reminded himself. None of this made it any less terrifying, and none of that terror made the possibility of it somehow not happening any less heartbreaking.
Jones worried more than he let on. It was still not that often that he worried; no sense worrying about things we had no control over, he always said, but at times this was a harder rule to adhere to than others. He knew Dan worried about not being a good parent; he worried about not getting the chance to be parents at all. He snuggled into Dan’s side as Dan sat and smoked, and let the ocean of Dan’s breaths float him back to a hopeful place.
“Cuppa coffee?” he asked.
“Thanks,” said Dan.
“Genius,” he smiled weakly, toddling off to the kitchen.
---
Five years previous, Dan Ashcroft jumped out of a window. His bones healed, his casts were removed, and he was left with a cane and a little limp and a flatmate who - for reasons he never quite fully understood - loved him very much.
Jones bounced up and down to the sound of waves lapping at the shore, barefoot and for once unencumbered by wires. When he had first come to Goa - fresh out of school and looking to find himself - he spent two weeks straight on, he was quite sure, no sleep, carried forward and forward on pure momentum, finding luminous clarity within the trance there. When he brought Dan along that one winter, however, he knew the trance would not afford Dan the peace he was taking tiny steps towards. Instead, Jones found himself doing twists and backbends in the sun, his bright sarong fluttering gently in the breeze, while Dan dozed softly on the sand like a cat in that one spot on the carpet where the sun filters in through the window.
Chapter Eight