Title: Family Portrait
Author: homesweethomicide13
Rating: T
Pairing: BardaLindal, mentions LiefJasmine and Jarda
Warning: Profanity
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: AU. When Barda met Lindal, he knew they were meant to be. Now, twenty years down the line, their constant fighting has led to their separation, and only their youngest children can bring them back together.
Family Portrait
Chapter 1
It was his phone that woke him. Not his alarm clock, which should have gone off three hours earlier, nor the noisy dog next door, who had been barking at the same cat for the last hour, and certainly not the five children playing loudly with a ball on the field behind the two bedroom flat he called his home. As the shrill rings echoed from the hall, he slowly dragged the bed sheets down from over his head, and glared at the red digital numbers on the alarm clock next to his head. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized he was late for something, but he couldn't figure out what. Groaning with the effort, he sat up and got out of bed, shuffling across the room towards the door. His foot caught on the edge of his bed and he stumbled into the door, the handle catching him just above his eye. Hissing with pain, he pulled himself upright and turned the offending handle, forcing the door open wide enough to slip out into the hall.
The phone was still ringing by the time he got to it – which was surprising since it had taken him at least five minutes to get there. He lifted the receiver and held it to one ear, rubbing at one eye at the same time.
"Yeah, what do you want?" He growled out.
"What a pleasant way to answer your phone." He cringed at the voice on the other end. Without saying another word, he went on a search for his cigarettes. There was no way he could get through a phone call with her without nicotine in his system. "I'm just calling to make sure you haven't forgotten." He found an old, crushed packet in the kitchen, and stuck an equally crumpled cigarette between his lips. Now to search for a lighter.
"Forgotten what?" He asked her as he lifted papers and books on the kitchen table in an attempt to look for his lighter. He had long ago mastered the art of speaking coherently with a cigarette between his lips.
"Oh for…" There was a pause, and a frustrated sigh. "You do know what today is, right?" He gave up on the lighter and instead made a beeline for the oven, bending to light the hob. It clicked into life after a pause, and a glorious orange flame burst out, flickering at the metal grate surrounding it. He bent forward, touching the end of his cigarette to the fire.
"Today? Uh… shit," he hissed as one flame sparked up and licked at his face. He bolted backwards, rubbing at the spot and scowled at the hob. He took a long draw on his cigarette, and exhaled with bliss. "Sure, I know what today is." He glanced over at the calendar on his wall – which, he noticed, was now two years out of date. "It's a Saturday, right?" He cringed again – he could practically hear how furious she was.
"I do not believe you!" She was almost screaming at him now. "How can you forget your own child's birthday?" He held the phone away from his ear, wincing at the sudden rise in volume. He took another long draw on his cigarette, and waited for the screeching to stop.
"I knew what the day was; don't get all squeaky on me." He sighed, rolling his eyes. There was a long pause on her end, and he could visualise her clutching at the phone, thinking up new ways of killing him. "So, what… you want me to come over?"
"I want you to be on time, and presentable." She barked at him. "I won't have you ruining their eighth birthday by stumbling in late, and drunk, like at their seventh birthday party." He rolled his eyes again.
"I was not drunk. I'd had a couple of beers, that's all."
"You couldn't even stand up!"
"I have balance issues!"
"That's bullshit and you bloody know it!"
"Will you just relax? Jeez. I'll be there." He listened as she tried to calm herself down on the other end. He heard her take several deep breaths.
"You had better be, or so help me I will come down there myself and drag your sorry ass over here so your children can see what a worthless, useless, lazy piece of shit you really are."
"Okay, ouch."
"4:30pm. Do not be late." There was a click, and then the dial tone sounded in his ear. She'd hung up on him, again. He stood for a moment with the phone still pressed to his ear, cigarette smouldering away in his other hand. He walked back to the hall and replaced the receiver with a sigh, and stuck the cigarette back between his lips. He turned towards the bathroom, and the photograph beside the phone caught his eye. He let his gaze linger on the woman in the picture for a moment, before forcing himself to look away. He stepped into the bathroom and turned the shower on. He wandered back into the kitchen while the water heated up, finishing off his cigarette. He stubbed it out in an ashtray – which really needed to be emptied soon – and dug out a clean bath towel from the pile on top of his laundry basket.
When he returned to the bathroom, the water was at the right temperature, and so he stripped off the t-shirt and boxers he'd been sleeping in, and stepped under the hot spray. He stood there for a moment, letting the water wash over him, and wake him up a little more. He hated the phone conversations he had with her. It was usually worse face-to-face, except at her home. It was one of the reasons he tried not to see her in person except the few times he was invited over.
Once he felt he was sufficiently clean, he stepped out of the shower onto a rug that had seen better days, and quickly wrapped the bath towel around his waist. He picked up a smaller towel from the floor of the bathroom, sniffed it quickly to check it was still usable, and then used it to dry his hair. There was a knock at the front door, and then the doorbell rang, and he cursed, dropping the towel onto the floor and, with one hand holding the other towel around his waist, he rushed to the door. He drew back the catch and opened the door a crack, poking his head round. Standing there, smiling widely, was his only real friend. With a smile in return, he stepped back and opened the door wider, inviting him in.
"Hey Barda!" He said cheerily. He then took in the man's appearance. "Have you only just got out of the shower?" Barda rolled his eyes.
"No, Jarred, I just figured I'd dress like this today." Jarred closed the front door and watched as Barda disappeared into his bedroom. "What are you doing here anyway?" He called out from behind the door. It was Jarred's turn to roll his eyes.
"Well, you were supposed to be in the studio three hours ago," Jarred called back. In his bedroom, Barda cringed. Shit. "So I decided to come and check you weren't dead or something."
"Fuck, sorry." Barda said to him, emerging from his room in a pair of jeans that were on the verge of falling apart, and a white t-shirt. "My alarm's broken I think. I only woke up like, an hour ago." He stuffed his hand into a pocket and pulled out another pack of cigarettes. "Did I miss anything important?" Jarred reached into the bag he had over one shoulder and pulled out a folder.
"We had to do a small shoot for the council this morning – nothing important, so we'll probably never see it go to print – but Gers filled in for you on that one." Barda took the folder and opened it, looking through the details of the shoot. "But David is really pissed off, Barda. He told me to tell you that if you don't start pulling your weight, he's gonna call a meeting and discuss letting you go."
"What?" Barda hissed. "He can't do that!"
"Look, it's true that you're our company's best photographer, and I'll fight for you, that's for sure, but everyone is fed up of not knowing whether you'll turn up for a shoot or not. It could have been something major this morning, and Gers isn't nearly as good as you." Jarred ran a hand through his long dark hair. "You never know, Barda, some big shot executive could come to us and ask us to do a shoot for his company, and if you're not there…"
"Like that's ever gonna happen, Jarred." Barda sighed in frustration. He walked through into the kitchen and dumped the folder onto his kitchen table. Jarred followed slowly, expertly stepping around the mess in the hall. "The only people who come to us are the ones who can't afford a proper fucking studio." Jarred winced. He knew from experience that if Barda was this negative, it could only mean one thing.
"She call you again?"
"How could you tell?" Barda growled, opening the fridge and pulling out a bottle of beer. "Want one?" Jarred shook his head. Shrugging, Barda opened a drawer and rummaged around for a bottle opener. When he couldn't find one, he cursed and lifted the bottle to his mouth, and used his teeth to open it. "Had the nerve to accuse me of forgetting that it was the twins' birthday today, then listed off a number of things she thought I was." Jarred smiled sadly. He'd known Barda since college, had been his closest friend for a number of years, and had even been Barda's best man when he got married to his high school sweetheart. So he had been a first-hand witness to the destruction of that marriage, and had been the one who picked up the broken pieces of his best friend.
"Hey, I'll talk to David, yeah? I'll tell him you had a bad day, and to go easy on you. I think he knows as well as the rest of us that if he kicks you out, the company will suffer so much we may have to shut down completely." Jarred reached out and put a hand on his friend's shoulder. "You're what brings in the money, you know." Barda nodded and stuck a cigarette between his lips. He was about to light the hob again when Jarred reached under an upturned saucepan on the worktop beside them, and pulled out a lighter. With a short laugh, Barda took the lighter and lit up. "Look, take the rest of the day off, and don't let her get to you, yeah?"
"Thanks, J." Barda smiled. Jarred grinned and leant over to kiss his cheek.
"No problem. If you need to talk tonight, you've got my number."
"Yeah, thanks." He set the bottle of beer down on the worktop and pulled his friend into a hug. He pulled back a moment later and smiled. "You go on get back to work. Don't want David considering the possibility of having you fired too." Jarred laughed.
"He wouldn't dare. The place would fall apart without me. Give the little monsters my love when you see them." Barda walked with Jarred back to the front door. "Just make sure you're in work on Monday, on time, otherwise David will be really pissed off."
"Yeah, yeah. I will." Barda waved him off and closed the door, leaning against it for a moment. He glanced at the clock on the wall – 1:30pm. Plenty of time until he had to leave. He wandered back into the kitchen and picked up the bottle of beer he'd started. He walked through into the lounge and dropped onto the sofa, switching the TV on as he did so. He kicked a stack of magazines off the coffee table and put his feet up, knocking over a wine glass as he did. Scowling, he leant forward and picked it up, using a newspaper to mop up the few drops of wine that had been in the glass. As a news program played in the background, he stared around at the lounge and sighed. It was a mess.
The floor was covered with newspapers, folders from work, project briefs and plans, empty beer bottles and beer cans, and there was a stack of wine bottles in one corner. He'd thrown several jackets onto one chair, mainly to cover the pile of dirty plates and glasses from the last time he had a few friends over for drinks. His coffee table was littered with magazines and newspapers, a stack of rejected photo prints, and even more empty beer bottles. The photographs hanging on his walls were askew. Every surface was littered with empty bottles or cans, and ashtrays full of cigarette butts.
He jumped slightly when the phone rang again, and he put his beer down on the coffee table before standing up and walking out into the hall. He stepped over a pile of photo prints by the lounge door and took his time getting to the phone.
"Yeah?" He answered, not really in the mood to talk to anyone else.
"Barda? I need to ask you a favour." Barda sighed.
"Jinks, I'm not going to lend you money. I've told you before." James 'Jinks' Norton had been bothering Barda ever since college when they'd met in the student bar early one morning, and Barda had made the mistake of talking to him. Jinks was a creep. A creep who gambled and caused trouble.
"I'm not asking for money, Barda."
"Then what do you want?"
"A friend of mine has just started dating my ex, and I sort of told them I had a partner so it wouldn't seem like I was some stupid loner, and they invited me to do a double-date, and well…"
"I'm not pretending to be your boyfriend." Barda said instantly. "No way. Find someone else to scam your friends." He hung up without waiting for Jinks to reply. He'd hoped that after so many years, Jinks would have given up and decided to leave him alone. No such luck. He got a call every now and then, and sometimes Jinks would turn up at his studio – and once or twice at his flat – and nothing he did ever seemed to put the guy off.
He walked back into the lounge and changed the TV channel to something a bit more interesting. Lying down on the sofa, he glanced at the clock and made a mental note of how long he had before he had to leave.
His phone woke him up again. He jolted awake, almost falling off the sofa, and sat up. He switched off the TV and stood up, stretching to ease his muscles. It was never comfortable when he slept on the sofa. He glanced at the clock.
"Fuck." He ran to the phone, dreading the voice he knew he'd hear. "Hello?"
"Where the hell are you?"
"Evidently, still in my flat." He wished he'd kept his mouth shut. He knew that wasn't the right thing to say at a time like this.
"Either you get down here in the next ten minutes or there will be serious trouble." The phone went dead, and Barda sighed, putting it back on the receiver. He walked through into his bedroom, taking off the old jeans and t-shirt. She had said presentable, after all. He found a decent pair of black trousers and a dark blue dress shirt, and then he stood in front of the bathroom mirror for a few minutes attempting to tame his hair. Giving up, he grabbed his keys, wallet, cigarettes and phone, slipped on a jacket, and headed out of the door. It took him three minutes to start his car, and then he was off, trying not to speed too much.
He was almost at ten minutes when he pulled up outside what used to be his house, and he ran up to the front door, knocking loudly upon it. The door swung open and he attempted to smile apologetically at the woman standing there.
"Sorry, I was working on a project…" He told her. "Lost track of time."
"So your work is more important than your children?" She hissed, dragging him inside by the front of his shirt. "Ugh, you stink of cigarettes. I take it you haven't quit like you said you would?" He rolled his eyes. "Still, at least you attempted to make yourself presentable."
"Don't start this now, Lindal." He muttered. She ignored him.
"You couldn't even be bothered to shave?" At her words, he ran a hand over his chin and winced when he felt the stubble. How had he not noticed that? "How much of an effort did you even make? You look terrible."
"Lindal, please-"
"And I don't see any gifts with you. Not even a card. Have you actually gotten anything for your children?" He winced.
"I didn't know what to buy." He muttered. "Where are they?"
"They're in the garden." Lindal told him, finally moving on from his appearance. "I will go and call them in. I don't want you disturbing their friends as well." Barda opened his mouth to argue, but she was already turning on her heel and disappearing into the house. Barda's shoulders sagged as he let out a soft sigh, and he turned slightly, looking around the house he used to live in.
Lindal had gotten everything in the divorce. The house, the car, the holiday home beside the beach. He only got to see his kids once a week, and they weren't allowed to stay more than two nights at a time. Not that Lindal let them stay at his flat anymore. He wandered through into the family den, and made his way over to the row of framed photos along a shelf against the wall beside the huge TV. All the photos were of the children, some with Lindal amongst them, but there wasn't a single photo of him, or of the entire family. His photographs that had once taken pride of place on the walls had been removed, replaced with another photographer's work. His studio in the back of the house had been turned into a storage room. Every little trace of him was gone.
"DADDY!" He turned sharply at the familiar girlish voice, and his face lit up at the sight of his daughter running towards him. He went down to one knee, scooping her up into his arms when she reached him, and held her close against his chest. Mariah was their second child, now ten years old, and she was a complete daddy's girl. "Daddy, I'm so glad you came!"
"Oh, me too, princess." He murmured, pressing a kiss to her hair. There was a tug at his shirt and he looked down, smiling at the boy standing beside him. "Hey, kiddo." The boy grinned back at him, and then hugged his waist. Liam, eleven and a half, was their eldest son.
"I heard mom shout at you earlier." He muttered into his father's stomach, clutching at him tightly. Mariah and Liam had suffered the worst in the months leading up to the divorce. They'd had to sit and watch their parents fight bitterly, angrily, scream at each other until their throats were raw. And then they'd had to stand by and watch as their father packed his bags and walked out the front door, with nowhere to go.
"It's okay, kiddo. I guess I deserved it." He ruffled Liam's hair, and set Mariah down on the ground again. "So, where are the monsters?" He smiled. As if on cue, two young boys bolted through the door, both wielding plastic guns and wearing cowboy hats.
"Freeze! Put ya hands in da air!" One of them yelled with a wild grin, pointing the gun at Barda. The other stepped closer, pointing the gun right up at the ceiling. Barda, so pleased to see his little boys, played along, holding up his hands. "You is under arrest for trespassing!"
"I'm so very sorry, sheriff." Barda said in a mock-scared voice, taking note of the 'Sheriff' badges on the front of their shirts. "I did not mean to."
"Well… aw'right then." The other boy grinned, putting his gun down. "We'll let ya go, on one condition."
"And what's that?" Barda asked with a smile.
"Ya give us a hug, daddy!" They both yelled at once. Barda laughed and dropped to his knees, pulling them both into his arms. Jay and Joeley were identical twins, except for their eyes. Before Joeley's eyes had turned brown when he was a baby, he and Lindal had had so much trouble telling the difference between the two, often getting them mixed up with the other. Even now, if the boys had their eyes closed or covered, everyone had trouble telling which one was which. When they both wriggled free, they gazed at him with hope. "What did ya get us, daddy?" His heart sank.
"I, uh… sorry boys, daddy doesn't have that much money, and…" He trailed off when he saw how disappointed they were. "Tell you what, when you come and visit next, I'll take you somewhere nice to make up for it. How about that?" They both shrugged. With a heavy heart, Barda leant forward and pressed a kiss to both their heads. "Sorry boys. I'll make it up to you, I promise."
"'Kay." Jay smiled, his blue eyes sparkling. "Come on, daddy! Come play with us!" Barda got to his feet and both boys started tugging on his hands, dragging him towards the kitchen. Mariah and Liam followed behind, silent.
"Boys, what have I told you about making such a racket indoors?" Lindal chided when they started laughing and yelling as they dragged Barda with them. She straightened up and her eyes went cold when she saw him. "Kids, go on outside. Your father will follow in a moment." All four obeyed quickly. Barda stopped and looked around, noting the familiar faces of Lief and Jasmine sat at the kitchen counter.
Lief and Jasmine lived in the house next door, and had three children of their own – their twin boys, Jared and Endon, were good friends of Jay and Joeley. The two couples had become close friends over the years, but after the divorce Lief and Jasmine had pretty much blanked him and shut him out of their lives.
"Are you really going to do this now, Lindal?" Barda sighed.
"Yes, I am. When you're in my house, you have to play by my rules. I don't want you here longer than necessary. You're permitted to stay until after we've cut the birthday cake. You're not to go near any alcohol, you're not permitted to smoke anywhere in or around the house, and if I dislike your behaviour, I want you out. Is this clear?"
"Sir, yes, sir." Barda shot back angrily, turning and marching out into the garden before he said something he would later regret. Or point out something that really wouldn't help. Like the fact that before they'd gotten married, her house had been his house.
It was another hour before the children were called inside for cake and other treats. Barda stood at the back of the room, leaning against the wall, watching with slight sadness as Lindal leant over the twins to light the candles on their cake. A few other adults were in the room – parents of the other children – and they all joined in as the first few lines of the 'Happy Birthday' song was sung. Barda longed to be beside Lindal as Jay and Joeley blew out their candles, longed to be with his family as Lindal cut the cake and began dishing it out to all the children. Feeling tears sting the back of his eyes, he turned and left the kitchen, heading towards the front door.
"Dad?" He turned and saw Liam standing in the kitchen doorway, watching him with concern. "You're leaving?"
"Yeah." He replied with a sigh. "I'm not welcome here, kiddo. Your mom, she… she doesn't want me here." He forced a smile onto his face. "I'll see you next Wednesday, okay?" Liam nodded. "Bye, kiddo." Barda opened the front door and stepped outside, closing it behind him. Blinking back tears, he walked down to his car and got in, starting up the engine and driving back towards his flat.
He knew he was a terrible father. He barely had enough money to support himself, let alone his four children. He was paying money to Lindal every month – as was the law – to support both her and the children, and it left him with very little. He had an awful flat which wasn't suitable to house even one child for a night, a terrible job that was going nowhere, and his life was slowly going down the drain. He hadn't even looked at another woman since the divorce – he couldn't. He and Lindal had been in love since high school, she was the only girl he'd ever given his heart to. He knew it was his fault they'd started to fall apart. He'd known it as it was happening, but he'd been too damn stubborn to stand up and do something about it. He once had a loving wife and wonderful children to go home to every evening.
Now all he had was a filthy, cluttered, empty flat.
Author's Note: So that was the first chapter of Family Portrait! Hope you enjoyed it. I'll get chapter 2 done soon!
