![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mpreg jackrry, part 5
Oct. 31st, 2017 10:39 pm[somehow i found it within me to generate some more half-written mpreg bullshit, oh and also a plot outline and notes for at least six more installments so buckle up. sorry this round is mostly exposition and awkward conversations.]
So after the ultrasound Jack says, “You want to get lunch?” because that was a little more intense than he expected and he’s not quite ready to go back to the office or be alone with his thoughts. But Harry says he’s got to go for a blood draw, to which Jack immediately says, “Oh, I’ll go with.” And instantly regrets it, because that was probably super weird, and Harry’s clearly a functioning adult who doesn’t need company for a blood draw, but Jack still has questions and it’s entirely possible Harry will never contact him again after today, plus a big one of those questions is how to get a paternity test and hanging around the medical establishment seems like a good strategy to possibly get an answer. “Really?” Harry looks surprised. “Yeah, sure,” Jack says, “where do we go?”
Down a couple of floors, over a skybridge, and upstairs again to a lab is the answer to that. “You’re back!” The phlebotomist greets Harry with enthusiasm and he readily hugs her. When she emerges, she tips her chin toward Jack. “And who’s this?” “This is Jack,” Harry says, in a tone that suggests she should draw her own conclusions. “He’s my favorite,” the phlebotomist tells Jack, patting Harry on the shoulder. “Good veins.”
Harry takes a seat in a tall chair and Jack leans against the wall next to him. Harry rests his forehead on his hand, facing Jack and looking away from where the phlebotomist is swabbing his other arm and tying a band around it. “You’ve got a thing about needles?” Jack asks, which seems hard to believe, given that the phlebotomist is feeling out a vein in the middle of at least four tattoos. “I get a little woozy,” Harry says defensively. “Go on, hold his hand,” the phlebotomist briskly directs Jack, which, like, gladly.
They have lunch afterwards, someplace nondescript down the street from the hospital, full of people in scrubs. Harry orders soup and a side of fruit and mostly just picks at the roll that comes with it. He spears a piece from the fruit cup and holds up his fork toward Jack. “This is the fruit this week.” Jack looks confused. “Plum,” Harry says. “There’s an app that tells you what fruit it’s the size of every week. This week it’s plum. 12 weeks.”
Harry pops the chunk of plum into his mouth and Jack figures this is probably the closest he’ll get to an opening to bring up one of the topics he probably should ask about. Well, he’s less sure about bringing it up than he was this morning, now that Harry’s practically cried at the ultrasound, but maybe he was totally wrong about that, maybe those weren’t happy tears, and come to think of it Jack was actually the first one to say something that kind of suggested it was an actual baby, so what if Harry’s worried he’s some kind of pro-life asshole who thinks he has any kind of a say here, so really he should probably just bring it up, like just casually... “So,” Jack beckons generally in the direction of Harry’s midsection, “so, is this definitely a thing that’s going to happen?”
Harry flinches back a bit. “Not much way around it now.” “Well, I mean, there is, right?” Jack says pragmatically, and he doesn’t know Harry well enough to read his expression but suddenly it doesn’t look good and Jack frantically backpedals, like “...whoa, sorry, it’s totally your decision, really, I didn’t mean to mean to be like you should do that…” Harry doesn’t say anything and Jack just keeps trying to talk himself out of the hole. ‘...I mean, I feel like this whole thing is kind of my fault and i don’t want to make anything harder for you, and whatever works for you, it’s fine, it’s fine.” He scoots back in his chair, palms up. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right,” Harry says, after a long pause. “I mean, I thought about it.”
“Can I ask… why not?” Jack says cautiously.
“Sure.” Harry fiddles with the spoon in his soup bowl, answering without looking at Jack. “I just… I know I want kids, and I didn’t really want one now, but I don’t, like, not want one enough to not… have this one, you know?”
“Yeah, sure,” Jack says, even though he didn’t really follow that answer.
“Anyway, it’s not all your fault.” Harry kind of smirks at him. “Pretty sure we were both there.”
Jack’s still on edge from panicking that he’d offended Harry completely and forever and he doesn’t have the fortitude to switch to flirting so he changes the subject to an innocuous topic and asks how Harry figured out he was pregnant. Harry tells him that he passed out at work -- no, don’t worry, it was totally not a big deal, he was just dehydrated, he’s been puking a lot -- anyway they called 911 and the EMTs asked him if there was any chance he could be pregnant and he realized oh shit he could be.
(FYI Harry is a behavior tech at a private school that mostly serves kids on the autism spectrum, which means that he has minimal professional qualifications… maybe a music degree or whatever, something completely irrelevant… but just happens to be really good at connecting with kids and intuiting what they need. The pay is shit.)
Anyway they talk about nice safe pregnancy-related topics the rest of lunch. Yeah, morning sickness sucks and it’s kind of an all-day thing (“You have the gait of a vomitter,” Jack observes. “Heyyyyy,” Harry says, moderately offended.) He’s tired and the only food that sounds good is salty potato-y things like fries and chips and sometimes fried chicken. He hasn’t told anybody yet, apparently you’re supposed to wait until after the first trimester, so maybe he’ll tell his mom next week, maybe Niall and Zayn, although Zayn probably knows something’s up, he’s my roommate so he’s heard me puking.
After lunch Harry pulls Jack into a hug as he’s leaving and Harry smells clean and nice but also a bit like hospital, and he doesn’t feel any different from Jack’s vague memories of the night they got together, but Jack is still piercingly conscious of the baby between them, in there, definitely happening.
So after the ultrasound Jack says, “You want to get lunch?” because that was a little more intense than he expected and he’s not quite ready to go back to the office or be alone with his thoughts. But Harry says he’s got to go for a blood draw, to which Jack immediately says, “Oh, I’ll go with.” And instantly regrets it, because that was probably super weird, and Harry’s clearly a functioning adult who doesn’t need company for a blood draw, but Jack still has questions and it’s entirely possible Harry will never contact him again after today, plus a big one of those questions is how to get a paternity test and hanging around the medical establishment seems like a good strategy to possibly get an answer. “Really?” Harry looks surprised. “Yeah, sure,” Jack says, “where do we go?”
Down a couple of floors, over a skybridge, and upstairs again to a lab is the answer to that. “You’re back!” The phlebotomist greets Harry with enthusiasm and he readily hugs her. When she emerges, she tips her chin toward Jack. “And who’s this?” “This is Jack,” Harry says, in a tone that suggests she should draw her own conclusions. “He’s my favorite,” the phlebotomist tells Jack, patting Harry on the shoulder. “Good veins.”
Harry takes a seat in a tall chair and Jack leans against the wall next to him. Harry rests his forehead on his hand, facing Jack and looking away from where the phlebotomist is swabbing his other arm and tying a band around it. “You’ve got a thing about needles?” Jack asks, which seems hard to believe, given that the phlebotomist is feeling out a vein in the middle of at least four tattoos. “I get a little woozy,” Harry says defensively. “Go on, hold his hand,” the phlebotomist briskly directs Jack, which, like, gladly.
They have lunch afterwards, someplace nondescript down the street from the hospital, full of people in scrubs. Harry orders soup and a side of fruit and mostly just picks at the roll that comes with it. He spears a piece from the fruit cup and holds up his fork toward Jack. “This is the fruit this week.” Jack looks confused. “Plum,” Harry says. “There’s an app that tells you what fruit it’s the size of every week. This week it’s plum. 12 weeks.”
Harry pops the chunk of plum into his mouth and Jack figures this is probably the closest he’ll get to an opening to bring up one of the topics he probably should ask about. Well, he’s less sure about bringing it up than he was this morning, now that Harry’s practically cried at the ultrasound, but maybe he was totally wrong about that, maybe those weren’t happy tears, and come to think of it Jack was actually the first one to say something that kind of suggested it was an actual baby, so what if Harry’s worried he’s some kind of pro-life asshole who thinks he has any kind of a say here, so really he should probably just bring it up, like just casually... “So,” Jack beckons generally in the direction of Harry’s midsection, “so, is this definitely a thing that’s going to happen?”
Harry flinches back a bit. “Not much way around it now.” “Well, I mean, there is, right?” Jack says pragmatically, and he doesn’t know Harry well enough to read his expression but suddenly it doesn’t look good and Jack frantically backpedals, like “...whoa, sorry, it’s totally your decision, really, I didn’t mean to mean to be like you should do that…” Harry doesn’t say anything and Jack just keeps trying to talk himself out of the hole. ‘...I mean, I feel like this whole thing is kind of my fault and i don’t want to make anything harder for you, and whatever works for you, it’s fine, it’s fine.” He scoots back in his chair, palms up. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right,” Harry says, after a long pause. “I mean, I thought about it.”
“Can I ask… why not?” Jack says cautiously.
“Sure.” Harry fiddles with the spoon in his soup bowl, answering without looking at Jack. “I just… I know I want kids, and I didn’t really want one now, but I don’t, like, not want one enough to not… have this one, you know?”
“Yeah, sure,” Jack says, even though he didn’t really follow that answer.
“Anyway, it’s not all your fault.” Harry kind of smirks at him. “Pretty sure we were both there.”
Jack’s still on edge from panicking that he’d offended Harry completely and forever and he doesn’t have the fortitude to switch to flirting so he changes the subject to an innocuous topic and asks how Harry figured out he was pregnant. Harry tells him that he passed out at work -- no, don’t worry, it was totally not a big deal, he was just dehydrated, he’s been puking a lot -- anyway they called 911 and the EMTs asked him if there was any chance he could be pregnant and he realized oh shit he could be.
(FYI Harry is a behavior tech at a private school that mostly serves kids on the autism spectrum, which means that he has minimal professional qualifications… maybe a music degree or whatever, something completely irrelevant… but just happens to be really good at connecting with kids and intuiting what they need. The pay is shit.)
Anyway they talk about nice safe pregnancy-related topics the rest of lunch. Yeah, morning sickness sucks and it’s kind of an all-day thing (“You have the gait of a vomitter,” Jack observes. “Heyyyyy,” Harry says, moderately offended.) He’s tired and the only food that sounds good is salty potato-y things like fries and chips and sometimes fried chicken. He hasn’t told anybody yet, apparently you’re supposed to wait until after the first trimester, so maybe he’ll tell his mom next week, maybe Niall and Zayn, although Zayn probably knows something’s up, he’s my roommate so he’s heard me puking.
After lunch Harry pulls Jack into a hug as he’s leaving and Harry smells clean and nice but also a bit like hospital, and he doesn’t feel any different from Jack’s vague memories of the night they got together, but Jack is still piercingly conscious of the baby between them, in there, definitely happening.
