mpreg jackrry, part 8

Jack is more than relieved to get a text on Monday that says mango week. He resolves to take it down a notch, to be cool. Harry’s obviously got other shit going on and Jack seems to keep doing the wrong thing. There’s mango salsa on his fish taco at lunch; he sends a photo. That seems safe enough. Harry asks if he’s coming to the 20-week ultrasound and Jack relaxes a little.

When he finally sees Harry two weeks later, all of a sudden he looks pregnant, two small worn holes in his Patterson Dental t-shirt stretched tight over his belly. Jack says something like, “Sorry again about golf,” as they wait for Harry’s name to be called.
“Don’t worry about it.” Harry scootches down in his waiting room chair and leans his head back against the wall. “He had to find out sometime. It wasn’t going to be pretty no matter what.”
“Can I ask…” Jack trails off.
Harry groans. “We’ve been friends since college. Hooked up a couple of times last year” -- Jack grinds his teeth, but quietly, so Harry won’t see -- “and I didn’t… I wasn’t too smart about it, I guess. He thought it was more and I didn’t realize, or didn’t want to realize, maybe. It’s kind of been weird ever since. I haven’t, like… brought anyone around since then, so this” -- Harry gestures at his belly -- “it’s sort of like, well, now it’s obvious it’s not him and me, so.”

Jack says something about how that makes it particularly awful that he was the one to let the news slip to Niall, and Harry kind of quirks his mouth to the side and says actually it wasn’t the worst, if you weren’t there Niall would have probably started getting ideas about adopting the baby, gonna make an honest man of me. Jack can’t quite manage to laugh.

Harry changes the subject. “We find out boy or girl today.” When Jack doesn’t immediately respond, still thinking about Niall being hung up on Harry, Harry adds, “I can ask them to just tell me if you don’t want to know.”
“Why wouldn’t I want to know?” Jack asks, surprised.
“Some people don’t,” Harry says. “People like a surprise, I guess.”
“I think we’ve had enough surprises,” Jack says.

Everything’s in order on the scan, all fingers and toes accounted for and organs measuring right and heart still pumping away. “Hey, is that…” Jack points at the screen. “It is NOT,” Harry insists. “He’s right,” the technician says. “It’s a boy.” [LIZ THIS IS FOR YOU, this baby may have Jack’s red hair but i thought you would appreciate him inheriting his other father’s purportedly enormous balls, readily identifiable on an ultrasound even by a layperson.]

Jack pumps his fist. Harry sighs. “He’s going to wear all the pink he wants.”
“Well, sure,” Jack says.
Harry looks surprised. “...you don’t mind?”
“Why would I mind? Dress him however you want.” After a moment’s reflection, Jack adds, “I mean, as long as you’re cool with me getting him a kilt. And a Pats jersey.”
“He’ll have to wear his Packers jersey every other Sunday.”
“Deal.”
“When does he wear the kilt?”
“Special occasions,” Jack says, with great dignity. “Weddings... funerals… beer pong...”
Harry tilts his head, considering. “I bet you look good in a kilt.”
“I look awesome.” Jack does not know much, but he knows this with great certainty. His kilt has definitely gotten him laid at at least two weddings.
“I’d like to see that sometime,” Harry says, smiling crookedly at Jack,

The next week Harry kind of nervously asks if Jack will come to partner week at his prenatal yoga class, and of course Jack is gonna say yes to anything, despite being definitely Not Into Yoga. Harry says something about how the class is going over some stuff that’s useful for labor and Jack says “um… am I going to be there?” and Harry gets flustered, “only if you want to be, you don’t have to, not a big deal, i can find somebody else…” and Jack’s all “of COURSE i’ll be there, I want to be” (he’s not 100 percent sure whether he actually wants to, but if Harry asks, Jack’s going to do it).

Harry of course is Very Into Yoga and seems right at home in this studio full of people who are varying degrees of pregnant, and Jack is kind of enjoying how everyone assumes they’re a couple, and everything’s grand until the class actually starts. Turns out prenatal yoga involves a lot of sitting knee to knee and looking into each other’s eyes and trying to synchronize their breathing and poses where Jack presses on Harry’s lower back, which Jack assumes are probably all unexceptional things for everyone else in the class, who appear to be actual partners and probably touch each other all the time, but for Jack, who hasn’t touched anyone (and in particular hasn’t touched Harry) for 22 weeks (papaya), it is kind of a lot and he spends the class focusing real hard on not getting an inappropriate erection.

The dunkirk tech bros, who are all some combination of confounded/sympathetic/inappropriate about Jack’s situation, are united in their enthusiasm about the “it’s a boy” announcement. They all toast to Jack’s son, and then Fionn kind of ruins the moment by saying, “But you’re not together, right? How do you know for sure it’s yours?” (Socially-awkward-bordering-on-blunt programmer Fionn is maybe probably somewhere on the spectrum, which is why he does so well with people like Barry, who just decide he’s their friend and treat him that way whether he likes it or not.)

Jack realizes he hasn’t thought about this issue in… a while? a few weeks? (since pear? avocado?) “The timing works out...” he says.
“Yeah, but you only saw him that one night, right?” Barry says, on the scent now. “Guy like that, could have gotten laid every night that week.”
“Aren’t there ways to find out?” Fionn asks. He’s already got his phone up, googling.
“Careful what you search, bro, you’re gonna get targeted ads like you’re some player,” Barry cackles.
“Too late,” Fionn says, scrolling. “Hey, they can do a blood test, like now, or you can take a saliva sample from the baby…”
Jack cuts him off. “I’m not going to make Harry take a blood test,”
“Yeah, easier to just do the saliva thing,” Barry says. “You could be totally off the hook, right?”
“Sure,” Jack says. “Sure.”

tour miscellaney

nobody cares about this but me, but harry picked up a new photographer for the european leg of the tour and she is this gorgeous little blonde frenchwoman and harry's videographer is kind of obsessed with her and constantly posts flirty videos of her on ig. i am fascinated by public pining in the age of social media, and also by the mounting evidence for harry as yenta.

mpreg jackrry, part 9

Jack’s in an afternoon sales meeting, his phone sitting silent beside him on the conference table, when Harry’s number comes up. It’s the first time Harry’s ever called him. Jack only hesitates for a moment before self-consciously ducking into the hallway, pointing to his phone apologetically.

Harry’s voice is soft and strained as he tells Jack that something happened at work today. A kid had a behavior incident and Harry was trying to deescalate him and got kicked in the stomach, and he hasn’t felt any movement since then. Jack’s chest tightens. Harry’s just called the doctor’s office and they can see him if he gets in before the end of the day, so he’s headed that way. “I just… thought you should know,” Harry says.

(Jack’s pretty sure that’s not the reason. If this was an FYI Harry could have texted. There’s some way that Harry’s wanting Jack to react here, and Jack is probably going to screw it up, so he just goes with what he wants.) “I’ll meet you there,” he says. “How long ‘til you get there?” Harry says he’s about to walk to the bus stop, hold on, he’ll check when the next bus comes… “I’ll pick you up,” Jack says immediately. “Where are you at?” Harry gives him directions to his school, and Jack grabs his keys and his bag. He’s halfway down the elevator before he thinks to tap out a quick email to his manager, sorry for leaving the meeting, family emergency (he guesses this qualifies?), he’ll be out the rest of the day.

Harry’s school turns out to be much closer to Jack’s office than Harry’s apartment is. Harry’s waiting outside in the November chill, trying in vain to zip his shearling-collared jacket over his belly. When he gets in the passenger side, Jack doesn’t know whether to hug him.

After a silent wait at the doctor’s office, they’re led back to see a different doctor than usual. She finds the baby’s heartbeat right away. Jack exhales. Harry cries. Jack is starting to realize that Harry cries a lot. He’s not sure whether that’s, like, a pregnancy hormone thing or just a Harry thing. Either way it always feels like it’s Jack’s fault.

Harry asks whether the doctor’s sure the baby’s okay, like, could he have a broken bone or something, why isn’t he moving? The doctor reassures him, you’ve got a thick layer of muscle between the baby and outside forces, it’s going to be fine, you’re not going to feel the baby all the time, how long’s it been since you’ve eaten? Drink some orange juice, the baby may be more active when your blood sugar’s up, we can do a quick ultrasound if that’ll give you some reassurance (“yes please,” Harry says.)

On the way to Harry’s place, Jack turns into a grocery store parking lot. “What are you doing?” Harry asks. “Getting you some orange juice,” Jack says. “And I don’t know, a frozen pizza or whatever. You need to eat.” Harry wrinkles his nose. “Let’s just order pizza.” Jack makes him wait while he gets orange juice, then insists that Harry drink it in the car.

Jack’s relieved to see that Zayn’s not at the apartment. Harry tosses his jacket over the back of a chair and sinks heavily into the couch. Suddenly, he smiles. “There you are,” he says, addressing his belly and poking at a particular spot. He tips his head back against the couch and exhales a sigh of relief.
“Moving?” Jack watches the spot where Harry’s hand is resting.
“Yeah, just kicked me.” Harry picks his head up and looks at Jack. “Want to feel it?”
“Okay.” Jack sits next to Harry, hand awkwardly hovering. “Where?”
Harry points to right spot. Jack settles his hand there. Warmth bleeds up through the thin layer of Harry’s t-shirt. He’d sort of expected Harry’s belly to feel hard -- like, protective -- but it’s soft, some give there as Jack’s hand rises and falls with Harry’s breathing.

Nothing happens. After a long and awkward silence, Jack asks, “Do you want me to stop?”
“No, it’s fine,” Harry says. “Nobody ever touches me anymore.”
Jack apologizes, feeling as guilty as he’s ever felt about basically ruining Harry’s life, and Harry keeps talking, saying something about how he used to always be all over his friends, “but now it feels like they’re weirded out by all of this” -- he gestures at his belly -- “and it’s not like anybody wants to hook up with me either, so.”
“Hey,” Jack says, because Harry looks pretty close to crying and Jack’s had enough of that for the day, “hey, c’mere.” He wraps his arm around Harry, keeping his other hand in place on Harry’s belly. Harry scoots closer to him, knees pressing up against Jack’s lap. He sniffles into Jack’s shoulder and takes a few jerky breaths. Jack waits for the imminent threat of tears to pass, and then cautiously turns his head a fraction of an inch and presses his lips to the top of Harry’s head. Somehow he’s managed to screw this up yet again, trying to keep a respectful distance while Harry’s been over here miserable because nobody’s touching him.

Harry’s lifting his head and -- “Hey!” Jack jerks his hand back in surprise from a soft poke of movement. “You felt that one?” Harry asks. “Yeah,” Jack says, and settles his hand back down where the baby kicked him. It doesn’t feel awkward anymore. “Will he do it again?” “Yeah,” Harry says, smiling, and kisses Jack.

[ok i was gonna write more self-indulgent kissing but i’ve gotta get some sleep; just pretend there are some eloquent paragraphs here of everybody relaxing into a gentle pregnancy make-out sesh, Harry relieved and Jack incredulous and the baby occasionally nudging at Jack’s hand. Maybe at some point Harry asks if this is OK, and Jack says something like, "Listen, I've wanted to do this since -- how many weeks is it?" "Acorn squash," Harry says." "OK, like an acorn squash amount of time." LOOK I NEVER WANTED TO WRITE THIS TROPE IN THE FIRST PLACE OK]