Chapter Text
The play, in Archie’s opinion, was rather boring. The fact that he was scanning the rest of the theater for Frossard instead of actually paying attention wasn’t helping his ability to follow it.
“There,” he murmured, upon spotting their quarry. “Down in the stalls.” He tried to get a better view without leaning clear out of their private balcony. He waited for a comment about this, but when he glanced back over his shoulder, Daniel was asleep, listing slightly in his gilt chair. Archie nearly dropped his opera glasses. Daniel was asleep.
He’d watched Daniel sleep before, but not as often as he’d have liked. In the nearly four years they’d been together, Daniel had vocally opposed every overture to move their relationship into a more domestic direction, even though they spent the night in one or another of their rooms with a frequency approaching routine.
Archie had been longing for something more permanent, something more intentional than Daniel staying over because he didn’t want to walk back to Bloomsbury. It was far too easy to lose himself in moments like this, when he could linger on Daniel’s even breathing, his relaxed expression, the strands of hair on his forehead just asking to be brushed back…
But reality reclaimed him as the curtain fell: if they didn’t get out of the box, they were going to lose Frossard.
“Wake up!” Archie hissed.
Daniel’s chin slipped off his hand as he jerked awake, looking confused. “What’s—”
“The play’s over. We’ve got to catch him.”
Daniel was on his feet in an instant. Archie yanked the door open, tossing a half crown to the startled box attendant. Daniel matched him stride for stride as they plunged into the crowd.
“Where was he?” Still furiously blinking sleep from his eyes, Daniel was nonetheless keeping up as they hurried down the marble steps toward the lobby.
“In the stalls.”
The crowd was beginning to flow out of the main part of the theater. Archie and Daniel pushed through the front doors, racing for the exit. Once outside, Archie pulled Daniel into the shadows, hoping they hadn’t already blown their cover with their haste. Any of the people loitering around could be in Frossard’s employ, and Frossard had to know that the Private Bureau would be following him.
“Did he accept something from someone?” Daniel asked. “Did you see?”
“No. I’d only just spotted him at the end of the performance. I’m not sure he was even here the whole time.”
He did not voice the thought that had Daniel been awake, they might have seen him sooner. He didn’t want to start an argument about that, especially when he was actually worried about Daniel’s health. This was the first time Daniel had actually gone so far as to fall asleep where he hadn’t meant to, though now that Archie was thinking about it, Daniel had uncharacteristically dozed off on the chaise longue two weeks before, when they’d been about to embark on something else entirely.
“Do you see him?” Daniel’s head jerked back and forth as he studied the crowd.
“No.” Archie cursed himself for not having taken action earlier—namely, wading directly into the stalls and dragging Frossard out by his absurd cravat.
They watched until the crowd on the pavement had cleared, but there was no sign of the man they’d been tailing for weeks already, or any of his associates.
Archie sighed. “I suppose we’ve lost him.” There was no response. He looked at Daniel.
Daniel’s eyes were nearly closed and he was breathing slowly, in through his nose and out through his mouth. His hand was pressed to the wall, as though he needed its support to stay standing.
“Are you all right?” Archie asked.
“I’m fine,” Daniel said, with force. “Let’s go.” He pushed off the wall and stalked away.
Archie had expected more elaborate invective about their failure, and Daniel’s body language wasn’t “fine” at all. Something was seriously wrong.
#
Daniel looked faintly green by the time they reached Cranbourn Street. Archie put a steadying hand on his elbow as they went inside; Daniel leaned into the touch ever so slightly. In the lift, his eyes were shut and he showed no reaction at the lift operator’s greeting, though he normally would have bristled to have been recognized by name as Archie’s frequent guest.
Once inside Archie’s flat, Daniel went to the sofa immediately while Archie flicked on the electric lights.
“Drink?” Archie hazarded. He opened the window to relieve some of the stuffiness of the flat, which had been shut up the whole August day. He closed it again a few moments later, however, when he realized that he was letting in a great quantity of smoke which had been hanging thickly outside.
Daniel shook his head. Archie poured himself a whiskey and soda and was contemplating his next step when Daniel spoke.
“Would you mind terribly making some tea?” His eyes were on the rug, and Archie could tell it was an effort for him even to make the request—both physically and mentally. “I might be able to keep tea down.”
Archie frowned, but he got up and went into the small kitchen. “You’ve been ill again?” More than once over the past few weeks, Daniel had fled to the toilets at the appearance of a pot of strong-smelling coffee in the agents’ room.
“Earlier in the evening, before we went to the theater. Tea might… settle me.”
The first winter cold he’d seen Daniel through had taught Archie that Daniel hated nothing more than the betrayal of his own body. Archie didn’t want to harp on it, but he also didn’t want Daniel to ignore what was unpleasant so long that it became a problem.
“You fell asleep,” he said. “You don’t nap, not normally. And you would never fall asleep on a mission.”
“Quiet,” Daniel snarled.
“But you did.”
Daniel’s jaw tensed. Archie could have borne what he was about to say, and Daniel knew it. His silence was even more concerning. “I’ll go back to my place,” he finally said.
“You’ll do no such thing.” Archie took down the tea tin. “I can’t send you out into the night if you’re ill.”
“I’m not—” Daniel stopped, visibly realizing that his protest was patently ridiculous. “I’m sure it’s just something I ate.”
“Something you ate, across two weeks?” Archie set the tea tray on the table.
Daniel sighed. “You’re too observant by half.”
Archie kissed his temple and poured him a cup of tea. “Milk?”
There was a pause. “No.”
Daniel usually added a copious quantity of milk. Worry settled heavily in Archie’s stomach as he watched Daniel slowly sip his cup of black tea.
They went to bed without having sex. Archie had hungered for this—for signs that their relationship was making progress domestically—but this particular situation was no such thing. Studying the slim form in his spare set of pajamas, he couldn’t tell if Daniel had lost weight. It was with a great sigh of relief that Daniel sank into bed. He appeared to be asleep before Archie turned out the light.
Archie lay awake most of the night, not dropping off to sleep until shortly before dawn. He managed only a few winks before he heard the sound of Daniel retching in the bathroom.
#
“See a doctor,” Archie said at breakfast. This was no time for anything but blunt straightforwardness.
Daniel looked at him, hollow-eyed. Archie could tell that he didn’t even have the energy for venom.
“Please,” he added, not caring if he drew Daniel’s contempt.
Daniel stared at him for a moment, cup of black tea in hand. “You think I ought to?”
“Yes.” Archie swallowed hard. “I’m worried about you.”
Despite his obvious misery, Daniel smiled. “You have been asking me to get you out of your annual physical for four years.”
Archie felt himself flush. “I know. Don’t like doctors.” The reminder was enough for a twinge of pain to manifest in his knee. “But you probably ought to find out what’s wrong with you. Two weeks, Daniel, and it’s getting worse if I’m not wrong. I don’t want… anything to happen to you.”
Daniel contemplated the naked piece of toast that was the only thing on his plate. Archie braced himself for an objection—he had taken the chance of confessing his worry, for God’s sake. Had he gone too far?
“All right.”
“Really?” Archie nearly dropped his sausage.
“Really.” Daniel took a small bite of toast and chewed slowly. “But you needn’t escort me. I don’t want you to have to go down to Macmillan’s domain if you can avoid it.”
“This would certainly count as unavoidable in my book!”
Daniel smiled, and Archie felt some of his worry ease. “Your concern is deeply appreciated, my dear. But I can get myself at least that far. And then we’ll proceed based on the good doctor’s recommendation.”
It sounded forced, even for Daniel, but Archie did not bother to object. As long as Daniel was going to see someone, that was what mattered.
#
Macmillan kept his offices in the basement of the Private Bureau for the twin purposes of patching agents up after missions and declaring them fit (or unfit) for service. Daniel had never visited them for reasons other than the dreaded annual physical. It wasn’t quite a bad basement as basements went, but neither was it reassuring.
Macmillan had absolutely no bedside manner, which suited Daniel perfectly, as he had no interest in being fussed over. He wanted to receive his diagnosis and get out with either a cure or death sentence, the better to manage his remaining time with Archie’s cock.
Macmillan made him recite his symptoms and their time of onset, and then proceeded to poke and prod at him, both inside and out. Daniel held back a cutting remark about over-familiarity, saving it for the full accounting of the proceedings he was going to have to provide to Archie. He had not been oblivious to Archie’s anxious inspection of him at bedtime and at breakfast; his enormous mother hen would want to know every word that had come out of Macmillan’s mouth.
He was so wrapped up in thinking of how he would explain the doctor’s examination to Archie without upsetting him that he barely noticed Macmillan leaving the room. The physician was gone for so long that Daniel was considering getting dressed again when Macmillan at last returned. He was carrying a large book. Daniel caught the word Child stamped on the cover before Macmillan flipped it open to a page at the back and showed Daniel the most disagreeable diagram he had ever seen in his life.
“You’re pregnant, da Silva,” Macmillan said without preamble.
“I beg your pardon?” Daniel sat up, blinking back the nausea that had surged with the sudden movement, even though a part of him liked the idea of spewing all over Macmillan.
Macmillan flipped the book shut, utterly no-nonsense. “Pregnant. Don’t tell me you didn’t know it could happen.”
“I had understood that worrying about that was akin to worrying about being struck by lightning every time one went outside.” Defensiveness was his first instinct; it kept him from having to think about what Macmillan had actually said. He couldn’t be pregnant.
“Yes, and people do get struck by lightning.”
Daniel fixed his gaze on Macmillan, but no further information seemed to be forthcoming. Macmillan was writing something on Daniel’s file; not being able to see the words made Daniel’s skin prickle with frustration. A permanent record of Macmillan’s diagnosis was the last thing he needed. Men didn’t get pregnant without having committed an illegal act, and it wasn’t something one did alone. He was uninterested in fielding questions about his accomplice.
Daniel slid off the table and began collecting his clothes. If Macmillan had no more to say to him, he had no more to say to Macmillan.
#
It was Saturday, and Archie had not gone into the office. Daniel was glad of this, as it gave him time to come up with something to say. Despite his avowal that he needed to plan an explanation, his feet carried him from Whitehall to Cranbourn Street automatically, his head vacant of thoughts.
It wasn’t until Archie was ushering him in and fussing at him for not having an umbrella that he realized it was raining.
As Archie peeled off his wet jacket, Daniel blurted, “I’m pregnant.”
Archie’s tawny eyebrows rose. “You’re what?”
“Pregnant,” he spat, feeling suddenly spiteful. “With child, increasing, in the family way. You had a hand in it, you know.”
Archie’s left hand went into his hair. His face still wore a bewildered expression that Daniel’s mood was foul enough to resent. Could the block of wood not understand simple English? “I suppose I did.” He paused. “That’s… that’s quite the thing.” He gave a little laugh. “Are you sure?”
Daniel gave him a withering look.
“Yes, I expect you are,” Archie said faintly, all trace of amusement gone from his face. “This… This is what’s been causing all the trouble?” He looked slightly doubtful, and Daniel realized that with his exclusively male upbringing, with no siblings, no cousins, Archie had very likely not been around a pregnant person before. Daniel suppressed the waspish thought that it was a miracle that he knew where babies came from or that two men sometimes made one. “I’m glad… Well, I’m glad we know what the reason is.” He paused. “Christ, Daniel, a baby. What will we do with a baby?”
“There won’t be a baby,” Daniel snarled. How could Archie think a child even had a place in Daniel’s life?
“That’s—” Wisely, Archie stopped. “That’s up to you, I suppose.” His face didn’t quite crumple, but it came very close.
The thought came as solidly and suddenly into Daniel’s brain as though he had been struck by lightning: Archie wants to be a father. He had never entertained that possibility before—because, really, how could one plan for pregnancy? Then he shouldn’t have chosen me, he thought dismissively.
“Do you, er, know what to do?” Archie’s eyebrows were still in danger of being lost in his hair.
“Yes,” Daniel answered promptly, even though what he planned to do was go to his mother and find out what his next step was. Even though he dreaded telling her, and the berating he was sure to receive from doing so, she would know what to do.
“I’m sorry,” Archie said suddenly.
“Whyever are you apologizing, my dear?”
“I don’t know.” Archie looked lost. “It seemed the thing to do. I’ve… inconvenienced you. This wouldn’t have happened to you if not for me.”
Daniel shrugged. “It could just have easily been you.”
He tried not to think of what a different conversation they might have been having, had Archie been pregnant. Archie, who probably would have worded the news in a much more awkward, much less direct fashion. He tried to picture Archie entering the flat, saying, “Well, it seems that come spring, we’ll have our own little bundle of joy.” A bundle of joy might as well have been a ball and chain when Daniel was clinging tooth and nail to the idea that he might be good at his job. He refused to be dismissed to the nursery.
Archie looked suddenly sober. “I really am sorry, Daniel.”
“I know. It’s not your fault.” He stepped forward and kissed Archie with a chasteness that surprised even himself. “I’m sorry, too.” His hand rested on Archie’s cheek. “I’ll deal with it.”
Archie’s hand tightened on Daniel’s wrist. He said nothing further, but he didn’t need to.
#
His mother looked up from the bread dough she was kneading when he stepped into the kitchen.
“What’s wrong with you?” she said by way of greeting.
Daniel leaned Archie’s umbrella up against the table and sat down. The rain had dulled London’s stench somewhat, but traveling through it had still offended his senses, and he didn’t want to begin the inevitable argument over the sink. Even as he thought this, he had to suppress the urge to retch, though he was almost certain that he’d thrown up all the toast and tea from breakfast.
His mother said, “If you’re going to be sick, do it outside.”
Daniel waited until the nausea had passed. “I’m not going to be sick.”
She poured him a mug of water from the jug on the counter and slid it across the table to him. Then she went back to her bread. “So, are you going to tell me what’s wrong with you? Is your fellow too stingy to send for the doctor?”
He bristled. Obviously he would not be able to do this as delicately as he had hoped. “I went to the doctor this morning.” Perhaps it would be easier to tell her if he broke it into its constituent parts. “He said I was pregnant.” It felt strangely distancing to phrase it as though it had been just a wild hair of McMillan’s.
His mother’s mouth tightened. “Why did you go and let a thing like that happen to you?”
“It’s nearly unheard of,” he hissed. “You cannot possibly tell me I ought to have planned for it, and you know it.”
“Well,” she said, hand going to her hip. Daniel hoped he could come up with the energy to match her if they were going to start screaming, but right now he was mainly praying not to start heaving again. “What are you planning to do about it?”
The part of Daniel that had been seeking an argument was almost regretful. “Get rid of it,” he said numbly. “I, uh…”
“Cousin Sarah.” He must not have been able to hide his surprise quickly enough, because she said, “She’s a midwife, but she does that, too.” Daniel nodded. He wasn’t going to think about how he felt about it, much less how Archie felt about it.
Presently, he felt his mother’s hand on the back of his neck, rubbing slowly. “You worried about how he’ll take it?”
“No,” he spat, feeling his anger rise. That, at least, he knew exactly how to manage.
#
“You don’t have to come with me.”
“I do.” Archie didn’t look at Daniel; his gaze was resolutely fixed on the back of the driver’s head through the cab window. “I don’t want you to faint in the street.”
“I won’t faint in the street,” Daniel snarled.
He had only had to sit down three times on his way back to Mrs. Barzyk’s, which he had made the mistake of admitting to Archie when he’d called on Daniel, unannounced, that evening. Finding him sprawled on the chaise longue, exhausted, Archie had promptly invited himself to spend the night, even though he wouldn’t be getting anything out of it. He had simply held Daniel all night in his narrow bed, though he’d known full well what Daniel intended to do in the morning. And then had insisted on accompanying Daniel to do it.
All the while not stopping him. Part of Daniel was still baffled by his behavior. He had a vague idea of what men of Archie’s class did when they knocked up lovers they couldn’t marry, and it involved fists—not getting up early to prepare toast and weak tea before handing them into cabs with almost unseemly solicitousness.
Daniel had always been too self-conscious to bring Archie into the East End. Now, he was regretting that Archie was going to meet his mother’s midwife-cum-abortionist cousin before he had met Daniel’s mother.
He sighed and pressed a hand to his abdomen. He’d have been lying if he’d said that he didn’t appreciate the swift, discreet passage through London. It would be quick getting there and quick getting back, and perhaps by the end of it he could convince Archie to go away. He was certain that when Cousin Sarah was through with him, he would want to be left alone. Probably for the next decade.
“You’d do the same if it was me,” Archie said.
“My dear, I can say with certainty we would not be doing this if it was you.”
“Well.” Archie shifted awkwardly in his seat. “You’re probably right.” His hand found Daniel’s. “But we’re doing it now.”
Daniel turned to look out the window as the cab crawled down High Holborn. He was thinking about the phrase “a bundle of joy.” In Daniel’s experience, “bundles of screaming and shit” was more apt.
But they didn’t stay that way, of course.
Daniel suddenly felt almost as though there was a small form in the cab, sitting between him and Archie. The sensation was so strong that he actually looked down, but, of course, there was no little cap at his shoulder. His imagination was running away with him, making him curious about what his and Archie’s child might be like. Fair or dark? He wondered what Archie had weighed at birth. No doubt something ridiculous like one stone and then Daniel would be expected to birth that.
Or the child might start life small, even if it got bigger later. His nephew Felix was threatening to do that—he’d weighed practically nothing at birth and now got mistaken for years older than he was. Children grew, he knew that well enough. His older nieces and nephews could carry on conversations, and he enjoyed spending time with many of them. He could encourage a child’s love of learning, share his favorite books…
He glanced at Archie, who was still pretending interest in the passing shopfronts. Archie would be a wonderful father. The image of him holding a baby was almost too saccharine to entertain. No doubt he would be no actual help, but it made a very pretty picture indeed.
#
The small person was still in his mind when the cab came to a stop at a pub on Old Montague Street. Daniel hadn’t given the driver Cousin Sarah’s specific address, partly out of habit, and mostly because her house was in the middle of a maze of alleys no vehicle could reach. As they descended to the street, the cap in his vision shifted into an oversized bow. He’d helped with his younger sisters often enough to consider himself competent with braids and ribbons, and he could practically touch the thick hair on the child’s head… It would be unlikely that they’d produce a blonde offspring but he couldn’t dismiss the image from his mind. He remembered being told as a child his eyelashes, his hair, were wasted on a boy, so they’d be put to quite good use on a daughter.
“What was your mother’s name?” Daniel asked Archie.
“Hm?” Archie was paying the driver. Belatedly realizing how out-of-the-blue the question was, Daniel almost said “Never mind,” but instead, he repeated it.
Archie blinked and seemed to think for a moment. “Alice. Alice Vaizey.”
Daniel nodded. Alice da Silva, he thought, and as he led Archie towards Cousin Sarah’s, he saw little Alice in new kidskin boots, on the way to see her grandparents, with Archie and himself lifting her over gutters to preserve her pretty footwear.
Cousin Sarah did not have any sign on her house. She was well known for her primary profession, and the side operation could not be advertised. Daniel knocked briskly, as though they were investigating a case and paying a call to ask her questions.
“Daniel.” His arrival did not seem unanticipated. She ushered them in, shutting the door nearly on Archie’s arse.
“I don’t get many male visitors,” she said by way of explanation. She gazed at them assessingly. “Your friend isn’t too discreet, is he?”
“He is terribly noticeable.” Daniel wondered how much his mother had told Sarah. “I need your help.”
“So I gathered.” She waved them onto a flowered sofa. Sarah’s front parlor was somewhat shabby, but meticulously clean; Daniel imagined it was reassuring to most of her patients. “You’ve got yourself in trouble?”
Archie stiffened.
“Yes,” Daniel said. “I need help with it.”
Sarah nodded. “Come on back.”
Archie made to rise with Daniel, but Sarah waved him back. “Just him.”
Daniel was aware of Archie staring resolutely and expressionlessly forward as he followed Sarah.
“What do you need, dear boy?” she asked, once they were alone.
The options both seemed so real and complete to him. No turning back now. “Something to stop the nausea.”
Cousin Sarah blinked once in surprise. “That’s not the impression I got from your mother.”
“I changed my mind.”
She jerked her head at the door to indicate Archie. “He’s not the problem, is he?”
“No,” Daniel said, though he understood why she didn’t trust Archie. “He hasn’t said a word, but I think he wants to keep it.”
“Is that what you want?”
The possibility of disaster loomed before him. Did they truly want to take on this responsibility? Their lives were far from perfect, but Daniel had fancied what they had was working, or on the way to working. A baby would upend everything.
But Daniel could no longer deny that he wanted this, with an intensity that alarmed him—the same intensity with which he’d wanted Archie in the first place. Perhaps it was out of vanity that he wanted to know what kind of child he and Archie might make—or curiosity. God knows he was guilty enough of both.
He knew what he ought to do, but avoiding what he ought to do felt as natural as breathing.
“Yes.” He didn’t offer any further explanation.
Sarah regarded him for a moment, and then turned to her apothecary’s cabinet. “It won’t be easy.”
“I know,” he bit out, thinking of work, of Vaizey, of the agents champing at the bit to see da Silva slip.
“I mean physically. You aren’t made for easy delivery.”
“I know.” If he came to regret this come spring, so be it. “Are you going to help me or not?”
“Of course I am.” She was smirking. “Your mother would never forgive me, for one thing, and I don’t want to be on her bad side. Now, lie down and let me see what I’m dealing with.”
So, for the second time in as many days, Daniel found himself being poked and prodded by a medical professional. Sarah had a lighter touch than Macmillan, but he was still glad when she was finished.
“I should think you’re looking at April.” She handed him a small bag. “Ginger. Make your tea with it. It should help. Come back and see me if it doesn’t, or if you change your mind.” That was reassuring, even though Daniel didn’t plan to reconsider this choice.
Archie rocketed out of his seat on seeing Daniel. “That’s it?” he said. He stopped, cowed. “I thought it might take longer.” He handed Daniel his hat.
“She gave me something. Something for nausea,” he added, when Archie looked pale. He didn’t want fifteen stone of squeamish Viking crashing down on him.
“But you—” Archie swallowed. “You’re surely not—”
“Going to keep it, yes.”
Archie’s mouth dropped open.
“Don’t tell me you changed your mind,” Daniel hissed.
“I never said—”
“Yes, but I saw your face, and it was plain as day. You didn’t want to evict the passenger.”
“It’s not my—” Archie stopped. “I’m not the cab.”
“Yes, well.” Having made his decision, Daniel felt suddenly absurd. He was actually going to go through with it. “I am allowed to change my mind.”
Archie’s stunned expression turned into a faint smile. “It’s just not often that you do that.”
Although he agreed with that statement, Daniel opened his mouth to lodge a protest, but Archie’s arms descended around him, nearly lifting him off his feet.
“Stop.” Sarah had surely guessed all that there was to guess, but only a set of white lace curtains hid them from the rest of the world.
“Just give me this moment. Please.”
Daniel reluctantly complied, allowing himself the comfort of Archie’s warmth, but at length, he said, “Let go of me. We have work to do, and we only have until April.”