The Olive Branch
By S. Faith, © 2014
Words: 8,299
Rating: T / PG-13
Summary: Bringing a child into the world can really refocus your priorities and perceptions.
Disclaimer: Not my stuff.
Notes: How did Daniel come to be both Billy's and Mabel's godfather?
Think of this as a preface to If Only…, because thinking about the alternative is too sad.
Sorry I've been away. I did NaNoWriMo, and won. :D
Part 1
February 2006
"I came as soon as I got word. Well, checked my mobile, anyway."
These words were not surprising in and of themselves, but rather, were surprising coming from the man who spoke them. He furrowed his brow. What was this man doing at the hospital, at the birth of her first child? How had he learned where they were?
But there in the waiting area, having just risen to his feet from a seat next to his wife's friends, his parents and hers, was the one man he least expected to see. "Daniel," he said abruptly in his disbelief.
"Mark," said Daniel, genuine distress on his face. "How is she?"
"She's doing fine," he said, "aside from the continued labour. She's exhausted. Trying to rest. Thought I'd come let you know, get some coffee. Mother, Father—" He turned to his parents. "Why don't you go back to the house, get some rest? This must be awfully tiring for you."
"More so for you, Mark," said his mother, Elaine. "Any estimate as to when they might actually bring her into the delivery room?"
It had only—only!—been eight hours so far. "Unsure," he said wearily. "Much longer and they may do a C-section. She's fighting it." He chuckled. "She doesn't want the scar." He heard the friends offer a chuckle, too.
"We'll stay, then," said Elaine, then boldly added, "I predict a grandson before nightfall."
He could only hope. Mark sighed then, ran a hand down over his face. It may have only been just after noon, but the day had already been a long one… and he wasn't even the one racked by painful labour. "I should get that coffee, go back and sit with her. As soon as I know anything more, I'll let you know."
"Thanks, Mark—know we're cheering for you out here," said Jude, who along with Tom and Talitha, her friend from her Sit Up Britain days, had been sitting vigil since shortly after nine; his parents had arrived about an hour later. Her parents unfortunately could not make it, through no fault of their own; they would bring the baby to the Joneses as soon as possible…
"I'll come with you," said Daniel unexpectedly; Mark had almost forgotten he was even there. Curiously, Talitha gave what could best be described as a meaningful look to Daniel as Daniel strode forward. What precisely was going on here?
"All right," said Mark, too taken aback and too tired to brook resistance.
Together they walked out of the waiting area, to the lift, pressing the down button to call it; Mark shoved his hands down into his (assuredly disreputable) trouser pockets, letting out a long breath. He didn't know what Daniel was doing here, but he didn't have the strength to dredge up the old feud. "I don't think a long labour is abnormal for a first child," he said absently to fill the silence, "but she is a bit older than…" Mark trailed off. "Just wish there were more I could do."
"She's also a bit more stubborn. No scar means no scar," quipped Daniel—humour always being his go-to response—before Daniel's tone went serious again. "Look—you're doing all you can until show time. Still, I feel anxious enough… I can't imagine how you're feeling."
"Thanks," Mark said, as the lift arrived.
They arrived to the in-hospital Costa, where Daniel ordered a pair of coffees and paid before Mark could speak out in protest. After handing a cup to Mark, Daniel offered an awkward smile, then said, "You're probably wondering why I'm here."
"It's not at the top of my list of concerns," said Mark, "but yes, I was wondering. Wondering how you knew to come. Where to come." He took a sip of the hot beverage. "Thanks for this."
"My pleasure," Daniel said automatically. They began walking back towards the lift; Mark didn't want to be away any longer than necessary. "Bridget texted that she'd gone into labour. Didn't see it right away because I can't be arsed, usually, to check my text messages. Rang up Talitha wondering where to go, and she let me know."
"Right," Mark said. He knew that his wife and Daniel were in sporadic contact, so learning she'd included him in her mass text as labour began didn't come as a surprise. Mark had, after all, not been insecure enough to be jealous of this contact in some time; he was confident in the strength of their marriage, of her love for him… even if he had been (he hated to admit this, even to himself) a bit envious of the friendship she and Daniel shared. He thought wistfully of the good times he and Daniel had had together; he had, he was reluctant to admit, missed Daniel's clever, quick wit.
The lift arrived; they stepped inside, alone in the lift again. Mark pressed the correct button for her floor.
"So that's the how and the where," Mark continued. "What about the why?"
"I should think that was obvious," Daniel said quietly, staring at his coffee. "Obviously, I care about her—and before you say a thing, yes, I know, I don't stand a chance with her anymore, and I accept that, especially with a baby imminent. I really do, Mark. But I also thought it was high time you realise I… fuck. I care about you, too."
Daniel looked up to meet Mark's gaze just as the lift chime dinged and the doors parted open.
"As a friend," Daniel added as they strode out. "I mean, that's obvious, too, I should think. Look." He turned back to face Mark, cleared his throat, and as he spoke in a quiet voice, his demeanour went serious. "I'm sorry. I don't think I can say ever express how sorry I am for… what happened with her. I regret utterly what I did—it was without a doubt not worth the price I paid."
Mark was stunned to hear what he realised he had longed to hear for years. In response he began to chuckle; he couldn't help himself. "Right."
"What's so bloody funny?" Daniel asked, consternation written across his face, which spoke of the sincerity of his words.
"It's relief," said Mark simply. "I accept the apology without reservation. To be perfectly honest, I've had enough of the whole rivalry thing. I've got bigger, more important things to focus attention on. Top of the list, a baby on the way; as good a clean slate as we're likely to get."
It was Daniel's turn to look relieved, yet surprised.
"After all," continued Mark, "there is nothing quite like having a child on the way to remind you of the best parts of your own childhood."
At this, at the realisation of what Mark was saying, Daniel smiled. "You should, um, get in there with your wife," he said, clearing his throat, gesturing in the vague direction of the hospital rooms.
"Right," said Mark. "Thanks again for the coffee. I'll report back to you all soon."
He swung down the hallway and into her room in which she was awaiting delivery, and what greeted him as he entered caused him to nearly drop that newly acquired coffee. Bridget, his darling wife, was crumpled over in pain, knuckles white in grasping the sheets, and cursing like a sailor, spewing forth a string of profanities unlike any he had heard from her before. Or from anyone else, for that matter, he thought.
"Bridget!" he said, setting the cup down, racing to her side. She clamped on his hand with hers; he fought not to cry out or wince in pain, as what he was experiencing likely paled in comparison to the labour pains. "Should I ring for help?" he asked.
The response she offered was unintelligible; he erred on the side of caution and pressed the call button anyway. Within short order, a nurse came in, asked a few questions, timed contractions on her watch, then hurried out again, returning presently with the doctor.
"Well, Mr Darcy, it looks like we're on," said the doctor, turning, offering a bit of a grin. "Are you going in to coach?"
It took him a moment to understand what she meant and stupidly he began to nod.
"Go with the nurse; she'll help you get scrubbed up."
A few minutes later, with his shirtsleeves rolled up to the elbow and thoroughly washed hands and arms, he was dressed in a protective gown and cap, and was being escorted to the delivery room.
…
The coffee was quite cold when next he returned to the room, but he wagered it was well worth it.
Once in the delivery room, the classes they had done, the breathing coaching, had kicked in immediately, and he sat by her side the entire time, holding her hand, coaching her as she breathed and pushed—and then she shouted at him to "Shut up, already!"—for what felt like far too long, but he took comfort in the fact that the medical professionals weren't concerned. Hearing the wail of his child, seeing the baby for the first time, was a moment he would never forget.
"Here he is," said a nurse, the doctor, Mark wasn't sure; he saw only the swaddled child being brought towards them, then being placed against her chest as she took him in her arms. Tears filled his eyes as they streamed down her cheeks. He couldn't find the words, instead only bending closer to her to kiss her on the top of her head.
"He's perfect," she murmured. "Little William Mark."
The name had, of course, been chosen well in advance. When they'd learned the baby was a boy, the discussions on what to name him had begun almost immediately. Mark had been adamant that he didn't want his son to be Mark Junior, as his own father had not wanted his son to be a Junior.
"William," he echoed, looking down to the baby. His heart swelled with love.
They obviously could not remain in the delivery room for very long, but the nurses allowed a moment more of bonding before one instructed him that they needed to take her to the room, and that he could meet her and the baby there presently.
Mark took the opportunity to divest himself of the cap and the gown, and return to the waiting room to share the good news.
The concern he saw on all of their faces disappeared in an instant when they in turn saw him. "Sorry to be gone so long," he said with a broad grin, "but I got back to the room at the just right time."
As if they were a single unit, everyone rose to offer congratulations, though stepped aside allowed Mark's parents to be the first to embrace their son. Then one hug blended into another, more words of congratulations found his ear; he was appreciative of them all. He offered to escort his parents to Bridget's room for a visit, to meet their grandson for the very first time.
As they held the new-born and cooed over him, Mark drew out his mobile phone and called Pam Jones to deliver the good news to her.
"Oh, Mark," she said tearfully. "What wonderful news. Colin will be thrilled. Is Bridget all right? Is she available to talk?"
He glanced to her, and she met his gaze. "She's here. My mother and father are in with us visiting." She held out her hand, asking silently for the mobile, and he handed it over.
"Hello, Mum," she said, tears flooding her eyes again. "I'm fine, the baby's fine… how's Dad? How are you?" A long pause; her lower lip was quivering. "Yes, of course we'll bring him up to see you as soon as we can." Another pause, during which she took a deep breath and pulled herself together, signing off in order to disconnect the call. Without a word to him, she handed back the phone.
Elaine was holding the baby and her concern was equally evident. Mark hardly needed to ask what was the matter; her father, in hospital with late-stage lung cancer, clearly was not doing well. Mark sat on the edge of the bed, leaned forward and took her into his arms. He kissed her temple.
"We'll go as soon as possible," he murmured. He could feel her nod.
"Thank you," she whispered.
"Mark," said Elaine gently, "why don't we go, let a couple of your friends come in? I'm sure their smiling faces would be a good reminder of how much there is to celebrate today."
Mark drew away, then stood again, holding out his arms for the baby. "I think that sounds like a fine idea."
Mark's parents left. Mark expected another pair of individuals to turn up a few minutes later, but instead all of them came at once; not just Jude, Tom, Talitha, and Daniel, but Magda and Jeremy, too.
"We decided to storm the barricades," said Daniel. "None of us wanted to wait to be second." His eyes connected to Mark, to the baby in his arms, and he could not disguise the rise of emotion in him, the welling of tears in his eyes. "Oh. Look at that." Daniel strode closer, and as he did, Mark could see out of the corner of his eye the look of confusion pass over Bridget's face. "Pleased to meet you, little fella—" He turned to Mark. "What's his name, anyway?"
"William Mark," he said.
Daniel grinned. "William," he repeated. "Mmm. That seems so formal. 'William'. Rather looks more like a 'Billy' to me."
Bridget chuckled. "He's only a couple of hours old."
"That hardly matters," he said. "He's branded for life."
"So what sort of high-grade, Class-A drugs did they give me, anyway," began Bridget, "that I'm imagining this scene instead of you two brawling in the hallway?"
They all began to chuckle, and then Mark explained simply that they'd patched things up. "The miracle of childbirth," added Daniel.
"Indeed," she said wearily. "Who knew all I'd have to do was pop out a baby?"
…
Little William—or Billy as it seemed clear he was destined to be called—was held and kissed by the friends in turn before the nurse came in. Despite Daniel's best efforts at flattery and flirtation, the nurse would not be moved, so they each took their time to say goodbye for now. Mark's parents came in one last time briefly to say goodnight before they left to stay in the Holland Park house.
"We'll get everything ready anticipating your arrival home," said Elaine with a smile. "Not that there's a lot of work to do there."
With a kiss and a hug they were left alone with their new-born, who was sleeping. "Maybe should we put him in the crib?" Bridget asked.
Mark realised he wasn't sure; it was a silly amount of uncertainty for such a trivial thing, but he knew it served to set the tone in general for parenthood: educated guesses, and do the best you could. "Yes, that should be fine," he said with an air of authority.
"You don't really know either, do you?" she said; she sounded more relieved than anything at this epiphany.
He rose and took the baby, then placed him into the little crib before he returned to sit on the bed. "What a day," he said, taking her hand.
She suddenly looked exhausted as she smiled wanly and nodded. "I'm glad you're staying with me," she said, then amended, "with us."
The room provided a recliner chair on which partners could sleep, with blankets and all; he supposed he understood the necessity, though he would have loved to sleep beside her, holding her in his arms to comfort her after the punishing process of labour and delivery.
There was always tomorrow, he reasoned.
"I would say that I don't know how I'll sleep knowing that the baby's there and could need me any time," Bridget said, then yawned. "But, well. I don't think sleeping will be a problem after all."
"I'm in awe, to be honest," he said. "Of you, of women in general. To carry then give birth—an incredibly brave and terrifying thing to do."
"With an excellent payoff." She pushed herself upright with a bit of a groan.
"You sure you should be getting up?"
"I can't have you go to the loo for me," she said, "or wash my face and clean my teeth."
"But…" he began, not sure how to put it delicately; he knew stitches were often involved in a natural birth.
She smiled. "We'll be going home tomorrow with a new-born, Mark. I'm going to eventually have to get up."
He conceded the point, though the additional groan as she got to her feet meant he shadowed her on the walk to the bathroom just a few feet away, waited just outside the door in case she needed help.
When she was finished, she returned to bed and he helped her to get settled. "Anything you want?" he asked.
"I just realised I'm hungry," she said. "What time is it, anyway?"
He glanced to his watch. It felt like it should have been midnight, but in actual fact it was not even seven in the evening; he told her the time. "Shall I enquire about dinner from a nurse, or maybe should I pop out and get you something light from downstairs? Maybe a salad, or—"
She snorted a little laugh, then cringed a bit as if the laugh had hurt, which he suspected it did. "Mark, I could eat a cow right now. How about a Big Mac? Fries?"
He agreed; he considered for a moment getting something healthier, but ultimately decided that after the day she'd had, she deserved to eat whatever she wanted. "We're not making a habit of this, though," he added sternly.
"No, no, of course not," she said quickly. "You're a love."
"I do my best," he said, ducking down to peck her lips.
When he returned with their dinner, as well as some hot chocolates—made with full fat milk for a special treat—from the Costa in the hospital, she had gone to sleep and a nurse was in attending the baby. The nurse gave Mark a knowing look (and a somewhat disapproving glance at the McDonald's bag), finished marking up the chart, then left them again. The smell of the food caused her to stir, then wake.
"Ohhh, my hero," she said, sitting up a little too quickly at first and cringing. She then reached for the bag greedily, tearing into it.
"That is our dinner, darling," he reminded, setting down a cocoa on her bedside tray.
She chuckled, then reached in to pull out the requested Big Mac and order of fries, then handed the bag over to Mark for his own food. He drew out his dinner, then handed a good portion of his own fries to her, which earned him a loving smile. Not unexpectedly, she tore into her burger and took a large, ravenous bite from it. Within a few scarce minutes, she was eating up the last of her fries with a satisfied smile.
"I suppose you needed that," he said, with half a burger left to eat.
"You're damned right I did," she said, lying back on the bed, sighing happily, giving no indication of the subject change about to occur: "So I'm still struggling to understand the night and day change. You and Daniel. Are things really all right now? What has changed?"
"Nothing, and everything," he said.
"What does that mean? Did you talk about the past, about your first wife… hash things out?"
"No," he said.
"Then how are things resolved?"
"We both realised it's not important now," he said. "You and William are. I don't have it in me to bear the weight of a pointless grudge, and… I know Daniel's not going to try to make me jealous about you. Not now."
She looked confused, even sounded a bit exasperated as she asked, "Not that I'm complaining that this feud is over, but how can you be so certain about this?"
"Daniel's history," he said. "His own parents' marriage was broken up by an affair. He knows what it did to him, and he once vowed never to do that to another child. I believe him."
Bridget looked stunned. "I had no idea," she said at last.
"He doesn't talk about it much."
"I meant that you still felt jealous about me with Daniel," she said, then grinned. "Ridiculous that you would ever feel jealous."
At that he had to smile in return; rationally, he had always known this to be true, that Bridget was and would always be faithful to him, but he could not so easily forget that his first marriage—such as it was—had been ruined by Daniel. Perhaps only now, knowing what he had known for years about Daniel and his unusual moral compass, could the subconscious fears be allayed.
After the cocoas were gone she yawned again. He suspected she wanted nothing more than to go to sleep, so he took his cue and pardoned himself for the loo to change into the trackie bottoms and tee-shirt he'd brought to sleep in. Not that he had qualms changing in front of his wife, but with the way hospital staff came and went from the rooms he didn't want to give a stranger that kind of surprise.
After he returned, she appeared to already be sleeping. He did not want to wake her, so he went to the chair preparing to snuggle up with the blankets when she spoke up. "Come in bed with me?"
He knew he was not supposed to, but he could not resist when her voice spoke of how tired and how in need of a good long cuddle she was, so he tossed those blankets aside and went over to the bed. She scooted to one side, her preferred side, and he slipped in beside her, spooning up to her back, wrapping an arm around her protectively.
"Good night," he murmured, kissing her hair just above her ear.
She sighed. "Night."
He could tell she fell off to deep sleep nearly at once; he on the other hand was a bit more dozy, just lying there in the relative silence with his eyes closed, thinking about the day's events, when he heard the door open and a loud clucking sound from the attending nurse. He opened his eyes.
"You're not supposed to be in the bed, sir," she said sternly.
"I know," he said. "But when a new mother has such a simple request…"
She pursed her lips but he detected a bit of a smile; she checked the baby, filled in the chart, then retreated without another word.
Shortly after, he, too, fell to sleep and stayed that way for several hours; evidently the nurse had put a note in the chart, for there was no further commentary when William began to cry during another nurse check-in. A different nurse this time, who advised gently it was time for feeding. "Better had get used to it," she said.
As Bridget woke to feed the baby, as he laid there beside her, holding them in his embrace, it struck him fully that he finally had achieved what he'd wanted for so long now: he was a father. His life would never be the same; the thrill of this realisation rushed through him. Better had get used to it, indeed.
…
After an otherwise uneventful night and morning in hospital, the staff began to process their discharge so that they would be at home before dinner. Mark called his parents to advise, and they promised to have a nice meal waiting.
In the meantime, however, they received a visitor. Daniel returned with a plush animal, a cartoonish horse, and a bright grin on his face. "I thought I'd catch you before you went home," he said, "though I do realise this makes one more thing to tote back with you."
"So cute," said Bridget, taking hold of it, snuggling it a bit. "His first present, even if it is currently larger than he is."
"I was starting to lose hope I'd ever give this to a kid of yours, Darce," said Daniel, which took Mark slightly aback; he had never considered that Daniel might have been waiting for the opportunity to offer an olive branch in such a way that he knew Mark would accept it. "Despairing I'd ever get a chance to be a godfather, truth be told."
Mark heard Bridget lightly chuckle. "You're very optimistic," she teased.
"Of course," Daniel said. "Billy needs someone around to guide him through the intricacies of seduction one day."
At this she burst out with a louder-than-intended laugh. Fortunately, the baby did not awaken.
Mark could say only, "That's exactly what I was afraid you might say." But he smiled all the same. Every child, he supposed, needed to have a crazy uncle, and if his and Bridget's own respective brothers were going to persist in living abroad, then Daniel would do nicely.
"So how much longer before you're sprung from this place?" Daniel asked. "Have you got a lift home?"
Mark nodded, thinking of the vehicle in the car park with the baby seat already firmly in place (something Mark had done a week before her due date).
"Good, good," he said. "And have you got something set up for dinner?"
"My parents—" began Mark.
"Yes, of course, your parents," said Daniel. "Well, if there's anything you need, don't hesitate to ring me up."
"Duly noted," said Mark.
"You're welcome to drop by anytime, Daniel," said Bridget, who, like Mark, seemed to sense he was eager to make up for lost time by being involved with their family.
"Don't want to be a pest," Daniel said.
"We'll let you know if you are," Bridget admonished playfully. Mark could only think again what a wonderful mum she was going to be to their son; he couldn't wait to see William grow and flourish under her care.
"I don't doubt that for a moment, Mummy," said Daniel.
At one time, a joke like this might have really rubbed Mark the wrong way, but Mark realised with clarity that it didn't bother him at all. In fact, he could only smile.
"Best be off, then," Daniel said; he stretched a hand out to Mark to shake, meeting his eye briefly. Mark nodded. Daniel bent to kiss Bridget on the forehead, then went to fondly stroke the new-born's soft little cheek.
After his departure, Mark looked to his wife, who was smiling. "I like this truce thing," she said. "Very much."