He'd been panicking all the way to Reykjavik and back, all because of the unexpected news he'd received mere moments before take-off. The truth was that he wasn't ready to be a father, no matter how reassuring Theresa had been over the phone; it wasn't that he didn't want a child of his own, but he simply couldn't bear the thought of failing them even before they were born.
Who would want a pathetic excuse of a pilot as a father – one who took seven goes to get his licence, and still lived in a shared house in order to afford his expensive hobby as an airline captain? (Not an airline, the Carolyn in his head promptly corrected him, though her real counterpart had been singularly understanding throughout the whole trip.)
He looked miserable indeed if even Douglas spared him his customary scathing quips; it was only after everyone had departed for the night that he realised someone had slipped a piece of paper into his pocket.
Fatherhood is the most terrifying experience of all, but it's worth every second of it. Trust an old fool on this one.
And for the first time since that fateful call, he smiled.